THE ANSWER has family situations

I was of course at that very moment distracted by who had be the most absolutely unbelievably beautiful womyn I have ever seen. Clad in what looked to me from the distance of my babe radar to be strands of glowing multicolored twine that did not hide much of what was underneath. Her outfit appeared to be well ventilated by the various gaps in the windings which got bigger as she strode right at me on an obvious collision course. I intended to take no evasive action. She got more beautiful by the step all soft brown eyes long blond and brunette and a touch of warning ramp iridescent blue wrapped in string that shimmered with multiple states of active data management. That haute couture stuff don’t hold much memory though, no room for defense or weapons systems in barely 3 or 4 square centimeters of fabric total. I contemplated this tiny amount of very expensive very wired in any literal context clothing and I knew that weapons and defense are unnecessary to her for her defense was the stunning shock of her gorgeousness and her only weapon was whatever came next. It was with surrender to the helpless inevitability of presence that I made eye contact to draw her to me for she must speak with me. I must speak to her. Who knows I might get lucky.

“Oh so you don’t remember me?” Her voice had a SA musical accent that made me miss the beaches of Rio. She must know me from there.

“I could never forget a womyn so dazzlingly gorgeous as you!” I certainly must have been in love with her.

“Paul! Paul I knew I could count on you! That you would remember and do the right thing.”

“I...I... always try to do the right thing you know that!” And I do too…I do. She drew back from the bear hug she had me in to look deeply into my eyes.

“Paul I have missed you so much! I think about you constantly, worry about your health your safety, are you dancing? Are you singing?… enjoying life…” I truly still have no idea who this person is.

“I just spent bout a year and a half asleep in space…not that much dancing or singing…” I pulled her close to me again speaking through her fruity smelling hair. Without skipping a nano second she continued:

“life is for enjoying…we should have joy…I think of the joy we shared…the amour and the joy…I was joyful, I am joyful...every time I look at our son I think of that joyful time we were together…” She was squeezing the comprehension out of me, or maybe trying to squeeze the comprehension into me that I really ought to figure out who she is and when she is talking about. Wait a minute….! “Son?” And this is the moment that I notice the person that had been walking behind her was in fact her companion and was stepping forward as if on cue. This most stupendously voluptuous sculpted faced super babe dressed in the merest of electronic strings grabbed my face with both hands nose to nose her breath a bouquet, brown almond eyes beneath perfect eyelashes featherlike brows locking into my attention like a screen frozen fashion portrait. I felt a twinge of panic. She was fully weaponized and aimed locked onto me. “Yes Paul we have a beautiful son together…” This statement gained my face release. She turned to the tall quite handsome well toned superbly dressed in a faux linen euro cut ent heavy pilot suited young man standing at my elbow lamis. “This is Paul Dvorak! Your Father!” and then she had me by the face again framed as a portrait of myself by her tanned and manicured red lacquered fingers. “This is your son Paoulo Dvorak…” I am released a like child from the grips of an elderly aunt, a crazy beautiful young elderly aunt. She is a tall pile of beauty as big as me with my surgically extended legs. Got some grip strength too. I staggered back a step in recoil. Physical and psychological recoil. “Whhaa??!!” was the closest to I could get to a clever rejoiner. Suit was being no help at all. Who is this woman? Oops I might a said that out loud.

“Oh my god…” slowly. “Your Father he doesn’t remember me…!!” Spinally I was prepared, coiled to twist away were she to lunge at my face again as a tiny image of her appeared across the lami display right forearm of my suit. Suit had come through and had her ID’d for me as Serene of Earth News Entmedia. Whom I had had a drunken date with after a banquet on a moon of Mars. “Mmmaarrss.” I stuttered out. And so I am hugged by her in reward.

“Yes darling yes darling Paul. It is I Serene who has always loved you. “ I hug him back. The lug. Gosh. He is the most beautiful guy I’ve ever met. I remember back that what was it?…6 an a half 7 years ago huh?… Becky was… then I drunk yeah hmmm right before the war…only first few days there at MERSC Mars Phobos fuel complex/hotel…she was a him…anndd.

“Wait a minute!…. He’s …what?…too old …how can you be my son when? And…besides…ugh…em. Uh huh.” Hah I had them! Who’s the young guy? Serene’s new lover? What fun it was getting drunk with a bunch of Brazilians again. Knowing them as I do, it could be this young guy is at least fifty. “I only met you six years ago! And you’re… you know…um couldn’t anyway. We didn’t do anything that, I mean come on…” I pleadingly looked from on to other…jokes over.

“There was enough love between us to produce our wonderful son. And he is only six years old one week ago!” He looks at me blank faced rocking lightly back on the heels of his lizard skin deck boots. Like a child would do. Serene strokes his square shoulder. “Poaoulo…” she murmurs, “and you did not even send a card!” turning on me swatting at my defensive anti face grab posture. “What kind of Father ignores his son!?”

Suits been busy and whispers in my ear that Paoulo is in fact legally only six years old. “Thanks Carla.“ The ID produced by his suit systems is valid! I notice my display shows his birth in space at Medisat 12, which has also been his address for the first four years of his growth spurt that has him now at least 2 meters tall. My son is a canned plus! They cloned my DNA tacked on an extra chromosome and cloned his/her DNA tacked on some more chromosomes shoved em together in a vat of goo and now I’ve got a son! What a great looking kid! I bet he’s good at sports. When he grows up in a year or two he’ll be eight, nine feet tall by then! He’s got my brains and athletic physique and her/his beauty. What could I do? I grab my new sons face in both hands an exclaim proudly:

“My son! I’ll love you forever!”

Another even more fifty types of time



Imaginary time; burning time; who's got the time; dimensional time; hard time; before time; check out time; past time; elastic time; amniotic time; from another time; boogie time; quinquagesimal time; time is a naked womyn standing in the snow; antebellum time; give it more time; acceptable time; time after time; distorted time; cross brane time; fictional time; wonder what time; having a little more time; anomaltistic time; Space B-A-T-H time; counting time; god's time; vintage time; archaean time; war time; drunken brain time; infinite time; waste of time; many a time; post to first comment time; bureaucratic time; Madame Claude’s girls time; timeless time; astrological time; waist of time; awesome time; circadian time; being on time; my time; how much time; every other time; money time; watch the time; Moody response time; happy time; appropriate time; where to find the time; third marstimi tine

excerpt from 

THE LESSON 

RIDING THE BUBBLE

“You’re Liaisons! So liaise already!”

The Moon Luna my home. Liaisons my cockroaches, always underfoot.

I love the Moon enviro, the endless half-tube halls radiating like wheel spokes from the giant domes, the caves, the craters, the fractional gravity, the Earthrise, I love it all! Here on Luna I can be as connected as I want to be. When I want some privacy from the monitoring I can go off into orbit and around to the dark side near the poles. Too many people bother me and I’m gone with suit shut down. Sometimes I prefer action, the action of escape. Chaos of avoidance is better than nothing going on with hundreds of liaisons waiting for my next move.

“You are the laziest bunch of liaisons as I’ve ever liaised!”

“Why don’t you do something? Anything?” Oh! Turn it back on me eh! Demanding flock of vultures! It’s only been two weeks of mourning dead Wilson Phillips’s, waiting for some new break, waiting for Mars to get closer.

“Me! Okay then get all your bosses on vid holo! Now!”

“What! We’re all bosses!”

“You guys are all teeny tiny itty bitty shrimpy bosses! I want to talk now to the guys you grovel for! I know their names; don’t make me call them myself! You’re all liaisons to me so it’s your jobs!”

“What?”

“What!”

“Mines on vacation…”

“Call her boss!”

All this commanding I did to the liaise staff meeting left me with the dilemma of having something truly important to tell all their bosses. I think basically I’ll tell them each not to worry. Of course a sure way to make anyone worry is to tell them not to. That ought to stir up some chaos.

The Luna com techs tell me that soon there won’t be any gaps or blind spots left in the con nets. I’ll miss the adventure of escape. Since I noticed that the music amplifier system at the “Eagles Landing” tavern blocks all the monitoring com modes off my suit I’ve been having all the liaison meetings there. This gets rid of many of the University teams who haven’t got the best gear. Their commo problems don’t affect me.

“You!” I pointed to her.

”Um… should I go?”

“What? And leave me alone? No I need to talk with you about operations on Mars. The weather.”

“Sure.”

“It’s Agnes isn’t it? Agnes M…mm…?”

“Agnes Muesel.”

The power of my job is so sweet sometimes. Everyone fears a Senior Researcher ‘without portfolio‘. I have only myself to fear. Someday I might have to research myself! Later. Right now I have the top investigation available with a live Librarian to boot and unlimited budget for my travels and interests. Appointed for life but not immune to impeachment or prosecution. No time limit on cases. No caseload over two priority cases; I prefer them one at a time. No restrictions to jurisdiction or precedent, only periodic desperate justification necessary.

I am a scrutinizer, an interpreter of historical events, a spy upon civilization. A somewhat slow to arrive Knight In Shining Lami, a bully of bureaucracies, a scare’r of conspirators unrestricted by superiors, unrestrained by politics or association, unaffected by proximity to events. I get sent by a situation in revelation not by a boss who can fire me if I don’t cover up or distort or obstruct justice or hide the truth like a turned journalist. I am sworn to tell the truth, all the truth, every truth, and every truth relevant, even half-truths and the untruths. This of course also includes every lie available, every excuse, every side to the total story. I make a list of all the versions of history and present them all. But it is I who writes the final report. Even if no one ever reads it, so what! If it changes Governments or the course of war, so be it. I am an inquisitor to scare everyone with the idea of impartiality not impartial not prejudiced but inclusive complete. Let historians in the future decide who was right. My job is to appease everyone’s present sense of guilt that everything possible be done, be looked at, be considered, be included.

All of this inclusiveness is very conducive to the accumulation of liaisons. They collect like thirsty miners to a comp bar. They come and go at the whims of the mechanisms of every compartmentalized organization I encounter. I have yet to have actually ever requested the services of a liaison from anywhere, they are sent to me. I accept them to further my minor remote control of those who send them. A fresh large contingent of liaisons to an investigation is a sure sign of their boss’s interest in whatever it is I’m up to. I see it as all good Governmental fun of joining in as subtle as arm twisting. Once at a surface interview I witnessed an armed robbery from across a shopping district lane. I alerted my cortege of local police and military liaisons. They were much more interested in relating to their relative superiors that I had accosted them and precipitated the subsequent shootout! ‘If you get killed our job is to just call it in!’ I was told. ‘It’s up to your own bodyguard to cover your ass!’ Bodyguard! I was supposed to have a bodyguard!? This was news to me. I decided that day that in any dangerous situation I would send the liaisons in first ahead of me whenever possible.

I’m usually welcomed by my subjects and at locations given tours, orientations, liaisons and guides. And I can tell when things are getting hot in the high up tippity top offices; that when my liaisons get pulled it is always a good indication of toes being stepped on inadvertently or otherwise.

My staff Helen, Moody, Demarist, John D and all those others whose names I’ve never remembered are often primarily occupied with dealing with this multitude who wish to participate in following me around. It’s their job to remember every bodies name not mine.

All this liaise-ing going on, all this interest in my activities does not make me paranoid at all. Oh no, not me. I deal with their incessant pestering involvement merely by scaring them all shitless every chance I can get. As in demanding to talk to all their bosses.

The excitement created by the events I am usually investigating is always far gone into the past. I am more an event archeologist then compiler of current events. I’m a gatherer of evidence and opinions well after things have cooled down, hopefully, usually. The position of Unattached Independent Senior Researcher Investigator was chartered to interview aged soldiers about thirty or forty years old war crimes. We are research historians with the power to tell the Librarians who to declare war on, sort of, well suggest maybe that some data will be lost or truth unlearned. ‘Chroniclers with clubs!’ Kinda history cops with computers and everybody’s number.

Unfortunately very many people also have my number. At my tube home at Crater View Estates even Agnes and I as we liaise cannot evade the tentacles of access. Our liaison-ing is interrupted.

”Hello!” Gah! Crap tank leaks! I forgot to set the message up again and tab no vid. “Anybody home?”

“Helen.” I acknowledge her 3D intrusion. “Thanks suit you jock sack!” I mumble to a booping that sounds vaguely like an electronic chuckle.

“Oh hello! Whoa…big guy scores! Hi Honey, I’m Helen. Can’t shake hands I’m just a beam of light! Ha ha.”

“Agnes…Helen.” I introduce my Liaison to the light beam.

“I should go…”

“No darling don’t go I’m not the jealous type.”

“I got to go um…bye…ah Helen.” Agnes flees.

“We were discussing the weather on Mars.”

“Must be hot there tonight.”

“You scared away my date!”

“You Pig! Liaison-ing with liaisons again I see!”

“Well…what?”

“What! Well I’ll be there next week! The Moon! The big cheese! I blast off!”

“Oh go blast off then!” I playfully tease her constantly about her, our, interplanetary ship that sits in seemingly endless delay. “Are you ready? What about Mars? It’s time to go!”

“Sorry Boss. Moon first. Mars maybe. In a month, maybe.”

“That might be too late for the data.”

“I know so I got you an appointment with Vorax on VORAX. He’s there right now.” A little reminder; like I could forget another famous genius trillionaire inventor. “He’s got a great new interplanetary. Maybe he’ll lend it to us!”

“What’s he like? Is there really a chance here?”

“I think so. Read his bio. He and de Boveray been rivals before. He’s crazy and just might let us have a ship if I can‘t get ours ready in time.”

“Sure.”

“You’re gonna owe me Paul!”

“Anything for you!”

“I pulled the strings to get you in there. He can get us to Mars. I’m not cashing this in till it’s something worth it. I want you to owe me! You’re gonna pay interest on this!”

“Yes Helen whatever you want. You can have the pick of the liaisons!” That caused her to shoot me a sour frown face.

She hung up. She’s right time is running out. Two weeks after getting mind fucked by hippies, two weeks of chasing dead Wilson Phillips’s it time to get with it and get a ship from somewhere.

Fifty more more types of time

Caught in time; railroad time; time to pay; aztec time; pau time; timeless time; stromatilite time; winter time; slime time; particles of time; scintillating time; in the mean time; southern indiana time; trying time; where's the time; balance time; school time; awhile time; having time; spawn time; calculation time; zero vaue time; sacred time; quotidian time; micro time; serious time; intervals of time; cyclic time; modeling time; elastic time; faster then time; eternal time; partial time; time of time; down time; bottle time; fight time; simulated time; draconic time; the time; whatever time; take your time; report time; molting time; splitting time; moon goddess time; corolarial time; theatrical time; session time; ; cheating time; space walkies time

THE LESSON has rigorous research

THE POWER OF EMBARRASSMENT

Next is Boise to the Brits Science platform Bed and Breakfast Hotel in low orbit for a good meal and some sleep then a quick stop at a geo sync orbit Power Company relay satellite.

The taxi driver proved difficult, even a bit borderline psychotic. He makes me wonder why it is I prefer a live driver pilot. That’s what I get for not taking a robotic handi-cab.

“I could lose my license!” He has been threatening to not take me to my destination since he picked me up at the New Paddington docking portal and yet we keep getting closer. I consider investigating his ass later, or better commandeering his taxi.

“No! No! No! I don’t want to go to that station it’s quarantined!”

“Yes! It’s not quarantined. Your taking me straight there no detours! You‘ll go or I‘ll have my office get your license yanked!” I should have taken a handicab.

“You’re nuts!”

“I was just there yesterday.” I lied. I ask suit to check and the Michelin Guide says it is not quarantined and open for guests with resort class tube suites for short or long term booking.

“I’ll be stuck on a quarantined can! If I get stuck there I’ll sue! You shoulda took the fucking bus! Get your fucking boss on your comz I’m gonna complain about you!”

“How about a tip this big?” I had a monet transfer ready on vid up. He accepted it by tapping a wallet lami on his sleeve. “And by the way I’m my own fucking boss. What’s your Goddamn complaint?”

It’s been going back and forth with him for couple hours now. Fortunately a sturdy barrier separated us. Space just looked on this typical human economic behavior with canine disdain. He argued till we were well past halfway there. I think he was planning on ditching us elsewhere on the way. He got balky as soon as he saw Space hop into his cab with me. “No dogs policy.” he said “Senior Researcher” I said. I had to slip him extra monets for Space too.

“Just what the hell part of the Government are you from anyway?”

“Not exactly the Government…I can investigate the Government…in fact I do frequently even…right now is like…”

“Nothings bigger than the Government! What could be bigger than the Government?”

“History.”

“Oh Shit! Now you’re talking like one of those militant Librarians! Fuck!”

“I know a few Librarians. I got one assigned to me on this right now.”

“Fuck! Now I’m Fucked! To a quarantined can!”

“Better take me where I want to go!”

“Bastard! You trying to set me up?” More tipping appeased his reservations.

Everybody has their own little chunk of power that they hold onto tightly with both hands. They love to get you by the balls, get you trapped in the little sphere they drive so they can fuck somebody more powerless then they are sometime. Here I am trapped at the hands of a psycho taxi pilot again.

Soon enough loomed the shiny docking orifice of TSI the huge power relay satellite station.

“Hello and Welcome to you travelers of Space.” “Arf!” Space had heard his name. How cutie. A bald headed womyn greeter holo had flashed onto the divider screen. The driver his jaw set said nothing in reply to the docking controllers. The monets drained form my accounts to cover the fare and more tipping. “TSI the power sat now has available for transient accommodation fourteen luxury resort spa power suites.” it’s preprogrammed translator glitch’d, “Please of you to check with the serv-o-mat concierge for confirmed of reservation,” So suit confirmed of. “Check out time is 1200 hours Universal time.” Gotta reset my sleeve lami chrono from Galaxy time.

The orifice opened in the gantry tube for our taxi door. It was like jerky industrial sex, highly mechanically un satisfying.

“Sure you don’t want to stay for a bit?” I teased the taxi jockey as he scowled and sealed the door behind me and Space. I noticed right away they had some gravity on this can. I hummed along with Bolero as we strolled towards the two pale figures that awaited us.

“Golly Space they’re nekkid!”

At first intrigued to see two naked women waiting for me I was soon running through possible explanations in my mind. Quarantine means no clothes? Laundry day? Optional Friday? Kinky sex satellite station? I had so many soundtrack choices I let suit choose and got a wah wah guitar porn vid theme. It was then that the burly men stepped up from out of view and with the wymyn grabbed me and my doggy. As I was lifted off my feet one of the wymyn began to explain.

“Welcome. We are the greeting and decontamination team. I hope you find your visit a pleasant one.” 

I begin to feel this is a bad, bad sign.

“Decontamination! I’m not contaminated! He’s been taking worm pills, he’s better! Just check!” One of the men lifted Space’s tail and checked.

“At TSI all potentially contaminating substances must be controlled.” They removed my very favorite shuttle suit tearing out lots of hair with the telemetry lami's. This shuts down the background muzac.

“OW! Ow! Ouch! Ouch! Don’t do that! Hey! No! Easy! No! Ouch!”

“That little bit of hair won’t matter much you’ll see.” How reassuring.

“Put me down! Give me back my clothes! Ya know you could a just asked.”

Space struggled briefly with the wymyn that captured him only to be subdued with an obviously drugged dog biscuit.

“Hey watch it he’ll bite you guys! He won’t let anybody touch me! Get em Space! Get em! Kill!” 

Another biscuit gobbled and he started to purr like a kitten and went limply along for the ride as they un-strapped his little ETAC suit. “Get em! Get em! All that money for attack school! Let me go!”

“Not before your bath’s and shaves.”

“Huh?” Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The procession of naked people restraining me and Space proceeded into a large sani-cerami tiled chamber with medical looking loungi-cliners where we were placed gently. I decided not to struggle and save some strength for escape.

“First your shaves.”

“What? Huh? Our shaves? What do you mean by ours?” It was then that I finally fully observed that they were all bald, in fact hairless, everywhere. How could I have not noticed this? No eyebrows! No furry lower triangles. No pit patches!

“Wait no! You can’t shave me! I’m Swiss! I’m a Senior Researcher! I’m from the Government!”

“We know who you are Mr. Dvorak your reservations have been confirmed. Everyone that visits this station must be shaved. We leave only eyelash’s and snout whiskers.” I don’t remember that being mentioned in the Michelin guide.

“And naked? Everyone’s naked?”

“Yes and everyone includes your friend here.”

“Huh?”

Space made his “Huh?’ face and began to look a bit desperate. We made eye contact as they came at him with the vacuum razors.

“He sheds anyway. He’s usually naked. But not me! I’ve got a rash! Everyone will stare! Please no!”

“Your taxi is gone and they won’t come here to pick anybody up for some reason and the bus doesn’t come by for three days so you must stay. You must be decontaminated.”

I struggled until the drugged dog biscuit they forced me to eat kicked in and I joined Space in that soapy happy little cloud land where we floated together me, Mr. Freshly Aerodynamic and my rather large flop eared hairless Chihuahua looking dog.

I felt quite tingly everywhere. Later after a hot bath with a thorough scrubbing by a stiff mesh pad performed by the two wymyn we looked squeaky clean slick. We were rubbed with fragrant decontamination oil as the mickey biscuits wore off.

“This was an invasion of my follicles! I’ll sue for hair loss! I’ll investigate!” They again subdued me with drugs. And as Space watched I was then involuntarily educated at the typical toilet and red door orientation. We all got a good laugh at Space using the vacu-john. I learned that the quarantine was not to keep everyone in but to keep everything out, including my clothes and our hair. There were no poly woven wired fiber garments beyond the orientation areas. My suit would be returned to me when I depart. Everything here including small dogs and people is cleaned by air blast abrasive suction which blasts off any new little hairs. There will be no more water baths at gravity within this station. There is no gravity beyond the orientation area, it would affect the flow of energies in the super conductor power transmitters. The residents work out in hyper body chambers and eat bone strengthening supplements and sleep in gravitized Velcro tubes to keep down the zero G effects.

A Luxury suite meant I got two bisecting tubes. It was a double Holiday Inn size area but hardly Ritz luxurious. Well, who needs more room at Zero G anyway. Not like I need closet space or clothes drawers.

This is the only non-Governmental orbital power station where solar energy is transformed into energetic wave forms and transmitted to the Earth’s surface and elsewhere. While it delivers energy to its customers it records usage levels for billing purposes.

“W24 receives charging bursts from us in the far laser frequencies.” Explained my beautiful bald slick tour guide Myra. Her lovely green eyes flashing brightly in warm flora lami light.

“Lemme see the records for these time periods please.”

“Oh, slight spike there. They got three charges in a row when they usually only get one.”

“It used a lot of juice. Why? Maneuvering?”

“I don’t know. The celestial address stays the same. They didn’t change orbit. Its charge got drained quick somehow.”

“A little burst of power needed here too.”

“Yeah an extra charge up, a double charge burst.”

“Wow.” Myra looked me over slowly.

“Couldn’t you have found all this out remotely. Why did you come here personally to get this data when it’s in the cache at Corp HQ?”

“It’s just not the same as this.” Space gave me that rolling the eyes look that tells me he is sure I am an idiot. We all floated hairless and naked in a room full of power company computer equipment. She leads on to the billing records console screens so we can see where the W24 bill was sent. Following her graceful trajectory makes the full body shave worthwhile.

“Isn’t it amazing how bodies react in space.” I’m sure she can plainly see that gravity is not necessary for some things to rise and fall.

The almost war

In the winter of 1975 to 1976 I found myself pledged through contract default of my US Army enlistment deal for Germany to serving 18 months deployed to South Korea. All of Korea I had learned from the TV sitcom M*A*S*H and the Movie that had inspired it. I didn’t watch it much. I hadn't liked the movie. The hair was all wrong. Nobody in 1950-52 had hair like that, like they just stepped out of a shampoo commercial, fluffy headed over the ears 1970s hair. I thought if they couldn’t even get the hair right how much of it could be accurate. Smart Alec-y Doctors make me nervous too.

And now that I had managed by accident to have graduated from Infantry School at Fort Polk Louisiana the Drill Sargent was telling me they had too many buck Privates in Germany and I couldn't go. Technically this put them in default of my enlistment contract. He mumbled that I could get out if I really wanted. The new post Viet Nam all voluteer military could no longer force you to go somewhere you didn't want to go, at least not right out of training.

Well there went my plans to tour Europe while based near a Bavarian town full of large breasted blonde girls handing me giant mugs of beer. I could get anywhere else of course 'just not Germany' he said. A guy in the barracks, a re-enlisted Viet Nam vet, had talked up Thailand a bunch so I blurted out “Thailand” and the Sargent gave me a look like 'yeah right' and said he'd see what he could do. I sat in the hallway on a plastic chair while he pretended to 'request' or 'pull strings' or whatever he would have done if he had actually tried for ten minutes, which was probably how long it took him to smoke a leisurely cigarette, before he called me in to say all he could get me was “Korea for 18 months”. It counted as a 'hardship tour' so I would get more pay. The Army wants me to go to Korea? They need privates there? It's like by Japan right? Like the mash place? He 'yes'd' to all of this while I signed the new contract he had somehow already prepared which gave me the right to sew on the 2nd Inf Division Indian chief head patch for the last week of my stay at Fort Polk. Six of us in my company who all wanted German beer girls got 2^nd Inf Division patches to sew on. Nobody had picked Korea first.

But one guy from my platoon, a returned to the army Viet Nam vet had been there before.

THE LESSON has :



ALIENS SHMALIENS


The military as usual among themselves are split into two opinions on alien involvement in anything unexplainable. There is a sort of sarcastic yet playfully serious theme to responses at any mere mention of aliens. Many officers are adamant deniers, they deny belief in and involvement in operations dealing with the ‘alien question‘. Meanwhile, certain officers are admittedly responsible for anything, reports, rumors, on an operational basis, even though they may profess to be non-believers. Thus the ‘EXTINT’ designation, that means they are assigned to gather information about other people’s intelligence about alleged extra-terrestrial aliens whether they believe them or not. Quite aside from the regular military scuttlebutt structure this acts as a sort of alien specific rumor central network. Lately a big part of the military complex boom is in striving to meet the potential of an as yet un-encountered inter stellar enemy. So, say that you think you had seen an alien to a comrade or superior and soon you would be talking to an EXTINT Officer. To file a report or not is the choice. The choice to not file a report is respected, though noted, basically because no one could be forced to relate what was perhaps not going to be believed by half the military anyway. And so as there is yet no officially discovered enemy that one could have been in contact with, then there is no reason to however gently coerce anything out of a ‘contactee‘. Still the presence of such a policy, of accommodation of these types of ‘events’ and accounts highlights the value placed in the threat that the more paranoid military elements perceive.

The first major alien scare took tremendous hold onto the world popular psyche. It shaped the face of the politics, the structure of society, the military, and the lives of all citizens.
On Tuesday the 12th of May, a date burned into the history of Soltera, a respected popular NA President gave a speech. It was a speech that should have been of the routine political lying manipulative variety. The audience was ten thousand members of an info wars veteran’s organization. Well into the laudatory speechifying he said:

“What I have to say next will ring in the ears of history. I have met a being not of our Earth, an alien creature from outer space. And I am thoroughly convinced that there are other intelligent civilizations aware of our progress. They are not all hostile. I say to you tonight that we must be vigilant and address the threat that any hostile superior technologies represent. War if necessary must be prepared for.”

Speculation had been that he had slipped this into his prepared remarks unbeknownst to his staff of handlers. The immediate spin attempts ranged from confirmation to denial by sweating sputtering nervous press reps that appeared hilarious and desperate. A commission was formed to study commitment to a policy of opening Government files of the event that had been referred to by the President. Another commission was set up to study the President to make sure he was fit and sane. This President was not nearly as crazy as many took him to be. Secretly he had filled out all the proper lami forms relevant to the release of secrets. His reasoning seemed rational. His speech though clearly crazy to give put the right to the military to be prepared. This dropped the contracts worth billions into the hands of a myriad of corporations.

Despite endorsement of a NA President there was still plenty of room for denial, and many thought that this was some potential ‘red herring’ tossed out to distract attention from some truly critical crisis. Several contemporary Senior researchers went to work. Their reports remain un-filed.
That President had thought the world was ready for this knowledge. It was not. The alien anti-alien debate raged throughout the world media. Whether believed or not the fact that such a statement was uttered by a NA President was enough to make everyone talk endlessly about it.

No aliens came forward voluntarily to verify the executive assertion. No comments were heard from other politicians or religious leaders to confirm him. The Christian Roman Catholic Pope in VC IT SE said nothing. Privately the Presidents political advisers severely chastised his public disclosure, he agreed not to mention it again even though he was asked about it constantly.

This Presidents popularity was a roller-coaster. Eventually the true terrible crimes that he had attempted to distract everyone’s attention from came to full light. Resignation, humiliation, prison made his May alien speech seem all the more the desperate ploy of a failing criminal professional elected popular politician.

The military, meanwhile had perceived a potential threat, that pointed out by the Commander In Chief, even a manic depressive disgraced imprisoned one, must be acted upon. This began a contract signing spree competition to acquire military technologies from all the departments and services of all SOLSYS alliance regions. A worldwide economic boom ensued. A total bull market fed by the nun too subtle huge capitol shift into a waiting military industrial complex geared to create the products a Government must use in any war with an ‘alien‘.

The next person elected NA President denied any presence or existence of any aliens, denied having any secret files or artifacts. No one really believed her.

Many years of simmering conjecture absorbed the lesser minds of popular commentary. Two distinct public opinion camps evolved, those that felt that there was a specific threat from space, that there was no verifiable confirm-able contact was taken by these people as evidence of alien dastardly motives, versus those that doubt, doubt, doubt to the point of very violent skepticism.

Over fifty percent of those polled by major opinion organizations have adamantly denied belief in aliens or alien visitation. They aligned with the political party of Ms. President. Denial was the policy statement. They worked hard to undo the anti-alien initiatives of her jailed predecessor.

This set the stage of events for the pro-readiness opposition. They stressed a perceived technology gap between the human world and the aliens. The most glaring gap being that they could apparently travel to here freely while we still didn’t even know who ‘they’ are or where ‘they’ come from.
The pro-anti-alien invader politicians won overwhelmingly at the next elections, fear of the unknown being a great vote getter. The sweeping victories allowed their supporters to join the Government contract signing feast.

A new President would also deny that he had seen any evidence of aliens. But he would later avoid questions by saying that he couldn’t comment for security reasons. This was a denial and not a denial. It was enough to seem a credible endorsement to the pro anti-alien profiteers. They used this security excuse to enrich themselves.

Militarily space had always intrigued and scared the Admirals, Generals, Ministers and Secretaries charged with war preparations. Superiority in space was deemed necessary at all costs. Control of higher ground is an old military adage and no ground is higher than rocks spinning in space.

It seems to me that the alien question is one of memory and repetition. How often the question comes up is the result of the answer that looms the largest to oneself. Answer the way that allows acceptance of belief and soon the reasons to believe pop up everywhere. It’s confirmation bias. It is a self-confirming belief that implores us to look for reinforcement of it wherever. This is part of a natural human mechanism for acceptance. Mention aliens long enough till doubt creeps in. If you attest to belief and offer speculative confirmation or slim solid proof or ambiguous corroborating statements a true believer will look to confirm the premise by the best means of the media milieu or imaginative self experience. Of all of us few will seek through personal experience to confront the unknown of outer space, to do this they must have already confronted the alien question and reconciled the possibilities.

All of this alien talk is a social mechanism to get us prepared for what rational logical thought says is inevitable. After an interval the people who will not accept considering the question become fewer. It is inevitable that we will encounter other than earthly aliens eventually. Whoever makes contact first will surely be famous forever, their story becoming the stuff of legends and myths.

It is as if, that as soon as we, all of humanity are ready the answer will be revealed without a question, the question of it will be moot. It won’t matter that there is no question, the answer, the aliens the reason of it will be obvious and uncontradictable.

Despite the fear of cultural disintegration, destruction of civilization, religious values and traditions we seek the truth of extraterrestrial life. Though some will insist that any artifacts or evidence of aliens must be suppressed and kept completely secret for the benefit of humanity. They fear that advanced aliens would conquer us as easily as Europeans conquered natives of the Earths western hemisphere, though that to do it completely took about a full four hundred years. So now this would make this the most secret of secrets and any rumors are denied to the point of irrelevance as a procedure of policy. Aliens have visited us, yet no one knows. No one knows if post contact social disintegration has already begun. Though knowing human nature and history if aliens were already here we would be selling them either cheap souvenirs or weapons or slaves.

Good topic for a liaison meeting.
“
Aliens! Aliens smaliens! You think some super intelligent advanced life form that can overcome the depths of space would be interested in your worthless life! Ha!”

“Ok so no one knows for certain about aliens. I mean we might have them among us or not. Or, I mean maybe they just drop by to check up on us. They would be much more welcome as tourists then as enemies.” Ya think?

“Aliens! Hey you’re nuts! The President is not an alien! The Government is not controlled by aliens, if it was we would not be making weapons to greet them with but building gift shops. We’ve been buzzing around out there in space …what, quite a while now, right? Still no green bug types anywhere! Just iffy microbes! I say if there were aliens visiting us they’d be vacationing at the beach or hanging around Lupe’s in NNY NY NA.” He said this as: ‘ninny Nye nah’.

“Well how do you know they aren’t there right now? Hanging out sipping a Marstini at Lupe’s? Anyway when were you ever at Lupe’s or at a beach? Hey you could be an alien for all I know!”
“How stupid! If I could fly across the Galaxy and go anywhere I wanted why would I want to sit here with you arguing about this stupid shit? Science? To study us? To steal your mind? Our humanity?”

“Humanity! You clone of a mutant sub-human lab specimen canned minus…”

“Look we’re all valuable our…”

“As a specimen in a jar maybe.”

“I heard that it was the aliens that were keeping us from building good fighting robots and keeping us from flying faster than light. I read that aliens could make duplicates of people on Mars and send them back to Earth. I saw this vid thing all about it…”

The second large alien scare was directly the result of one Major Dirk Larkin retired of the Soltera Space Marines. At the beginning of the episode he was apprehended by police bleeding and delirious after shooting up a ninny Nye nah Central Park Transtube station. No casualties resulted other than Larkin but the place was pretty much destroyed. Major Larkin insisted he had been battling aliens who were intent upon overthrowing the world popular Government to enslave humans as a food source.

Once recovered he proceeded on a promotional publicity appearance tour that crisscrossed the planet. Everywhere he went he said aliens were among us plotting our immanent subjugation and processing. This was a popular distractive propaganda timed to profit from a recent difficult military industrial economic cycle and a long history of alien humi-agriculture stories.

Major Larkin’s weakness was his inability to get any confirming support from anywhere, much like the jailbird ex NA President, no one had as yet been verified to have been eaten. He was challenged to produce a hungry alien or some leftovers. This sparked a wide debate on the ethics of kidnapping by force and displaying an other-worldly person who was just looking for a meal anyway. This seemed to some an awful way to greet someone who had traveled so far to get here. Others said that an alien illegally hunting humans for food surreptitiously entering our Soltera-tory was obviously up to no good and should upon capture if still alive be detained and studied. The military waited for this.

Meanwhile other groups of citizens and scientists without Government funding carry on the long unanswered invitation to friendly communication with anything alien that can answer, even human eating ones. Of course they have only their own expectations to shape the means of communication. They have not been answered mainly because probably no-thing out there in space can hear our primitive squeaks or is itself still too primitive to hear us. At least that’s what the ENTVID show I saw said about it.

www.smashwords.com/interview/grantparachor

In THE LESSON Paul Dvorak describes:


MY DAYS IN SPACE


In this era more than one hundred and fifty thousand people live in space, fifty thousand or more on the moon, the rest on scientific and industrial platforms in the orbits of the moon or earth or Mars or the other planets, thousands on Mars or on other planets moons, and thousands more in transit. The population of space is truly earth surface international. Hundreds of countries and regions are represented with cooperative efforts and flag stations and bases. Many ventures mix any combination of groups generally formed around lines of economic interest. Thousands travel between earth and all every day. Recreational travel in space is widespread as regular citizens with the means buy or build their own craft and fly to orbit and back.

This is my third research investigation involving extensive travel in space; easy for me as my home of choice is the cratered estates of Luna. The last two jobs were long term interview based criminal event studies. They are why the Senior Senior Researchers allowed me to assign myself this puzzle.
I’ve experienced the space adaptation syndrome, the sinus problems, the bones softening, the stature shortens, bouts of nausea, disorientation, sleep pattern disruption, zero gravity vertigo, the low gravity moon stagger gait, which I sometimes blame on the Marstini’s. These are just some of the reasons some people refuse space travel. Many say it is worth it once just to see what it is like and then they decline all other offers to come back up. I endure all the discomforts in order to savor the slim freedoms I enjoy in space. While surface duty at my professional Senior Researcher rating holds a wide range of possibilities for investigation, an open attitude towards travel worldwide or interplanetary sometimes gets me away from the pesky monitoring nets. Inevitably the Senior Senior Researchers have me hooked into a physical and occupational system to keep a record of my alcohol and drug intake, general health, location and activities. Space travel voids some of those signals. Sometimes in space my shuttle suit can’t communicate with my desk at the office. It can talk to my wallet lami or my wrist lami's but not the main office or my tube compartment on Luna. Though while I’m in space my tube can talk to the office but my Vertizontal car can only check in with my tube or my suit which is on me sometimes in the vehicle. My Vertizontal can communicate with my office by calling my suit or the tube or Demarists liaison office which could then call Rudy Moody at the main office but only in the vicinity of a wide bandwidth net. On some spacecraft the powerful fields generated by their systems jam my suits beacons; elsewhere it gets purposefully shut down, like in a theater. Though sometimes on some orbital stations in certain orbits with time and space available on the lami's I can get them all talking at once. And much of the time they are all talking together whether I know it not. Regular phone calls are their own situation of course.

“Thanks suit.” I think my pants like it when I say thanks. “Boop”.

Sometimes it is very comforting that all this electronic jabbering is going on, my wallet lami discussing finances with my suit and my car and my tube. And at least in a reverse moon orbit half of the office is kept out of the digi-com cacophony. At those times when I can’t get a word in edgewise I look longingly forward towards retirement when all my time would be my own. There will be a medical monitoring channel naturally, just in case, but that’s all.

My other comfort in space is Space my loyal hound, though of terrier stature. He’s boarded many a spacecraft smuggled in flight bags to be hidden in closets bins and lockers. And he has boldly proudly trotted down the red carpet beside me in the presence of all sorts of detained subpoenaed dignitaries. He’s been discovered in the wrong place at the wrong time more than once. Little Space has this endearing way of getting into mischief by just being there. It has been a thorn to all who plan the business of life in space that I arrive accompanied by Space. He has wet the deck at the boot of the scariest General.

Space has managed to cope with no-g environments by pushing off of anything including faces and controls and dog paddling leisurely to the next impact with twists and turn attempts to steer. Zero g doggie food dispensers do not slow down his ability to devour his food. Space has his own shuttle suit with brain wave controlled weapons systems, electro-stun defensive capability and 160db amplified bark, water dispenser tube, telemetry and communications links. He eats most anything edible and many things that are not. Space can use the vac u-potties in no-g; it’s quite comical how he squats on the seats and still tries to lift a leg, and how his tail hairs flutter in the gusts of suction and how he strains to keep his tail straight up out of the tube and how he turns and sniffs around afterward. The canine intelligence boost gene I bought him pays off here.

Often and frequently I’m informed that dogs and other pets are not allowed in Space despite the cat station and because of the infamous tragic bunny rabbit fiasco on the ISS Oregon. I’ve been threatened, banned, locked out. Often I threaten back. But I always prevail via the unlimited non-accountability that goes with my job. Government facilities are very unprepared to accept any but humans and specimens. I love busting their bubbles of power and so Space goes everywhere with me. Sometimes they buy the alien sniffer friend foe detector lines. If they complain too loudly I just turn up the suit music and ignore them, none has thrown me off a spaceship yet. No other personal companion dogs have made it so far into space except maybe on the cloud hoppers or the occasional converted shuttle space yachts to the spa satellites.

THE LESSON has militant Librarians

“Paul Dvorak meet your new Personal Bodyguard John D Fordun.” I tab down the space jazz. Demarest terminates his holo introduction as the big guy JD approaches me to do the handshake ritual. He has surprisingly weak grip, soft hands.

“Nice doggy, nice doggy…ooops…Ok watch out…”

“His names Space.”

“You know Mr. Dvorak…” “Call me Paul.” “…you should’ve killed that guy.”

“Who?”

“That guy! The son of a bitch that wasted all those canned pluses.”

“Ah oh well…”

“I’d a killed him!”

“How’d you? You read the reports?” He can read. That’s good.

“Shit. Twice! What a story! I scooted a route at NA urban for two years and never saw so much hit in one day!”

“Well…you know…revolutions…”

“Who do we kill?”

“What…?”

“Kill. It’s my job. I enjoy it! Who?”

“Not yet…um I mean nobody.”

“No body?”

“No I mean no!”

“No body. I can do that! It’s easy in space. Just put em in a suit pop a hole in it and give em a good shove. Or you can skip the suit… either way.”

“No I mean no-one-to-kill-yet.” He seems disappointed. I turn the jazz back up.

I don’t pay any more attention to John D till he escorts a guy over to me in the restaurant. Young fellow, tall and fair, in a sort of lab techy casual travel hard wired three piece shuttle suit. I text Demarest to join me by holo call as witness. No intro but I know who he is. No power handshake gesture from him. He speaks first:

“You’re the history policeman?”

“Senior Researcher. You’re the Librarian?”

“That’s right.” I know his name already: Ed Delaney.

“And you’re a Para-military Public Librarian First Class.” I didn’t half try to not sound skeptical.

He drew himself up taller. “The public has the right to free access to information.”

“You do work for the Government.” “Yes.”

“Yet most of the Public Library Board’s efforts are spent fighting the Government.”

“The Government has may segments that aren’t always in sync.” True enough. Certainly not much I could say to that. “You go everywhere with him?”

“He takes me along is more like it. I let him sniff around first. He detects aliens.” He reaches out to be checked.

“Cute puppy…whoa!” “Grrr.”

“Sorry, he bites Librarians. Down Space!”

“You know why I’ve been sent?”

“Yes. But so we have it together…Demarest fill us in.” And for graphics I get suit to project to follow Demarist. “Thanks suit.” Demarest absentmindedly holographicly attempts to shake hands with Delaney who hesitatingly attempts to meet his laser light grip and missing it of course. Awkward moment. He snubbed my handshake!

“Okay. Hello Mr. Delaney. I’m Bill Demarist Junior Researcher and Liaison Coordinator. Um…The Green Apples scientific study data is flawed, ruined by paradox. The outbreak occurred among the samples rented by Dr Manuelo de Boveray that the genius inventor obtained to boost his chance at the Asimov Prize. He was trying to build a humanoid robot that could fool the Welshactor test and win the hundred mil prize. Well de Boveray disappears mysteriously from Mars. All the subject people whose sample data was bought by him also have disappeared.”

“Yeah I know.” He is a Librarian and certainly he does. He tells us why: “I’ve been sent from the Anti-War Office of the Public Library Board at the request of the Solsys Tera Popular World Government Authorities to work with you in your research toward a mission to Mars to seize data and put right the rebellion and lawlessness in close coordination with the armed forces in the event of a possible implementation of the Librarians Special Act of War.”

“Whoohoo! War! Yeah!” John D is up for war.

“What are your personal reasons for doing this type of work instead of say, dusting books in a vault?”

“That free access to information be available to all who seek it.”

“Good slogan. Licensed to kill?”

“Only in self-defense. But the PLB has designated this mission Priority Level One so we get to shoot first if necessary.”

“Can you legally break any laws?”

“No only illegal ones.”

“I like the double Kevlar blast proof decomp three piece shuttle suit.” Is John D drooling? “Italian cut.”

“Thanks.”

“So you have total public library data base access?”

“Yes same as you or any other citizen or detainee.”

“See the thing is that with that gigantic mass of information it is so vast that I get lost trying to ask for what I want to know. Then even if I figure it out and try again some other time I have to wade through all the same bullshit again. They change the listing formats or the prog language used; or the references I use won’t work twice because my suit takes off elsewhere from the same query. Or the lists are so long that what I want is at page fifteen thousand. Then as I surf off away it can’t even find out where it was before.”

“Should have used a path trac program or saved more access history.” Am I the only one that hears my suit make a “bop bop” noise at this. Space gives me a look so he must have heard it too.

“Why do they change all code around like that and then the conversion progs don’t work?”

“To change the codes is best way to keep track of what people already know.” What? “To change the way everything is stored so no one can read it but you…” Huh? “…I mean a citizen, is only the temporary result of technological advancements.” Slippery.

“This too, my suit has to call up the library to use the interface to get to the source cores and its always busy! Wait! Wait! Wait! So I just use the web and nets and get current answers but I can’t dig deep.”

“I have an unlimited access no late charge remote priority communicator gold card lami. As Public Librarian First Class on a priority level one mission involving active evolving current history I can if necessary call up the military databases.”

“Bragging. The library military?” I say mockingly.

“No the Government military.” “For war?” “Up to brigade for something such as this. The last war was of course started at the urging of a First Class Librarian.”

“You mean World War Eight?”

“No the one after that. Anyway since the passage of the fifty seventh amendment of universal human rights with the doctrine of freedom of information as a basic right and the subsequent civil wars Librarians have become the sole enforcement arm of the Archives Administration.”

“Ancient history. You’d kill for statistics?”

“If you wouldn’t give me a copy or tried to use deadly force to keep me from getting the information.”

“Or even if there is an implication of deadly force apparently.” I have studied his dossier.

“I was cleared of all charges! And the implication of deadly force warrants appropriate lifesaving counter deadly force.”

“I’m not a history cop, I’m just a Senior Researcher and all I’ve got is an empty database and cold subpoenas. I can’t kill anybody or I’d get fired.” Maybe. I think.

“Information is power. Having it can be dangerous.” Being close to him is dangerous. With such fat bandwidth he’s completely shut down my suits music system. Now I have to load a new play list.