Afghan Rugby Day

Tomorrow is a Rugby day so I thought I'd tell you about my Afghan Rugby experience.

I brought a Rugby ball with me to Afghanistan (or I had it sent to me).  I figured any time a Rugby player sees a Rugby ball he (or she) is drawn to it.  I know I am.  My plan was to inflate it and kick it up into the air from time to time.    By popping it up I figured it would clear any tents or buildings and be visible from quite a way off.  If any ruggers saw it they would find me and we could maybe figure out how to get a game going.

I tried it, but no one ever came around.

Eventually our staff started doing group PT in the mornings.  At first it was basketball mostly.  Then I finally convinced them to try Rugby. We would have to play touch, because I didn't want any LOD (Line of Duty) paperwork and have to explain why we were playing a collision sport.

1SG (now SGM) Beck with the
ball, not on the muddy day

We had an open, dirt field and about eight or ten of us played (after I taught them how).  They enjoyed it and we played several more times.

One morning we were going to play, but it had rained and the field we were using was a mud pit.  I said we should play anyway, and that the mud would just make the landings softer.

What I didn't tell them was I brought my cleats ("boots" for all you ruggers out there) as well as a ball.  While they were all slipping and sliding I was running circles around them.  Because it was touch I could even do "bullet time" type dodging and weaving and ducking and dodging.  No one could catch me, no one could touch me.

I hope it's just like that tomorrow!

Intention, Expectation, and Desire

When I write I consider three things always, whether I INTEND for the piece to be read by others, whether I EXPECT it to be read by others and if I DESIRE for it to be read by others.

I've been making a concerted effort this last half of the year to write something every day, anything.  Because I only count things written as part of stories, not notes, not ideas, not outlines, reminders, or instructions.  This does not mean I only count words I write that will be published.

I desire anything I write to be published or at the very least read by many other people.  I have removed the expectation that every word I write will actually be in the story, but I do intend for them to be.

Simply removing the expectation frees me to write quickly, often, and at volume.  This is my normal mindset for NaNoWriMo novels, I desire these novels to be published, I intend for them to be published, but I don't expect them to be.  This is also the mindset I've been using to keep up a daily output.

Previously the only time I tried to have a daily steady output was in the NaNo Novembers.  The idea of a first draft being so far removed from publishable that it would necessitate a rewrite seemed completely foreign to me.  Now I'm trying to embrace it, or at least tolerate it.  One of my most hated writing adages is, "Writing it rewriting" (credit Hemingway or E.B. White, either way, I don't like it).  That seems like negative thinking to me.  I partially blame the movie Amadeus.  Salieri said Mozart never made any erasures.  Everything was perfect as it left his pen.

Because I've almost always written on a word processor or computer I never really considered anything a first draft, but more like a work in progress.  Now I'm thinking, go from the beginning to the middle and don't stop until the end.  Then go back and change things.  I'm still reluctant to think that anything is strictly a first draft, not for public consumption, or worse still, something to be written only as practice, a first attempt of countless more, as it were.

It often seems like a waste to remove the intent that anything you write will be read by a wide audience (or has the potential to).  Why write anything you don't intend to share?  This is strongly my inclination, but I've recently figured out this is not universally felt.  I've long known there are things people write for a single consumer (like a lover, or themselves) with no expectation or intention of them being read by anyone else.  Journals and love letters are like this.  I'm not really talking about that.

Besides, in the back of my mind I do always expect someone will someday get ahold of anything and everything I write and whether I like it or not, they will read it.  It might be a self-destructive feeling because it makes me write while looking over my shoulder, which is not something you want to do when you are journaling, using writing as meditation, or writing something that will be a first draft only.  

That and I'm sort of paranoid anything I write could someday be subpoenaed. 

The rarest thing I write is something I don't expect to be read, I don't intend to be read and I don't desire to be read.  

Can you guess what sorts of things those could be?  

Do you have anything you write with none of the above?  

Write me a comment and let us know.

Young Mad Scientists in Love: "The New Team" - Part 3

Part 3 – Not for Love, But Maybe for Money

Doctor Braun Verne was a good looking man and he knew it.  He had a debonair about him, a flash, a swagger that just drew women (those who liked men), and men (those who liked men) alike.

Three women stood around as he lay under another woman’s car.  The owner stood next to the car worrying her fingers while the other three stood back far enough to get the view they wanted.

"What's he doing?"  Gladys, a full figured accountant asked Eloise, the woman whose car was being possibly upgraded.

"Who cares?"  Marge, a woman in a power pant-suit said.

The women admired Braun's faded blue jeans and cowboy boots sticking out from under the car.  In a fluid movement he pulled himself out and lifted himself up to a standing position.  Braun lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lips.  

“There Eloise, next time you gas up your tank should be the last time you need to,” he ran a hand through his thick, wild hair.  The women unconsciously but audibly sighed.

“I don’t know what it is about him.  I mean, I can’t stand smokers,” Gladys whispered to Marge.  Braun heard them and siddled up to Gladys.  She thought he smelled so good and, "manly.”

“This is no ordinary cigarette.  I get my smokes from a friend of mine, Fred Neal.  They’re vitamin and pheromone cigarettes.”  He exhaled smoke past her ear.

Mary, the youngest and newest admirer leaned toward Eloise, “Isn’t this the janitor?”

Braun leaned toward Mary and flashed one of his thousand watt smiles, “Stationary Engineer actually.”

"What's that accent, French?"  Marge asked Gladys.

"German I think."

"Are you Australian, Mr. Engineer?"  Marge asked.

"If you'd like," Braun smiled at her and started to walk away.

"What did you do, exactly?"  Eloise asked, though Marge gave her a hard nudge for making Braun turn around.

"I can't tell you exactly, and I would certainly never tell you a tall tale about cold fusion."  He lifted his sunglasses and winked, then returned them and left.

"Cold fusion?" Eloise muttered.  The four women turned and approached the car.  It was just the opening Braun was waiting for.  He pressed a button on his tool belt and was instantly transported to his basement work room.

"Mr. Verne!"  Bob Ellgie was standing by the workbench with a device in his hand when the transportation alcove flashed like a lightning bolt party celebrating new years and roared like a train crashing into another train that was at the same time being crashed into by an airliner.

Braun stepped out of the cloud of steam the alcove had generated, his clothing and hair crusted with frost, "That’s new"

"What is that contraption?"  Bob roared.  Bob was a large man in height and girth.  He had been an NFL offensive lineman before his knee went.  He was the hair-trigger tempered regional manager in the office.

"What?"

"That thing with the lights and noise and smoke."

"That's not smoke, it's vapor.  I know what you're thinking, is vapor really safer than smoke.  I mean, they say it is, but aren't they just trying to sell you something and wouldn't they-"

"What are you talking about?"  It really looked like Bob's tie was going to pop right off his neck.

"Oh," Braun suddenly realized what Bob had in his hand when he noticed the big man's squeeze getting tighter on it.  "You really don't want to be squeezing that."  He stepped forward and gingerly tried to pry it out of Bob’s hand.  Their finger war was brief, but it gave Bob enough time to calm down.  Once his rage passed Braun was able to get the device loose and slipped it away.

“What was that?”

“What brings you down to my humble work area, Mr Ellgie?”

Bob didn’t know where the device had gone, but he knew enough that if Braun didn’t want him to touch it, it was probably something incredibly dangerous, and Braun would be verbaly as slipery as a greased pig if he tried to ask about it.  He let the matter slip and focused on the reason he was down there.

“You’re fired.”

“Wh-, wha-, what?”

It was the first time Bob had ever seen Braun speechless.  He savored it a moment and chuckled under his breath.  He rarely got the better of Braun with words and had never knocked him on his ass like this.  He felt a moment of pity.

“That’s not actually true.”  Braun relaxed his shoulders and gathered himself to rise again.  Bob realized he had to keep the initiative.

“You are let go, your position has been eliminated.  The company has decided to outsource the engineering, maintenance and housekeeping functions.  It was all done several levels over my head and is strictly financial in nature.”  His rapid fire sentences peppered Braun keeping him from getting to his rhetorical feet.

“Bu-”

“As soon as I found out I called everyone I knew and called in every favor, but it was too late.  I’m sorry Braun.”  He crossed his arms in finality.

Braun nodded and ran his tongue around his teeth.  He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"You can't-"

Braun held up a hand, took a long drag and blew out the smoke, "I'm a victim of my own success."  He shrugged and looked around the room.

"Upper management does feel that everything is running so smoothly they can hire an outside vendor to keep it at this level for a third the cost of-"

"Of me.  I get it."  He nodded.

"I am sorry to have you leave.  As much as you were a pain in my behind, I can tell that you were the one responsible for lowering operating costs 75%."

"How long do I have?"

"Today will be your last day.  You have until close of business to collect your things and leave."

"My things?"

"You will have to leave all company property of course.  You can take any personal tools, but you signed an intellectual property clause."

"Meaning anything I designed and built for the company is company property."

"Anything you got a patent for yes. It would technically be the company's patent."

Braun nodded broadly and dragged on his cigarette, "You have no idea what that is?"  He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the transportation alcove.

"A steam-"

"And that device you had in your hand; no idea?"

"No."

Braun smiled cautiously.  He pulled out his cell phone and called his friend, "Hey Fred, Braun here.  About that job offer…"

Braun patted Bob on the upper arm, "I'll be out by lunch.  I'll just have to say goodbye to some of the ladies."

"The Case of Reverse Engineering" Part 3: Finale

This is the final installment of my original story, "The Case of Reverse Engineering."

For the previous parts go to PART 1 and PART 2

"The Case of Reverse Engineering" 

Finale

"Of course you could see from the photographs that there was something of a misunderstanding between our party and our visitor that led to hard feelings and some careless use of flammables.  It is unfortunately how the traveler eventually succumbed."

"How long was the visitor with you?"

"Motile?  About a week.  Some of the team were upset when it became clear that the visitor was not a lifeless carcass.  I suppose it went against some firmly held beliefs.  They couldn't reconcile the facts and their beliefs.  It was quite unpleasant.  But you asked how we survived the series of disasters that befell our camp afterwards and I can sum it up by saying that we kept our heads and maintained a low profile."


I could believe this guy could keep a low profile.

"How was it you ended up with the technology?"

"We were the only physicists left.  Of the six we had a meteorologist, a biologist, a pilot and a geologist besides ourselves.  It only seemed logical that we take it.  We were the most qualified of the scientist who actually saw it while it was working."

"Professor Melitene said it was found.  The visitor didn't work with you on it?"

"Did he say it was found?  That's odd.  Some of us worked with the visitor on the technology, although it was so far beyond our understanding we weren't much more than errand boys fetching things and holding lights and such."

"Did Doctor Blair work on it?"

"Certainly; he was indispensable, God rest his soul."  He looked at us carefully.  It was such a deep look that it stopped all questioning until he started it again.  "You do know he was a pathologist, not an engineer or physicist.  He was very keen on the visitor and kept very good notes though.  You worked on those notes didn't you, Doctor Gottschalk?"

"Yes.  How exactly did you communicate with the alien?"
Allouez smiled more broadly than ever, "You know, you three are quite impressive.  No one else in the room, or indeed in the whole time of this experience, has raised the questions you have.  Your curiosity is almost overwhelming.  I think I'm going to have to share something with you, but first I need to confer with my colleague.  Would you please excuse me?"

He didn't give us a chance to accept or refuse.  He slipped away and grabbed Melitene by the elbow.  They huddled for a few minutes.

"I know it sounds crazy," Gottschalk whispered, "but I just have to tell you two.  I think the only way Blair could possibly have written that diary is if he had been possessed.  I know that makes no sense at all and possession is impossible-"

"Doyle said, 'first you must eliminate the impossible and whatever you have left, however improbable is the truth.'"

"Regardless.  I can't think of any other way to explain it.  Almost anything Allouez comes back with will have to be more believable."

He and Melitene ended their conference with cautious smiles and thoughtful nods.  Melitene returned to his throng of well-wishers and Allouez returned to us.

"We've come to an agreement.  As long as you three commit to absolute secrecy I can tell you exactly how our visitor survived and how we communicated.  They are one in the same explanation."

We agreed.

"You have heard of Watson and Crick's description of the DNA molecule?"

We had all read the articles of the recent discovery

"All life on earth is based on reproducible molecules in the nucleus of cells that contains the necessary information for the creation and maintenance of all the cells in the life form.  This is universal and the most basic part of life on earth.  The alien has a completely different system.

"The alien's cells are completely malleable and subject to control of their shape and properties even after their formation, unlike earth life where the cells are created with a specific purpose and characteristics; and maintain those during their entire life.

"Because the alien can consciously control each and every cell at all times it is able to assume any shape, any characteristic as a whole entity."

"How does it control each cell consciously?"

"Every cell is an individual representative of the whole.  Every cell carries a little bit of consciousness."

"Every cell can think?"

"No, but every cell is part of the thinking process.  Because any cell can perform any function there are no dedicated nerve cells, no centralized nervous system.  The whole body is the nervous system.  The whole biomass works in the thinking process.  It's a network, like the neural network in your brain, except more extensive, more permeating, more holistic."

He was beginning to lose us.

"It's entirely more flexible.  It can adapt as an individual to any situation, given enough time and enough information."

"Evolution on an individual basis?"  Gottschalk suggested.

"More than that; because it can adapt over and over again, assuming any characteristics it needs."

"Looking like whatever it wants," Winkle said.

"Yes."

"Like a person?"

"Yes."

"Like you?"

"It could make itself into a copy of me, certainly."

"And it eats to gain mass as well as for energy, right?"

"Yes, very good point.  The alien can assume any shape as long as it has enough biomass to assume that shape.  It couldn't shape itself into a whale for instance if it is only man-sized to begin with."

"But everything it eats can be converted into these all-purpose cells, right?  So conceivably it could eat a whole whale as long as it converts the cells into its own kind of universal erector-set cells as it goes."

"It could."

"Every part of the creature is a whole unto itself and the creature is a network of cells that all communicate, right?  I'm not a scientist, but I do like to read a lot.  I thought the cells in our brain communicate through electrical impulses and chemical receptors.  How do the cells in these creatures communicate?  Telepathy?"

Allouez laughed quietly, "Exactly right; you are very astute Miss Kostka, by telepathy."

"Telepathy within an individual creature?"

"Within individuals and between them; all the aliens are networks within themselves and between every other of their kind."

"What about our kind?"  Gottschalk asked.

Allouez paused and then answered cautiously, "Yes, on some basic, limited levels."

"An alien could eat another creature and as it's eating convert the food creature directly into something like itself, then it could communicate to the new creature what it was thinking.  Wouldn't it be an exact copy of itself then?"

"Yes."

"Or it could make itself into a duplicate of the thing it just ate.  For instance, if I were an alien I could eat Doctor Gottschalk, and convert her cells all into alien cells, but when that was done we could communicate telepathically, like we had one brain and decide that her body would continue to look like Doctor Gottschalk and I would continue to look like me, but she wouldn't be Doctor Gottschalk anymore."

"Is that what happened?"  Gottschalk took up the questions, "Did the alien convert Blair into one of its own kind?"

Allouez smiled, "That is what we understand happened.  It was more than that though, don't you see?  The creature doesn't eat the way you are thinking, and it doesn't lose what was Blair to begin with.  It takes it up.  Blair became so much more than just Blair, but the new Blair was still Blair in some ways."

"The Ship of Theseus paradox?"

"Yes!  In the end you have two ships."

"And then two more," I said, "Until there's nothing but ships."

"No, no.  It's not like that.  The creature wasn't trying to replace the world's population, they thought it was, but that was an assumption Blair made.  They thought the creature wanted to replace them all."

"So you killed the thing."

"Not me, but yes.  It was paranoia, fear of the unknown."

"Fear of loss of individuality."

"Look, when you eat a cow the cow dies, but when the creature consumes another in this way the other doesn't really die.  Don't you think you would appreciate the cow more if you could learn what its life is like and it wouldn't die but join you as a thinking being?"

"But you killed it, the Blair thing and the others as well."

Allouez was quiet.

"You killed every telepathic cell of it; every cell that was a whole unto itself is gone now?"

He said nothing.

"Why was it building that backpack?  It wasn't sharing any technology, was it?  Why do you want to rebuild it?"

"We don't."

"They want to rebuild the starship," Winkle said.  Shit she was right.  The backpack was just a small version of what the starship ran on.  "You need the financial backing and the minds of the university to rebuild the starship."

"But if the alien isn't all dead why can't it build the ship?"  I asked.

"There wasn't enough left, was there?"

"Of course," Gottschalk said, "there were only scattered cells left, not enough to make anything like a sizable brain.  Even if every cell can be a brain cell, you need enough of them to really think."

"You would.  When we've built the ship the stars will be available to us all."

"We?  There is still an alien thing alive, isn't there?"

Allouez smiled again, "'That is not dead than can eternal lie.'  You don't need to become one with the visitor, but wouldn't you like to see the stars?  If still here wouldn't you want the visitor to be able to return home?"

"How would we know we're not being telepathically manipulated?"

"How can we be sure you don't want to replace everybody?"

"One or both of you is the alien thing, aren't you?"  Winkle asked the ultimate question.


"What if all six of us are; what would you do?"  He asked, and smiled.

Home Sick and Missed Meetings

I'm not feeling well today and it reminded me of the one time I was sick when I was deployed to Afghanistan in 2004 - 2005.

The story is, I was sick once and I stayed in bed all day.

That's it, not much there, but I think it may be noteworthy that it only happened once.  I think I was sick with a fever.

I did get sick in my stomach once leading to a day of running to the bathroom often, but I still went to work.

Mostly in Afghanistan I worked out of my office which was a tent adjacent to my sleeping tent, so apart from the fact the bathrooms were a hundred yards of so away in another place, it was pretty convenient for being sick.

I did miss one meeting once.  I just lost track of time and sat at my desk while the meeting took place three tents away.  We had set one tent up to be a conference room.  The crazy thing is they could have just come over and gotten me, but I had never missed a meeting before when I was on the base.  This was about seven or eight months into the deployment so I had a pretty good track record.  They all figured if I were missing the meeting I must have a good reason for it.

There was one other time when I missed a meeting.  Well, I didn't miss it exactly, I had to leave early.

We had once a week meetings with the Base Commanders and our 33rd ASG Commander, COL Havey by conference call and shared slides.  At work now we use Webex but I don't know what we used then.

We had five bases, Kabul, Bagram Air Field (BAF), Kandahar Air Field (KAF), an Air Base in Uzbekistan and my base, Salerno Forward Operations Base (FOB).  My base was the least developed and the most active.  We were attacked by rockets many times including our first and last nights.  The base in Uzbekistan wasn't even considered in the combat area.  They put their weapons in a vault from the time they arrived to the time they left.

We each had to give reports on many things including threat levels and responses.  My reports were usually on attacks, responses, bunker emplacement, barrier emplacement and perimeter security.

In one meeting the LTC base Operations commander of the Uzbekistan base reported they were implementing random threat level drills.  What this meant was they would go to a threat level each day.  One day they might be required to wear their body armor all day.   Another they might be required to wear just their helmets all day.

While he was reporting on this we got attacked by rocket fire.  I interrupted politely, "Excuse me colonel, I have to be signing off now.  We are getting attacked.  I'll report back when it's over."

The attack lasted about 45 minutes (if I remember correctly) and there were probably a half dozen rockets launched at us.  All the attacks seemed to blend together so I'm not at all sure about that.

At least it got me out of a meeting.