Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Tax Day

Oh!  It's that special day for worshipers of the state! It's tax day!

It's the day we the slaves have to report our income to the masters so they can determine what we will be allowed to keep.

I have a far better idea.  Let's exterminate the masters,  Once and for all time.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Video Trailer

BEYOND EARTH by Sid Meier.

I'm always moved to tears by 1:30.


Sunday, April 13, 2014

Thought For The Day

The fact that Democrats strongly and publicly object to efforts to suppress fraud in voting is an admission that they are dependent of voter fraud to win elections and gain power.

Can we now stop the pretense that the Democratic Party is anything but a criminal gang?

Saturday, April 12, 2014

This Morning

I got up early and did a bit of net surfing.  I then decided to go outside for a walk.  As I stepped outside the apartment building it started to rain.  The walk ended right there.

Nature operates independently of human consciousness. It simply does not matter what one believes, things happen regardless of one's beliefs or emotional state.




Tuesday, April 08, 2014

The Other Novel

Here's the first chapter of the FTL novel:

Negation, she thought.

A decision can be easy or it could be difficult.

The thunderstorm that crashed upon the capital city was a thing of beauty. The flash of lightning illuminated the streets and the buildings beyond the window with an electric blue glow. With the light reflected from her face back upon the inside surface she could see the winkles beneath her eyes and the streaks of gray in her dark hair.

She gave thought to window before her.

It was both invisible and itself a thing of beauty. It separated and protected her from the outside environment and allowed her to see it in all its glory. She could watch the passage of the storm from the safety of her office because of the applied thought of a man.

Those who destroyed the works of men could not conceive of a pane of glass. Nor could they be taught how to make one and integrate it into a structure. The thoughts of rational men were nothing to them. And the works of men that resulted from the trains of rational thought were seen only as abominations that were to be smashed into dust.

They did not see the truth and they did not want to see the truth.

Reality is real.

Her parents had taught her this before she learned to read.

Understand this and you can understand everything.

But there were those alive who did not want to know. They actively sought ignorance They sought only to negate knowledge and the products of applied knowledge.

And now another of those men had stepped on to her world with the intent of negation. Of murdering the people and smashing their works to nothing. There was nothing that he would be gained from such acts. It would be the sacrifice of actual things to nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Under the existing laws of her nation the subject of her present thought could simply be arrested and processed. With the ultimate result being his death.

But that would not solve the larger problem. The subject was employed by a group of men back on Earth. The employers will simply hire another man to attack the worlds under her care. And the next time she may not be able to stop them.

The woman had witnessed too much of the horror of negation over the course of her life. She had seen her parents taken from her simply because they were the only sane people on an insane world. See had seen her husband murdered simply because he was her husband.

Would it ever end? How does one deal with such people?

The phone on her desk rang. She turned and quickly lifted the receiver to speak.

“Yes?”

A man’s voice at the far end replied.

“We’re ready to proceed, ma’am.”

“Do so.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A trade off then. Let the immediate subject live and use him to discover his employers.

And then eliminate them.

Across the city the subject of the conversation in question was sleeping naked in a hotel bed. But not for long. This would be a hostile encounter. He had not expected the police on any world, whom he normally thought of as no better than clowns, to break into his hotel room in full tactical mode. They should not have known of his origin or mission.

The arrest had been absolutely hostile. At no point was he allowed to speak, nor was he spoken to. He was gagged immediately by the black suited police strike team. He was not given any cover for the weather. He was dragged through the cold winter rain to the police assault team transport vehicle in the condition he normally slept in. On this night in the city of Landfall on the planet Freya he was completely naked.

Upon arrival at their headquarters he was deposited in a holding cell.

Except for the light panels, the steel door, and buttons that controlled the sink and toilet, all the features of the entire holding cell were made of concrete.

This was not a standard jail cell for a common criminal. The cops here on Freya had taken his presence on their planet seriously.

Very seriously.

Why? He thought.

He was certain he would soon know why.

The door of the holding cell opened outwards. A long stun stick was immediately thrust into the cell and upon his chest.

He was shocked into a state of complete inaction.

As he lay stunned on the floor the black suited cops entered the cell in mass. They cuffed him behind the back and inserted a rod between his arms and his back. The cops then lifted him by the rod and dragged him down a bleak and completely undecorated bureaucratic corridor. The cops who carried him were escorted by four more officers paired fore and aft.

Not one of them said a word to him.

He was dragged down the corridor and around a corner to the right. At the end of the second corridor he was carried into an interrogation room. There was a stainless steel table and two chairs. He was secured to one of the chairs by the ankles and wrists.

It was five minutes by his estimate before the door to the room opened again.

A woman stepped into the room and sat down at the table opposite of him.

The subject of the arrest took the time to visually examine the woman. She appeared to be a bit over fifty standard years of age with light stands of gray hair appearing in the neatly cut body of short black hair. The woman also had blue eyes. She was dressed as a civilian with a white office blouse and blue slacks. The woman wore a photo identification badge and carried an immaculate military service grade semiautomatic pistol in the custom black leather holster under her left shoulder.

I’m supposed to be frightened by this old broad? He thought. That was foolish of her, very foolish.

The man then took a close look at the I.D. badge. It was issued by the Central Security Agency of the Ursa Major Confederation. Below the photograph on the badge was the logo of the agency. This was in the form of a flag with a white “X” over a black field. He did not know that the symbol was technically called the Cross of Saint Andrew. He saw it as being identical to cross on the battle flag of the Confederate States of America. He saw it as their admission of being evil.

The name on her photo badge was Judith Stern and showed her rank as Director of the agency.

NO! He thought.

No! No! No! No!

The woman sitting opposite of him at the table was the true daughter of darkness. She was the absolute incarnation of evil herself.

Judith Stern was personally responsible for the murder of millions of people on his home world. No one, not a priest, nor a child, was exempt from her absolute depravity.

And he has not in the custody of any police agency. The Freyan CSA was every mercenary soldier’s worst nightmare. No mercenary soldier operating separately from an organized unit was safe from death by their Pest Control teams. And ultimately backing the CSA field teams were the planetary landing forces of the Ursa Major Confederation Army and Marine Corps.

Worlds in close proximity to Freya were effectively off limits to mercenary operations. And in the custody of the Freyan CSA he was already dead.

She looked up at him and spoke. Her voice was of solid authority, it was firm and without apparent emotion.

“Welcome to The Aquarium.”

She then asked him a question.

“Who are you?”

He did not answer.

There was a slight twitch on her right eyebrow.

She calmly repeated the question.

“Who are you?”

There was no point in screaming. He tried to reply clearly in a level voice.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Without a word she looked down and opened the folder on the table before her.

Printed documents? He thought. How primitive of them.

She removed a set of reading glasses from a pocket of her blouse and used them to read from the printed file.

“Your name is Michael Gratton. You were born in the City of New Boston on the planet Kennedy in the Alpha Centauri B system. You are the second son of the late Prime Minister Thomas Gratton. After the rescue and reprisal mission to that world your mother brought you as an infant to her family home in the city of Boston in the State of Massachusetts on Earth. You attended the Boston Latin School and the Federation Military Academy at West Point. As a junior officer you were wounded in action in a minor dust-up against a band of feral Muslims and subsequently received a knee joint replacement. You spent the remainder of your time in the army in staff positions and as an instructor at the academy. You were medically retired from the Federation Army with the rank of Major and emigrated to Xenophon in the Epsilon Indi system. You are now a minor stockholder in, and company grade officer of the Military Assistance Corporation based on Xenophon.”

Gratton stared at Director Stern silently. She had used the Freyan term for their crimes against his home world and the crimes they committed against his people. One of the many people of that world murdered by the Freyans was his own father.

Gratton continued to stare at her until he was able to speak without apparent emotion.

“You are wrong!” He replied. “My name is John Fletcher and I am a civilian.”

The planetary clown farce on Freya should not discovered this information on him along with the fact that he was traveling on a false set of identity documents. With the CSA he was clearly in the hands of a very competent intelligence agency of an absolutelyy evil nation.

Michael Gratton clearly saw that he was now in deep trouble.

Judith Stern stared straight at him without a visible flinch.

“Major Gratton, or whatever your current rank in the MAC-X Corporation is, you are traveling on a false set of documents, which is a felony. And you are also a known mercenary, which in the Ursa Major Confederation is a capital offense.”

Gratton looked up at her and replied calmly.

“My name is John Fletcher and I am a witness for our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Judith Stern did not budge or blink.

“No Major Gratton. You are a veteran officer of the Federation Army, which is a yellow flag for this agency. You are traveling on false identity documents, which is a red flag. And you are a member of a commercial organization whose sole purpose is to violate the rights of individuals and of sovereign nations, which is absolutely the black flag for us. Please explain to us why we should not air out your head?”

Gratton blinked.

He raised his voice to reply.

“There is nothing you can threaten me with!”

Stern responded in a calm voice.

“Of course not, there never is.”

What The Fuck did that mean?

Stern saw that Gratton was mystified. It was at this time she made her statement.

“Major Gratton, you and your backers seek to negate us -- to remove us from existence. We need to discover who your backers are and kill them. In order to do this we are sending you back to Earth. You will be kept under surveillance and through this we will find the people who trying to destroy us and we will kill all of them.”

Gratton now stared at her. He then closed his eyes and shook his head.

So far I had not broken from my cover story, I can still use it. He thought.

It will work.

“My name is John Fletcher.” He cried out. “I am a witness for Our Lord Jesus Christ on this Godless world. Your people have turned from Our Lord at your eternal peril. Don’t you understand that?”

Judith Stern stared straight through him as if she were a shipboard laser burning through a starship hull. She then replied to him.

“Major Gratton, Reality is Real.”

With that final reply she closed the folder on the table and stood up. She spoke up to the staff members listening remotely.

“I’m finished.”

An officer opened the door for her from outside. As she departed more officers suddenly entered the interrogation room and hit him with the stun staff again. With full effect to full unconsciousness.

When Michael Gratton awoke he was back on Earth. The first thing he would hear was the voice of a different woman on the planet Earth.

Monday, April 07, 2014

Problem

I have a bit of writer's block. Actually two cases of writer's block. I was working alternately on two science fiction novels. One is set in a FTL universe and the other in a STL mode.

Here's the first chapter from the STL novel:


One thing I had certainly learned in my original incarnation on Earth was that in order to see a task performed correctly I had to do it myself. Today I led a raid on a native nest. This was usually called a pest control operation. Given the very hostile history between the human colonists and the stone age natives of the planet this euphemism was putting it mildly.

The natives, originally classified scientifically as Reptantis Sapiens Eden, and now generally known as shrieks, were bipedal and bilateral egg laying carnivores with scales and feathers instead of skin and hair. Shrieks would eat anything that moved. They would even eat other members of their species, both from their own nest and other nests.

They also ate the remains of the first wave of human colonists that were killed when the Plymouth Colony was overrun and destroyed.

Two local days ago a patrol drone spotted a hunting party of shrieks taking down a thagosaurus. The saurian herbivore had wandered into a patch of wild tobacco and was gorging itself and getting high on the leaves of the imported plants. It was too wasted on the nicotine of the imported plants to notice the native hunting party bearing down on it.

I sat with a full Ranger company of the Guard as we watched the video of the shrieks surrounding the thagosaur and engaging it. There were cheers from the rangers as the thagosaur struck one of the shrieks with it’s tail spikes, mortally wounding it. But the poor and high creature was doomed. The largest of the shrieks carried a human made axe and struck the prey square on the head with it.

The natives had stolen the axe and other artifacts when they overran Plymouth, the first human settlement on the planet. They hunted down and slaughtered all the human colonists who could not escape.

The video ended. It wasn’t necessary to watch the hunting party strip the useful meat from their prey and the dead member of their party.

This morning Alpha Company of the Ranger Battalion of the Guard would drop in on the shriek nest.

The next stage after the briefing was suiting up. The details of the process are essentially boring. The Ranger Combat Suit is an armored exoskeleton with sensors, strength enhancement, full isolation from the external environment, jump thrusters, and full life support. A ranger could fight in space with it if necessary. The process on donning the suit requires assistance from the ground crew and a full test of the onboard combat sensors. The onboard computer even has a program for translating the speech of shrieks and displaying it as written language on the heads-up display. Not every ranger runs the translation program, but I do.

Once the company was suited up they assembled at the landing field. The system primary, Alpha Centauri A, was still below the eastern horizon. The other star of the system, Alpha Centauri B, was in the overhead position and was the brightest star in the sky. Even with the lights of the landing field glowing at full power the light of the star had the effect of the full moon back on Earth. From where I was standing I could see virtually all the buildings of Camp Heinlein and the ruins of the Plymouth Colony.

The four landing craft, with their lift fans open and idling, were ready to carry out the mission. The rear hatch and ramps were open. We loaded one platoon on each landing craft and took off.

By our custom the landing craft flew over the ruins of the Plymouth Colony.

The shriek nest, designated Sierra Mike, was roughly a thousand kilometers from Camp Heinlein. It was the furthest nest out from the ruins of the Plymouth Colony that was identified as a site holding human artifacts. Roughly five generations had been hatched since Plymouth was overrun and destroyed. And even though no shriek living today would remember the massacre there was our own standing policy to enforce.

Once the second wave of human colonists arrived in the system it was our policy to recover all human artifacts and remains from the shrieks. No shriek was allowed to hold a human made artifact. Nor were they to possess human remains. The penalty these acts would be the complete annihilation of their nest.

Over the years since the second wave arrived in the system the shrieks fled away from the new human base at Camp Heinlein.

But no distance, not even a thousand kilometers, was far enough from human vengeance.

The local sun was beginning to rise as the landing craft approached the nest.

The nest was located in a dense forest. It was theorized that this practice began as a way to protect the nest from large predators. It also had provided some protection from human reprisal actions. It took time us for us to develop tools and tactics to negate this practice.

The landing craft came in at treetop level at the four points of the compass with respect to the position of the nest. The craft I was riding was on the north corner of the square. With the rear ramp open I was the first to step out. The jump thrusters fired to slow my descent as I dropped to the forest floor. The landing craft I jumped from continued to float to southwest as each ranger stepped out and descended to the ground. The rangers now formed up in a tactical square surrounding the nest and on my command marched inwards.

Very shortly we came in contact with the shrieks.

Someone spoke on the company channel.

“Alpha-three-oh-three! Have contact!” There was a pause and then he spoke again. “Recovered flash drive from necklace!”

“Very good!" I replied. “Continue inward!”

The first kill was scored by Ranger A-303, Sergeant Les Keller. He was one of the first rangers who stopped counting the number of shrieks that he killed.

Every ranger carried a small bag for recovered artifacts. The shrieks apparently believed that human artifacts were magical or conferred protective powers on them.

I then encountered a shriek. It was a very large male with a flint headed spear. It leveled the spear and charged at me while screaming.

The translation program was active. A line of text appeared at the bottom of my heads-up display. It said, “DIE MOTHER MATER!”

I should have shot it.

Instead I let go of my mag rifle. The sling snapped it back to the carry position on the suit. I grabbed the fore end of the spear and ripped it from the hands of the shriek. I then proceeded to beat the shriek to death with the blunt end of the spear.

I searched the body. There were no human artifacts on the shriek.

One could argue that I was showing off by killing the shriek with it’s own spear. Go ahead. I don’t mind the criticism at all.

The fact of the matter is that all of our ammunition is still made on Zion, the other and now primary inhabited planet of the system. And it’s dammed difficult and expensive to haul it across interplanetary space in the Alpha Centauri system. Even with fusion drive spacecraft.

And if there one thing that I have learned it’s that one can never have enough ammunition.

The rangers continued inwards toward the nest. I quietly, with only the supersonic crack of the magnetically propelled bullets, killed four more shrieks in the forest with my rifle.

We then came to outer edge of the nest. It was a cluster of primitive shelters surrounding a central large hut. The rangers went through the nest, shelter by shelter, killing every shriek they found without regard to apparent age or gender. Even the recent hatchlings were killed. No exception could be made. No exception would EVER be made.

We then came to the central hut.

I stepped in first with my rifle at the ready position.

The sensors indicated the air inside the hut was warmer than the ambient air outside. The hut was where all their eggs were laid and buried for protection from other animals and the elements.

But not from us.

There was a path through the raised soil that covered the eggs. At the end of the path was a shrine. Before the shrine was the priestess.

She was the oldest of the female shrieks. It’s feathers were white and withered. And she wore a stainless steel fingernail clipper on her sacred necklace. She turned around and began to speak. If the translation program was functioning properly it was addressing me as a deity and begging me not to kill the remaining eggs.

I looked past the priestess to the shrine. At the center of the shrine was skull of a human infant. To me it was a clear indication that this clutch of shrieks was involved in the Plymouth Massacre.

I placed a single round in the head of the priestess.

I stepped forward to the shrine. I gently lifted the skull of the child from the shrine and placed it in my recovery bag.

I then spoke.

“Aright. Let’s finish this.”

Rangers stepped into the hut and positioned themselves on the pathway.

“Infrared on!” I ordered.

At the voice command the infrared vision display lit up in my visor. The eggs below the loose soil were now fully visible to me and the rangers in the hut.

“Ready!” I ordered. “Fire!”

Every one of the eggs was penetrated by multiple rifle rounds. Not one egg remained intact. The last of the shrieks in the nest were dead.

As I stepped outside the hut I spoke on the company channel.

“Did anyone find that damned axe?”

“Alpha-three-oh-three! I did!” Replied Sergeant Keller.

Of course he would find it. He was effective that way.

As the rangers departed from the nest there was one final act of destruction. Several white phosphorus grenades were tossed into the remains of the nest, setting it on fire.

The rangers proceeded to the nearest large clearing and boarded the landing craft. As usual I was the last to board.

Upon our return to Camp Heinlein the rangers separated into two groups. Those who did not retrieve any artifacts immediately returned to the barracks. Those who retrieved a human made object lined up for the march to the memorial.

I called out to one of those rangers.

“Sergeant Keller!”

“Yes, sir!”

He quickly ran over to my position. I could feel the mass of his ranger suit shaking the ground with each step he made.

I spoke to him.

“Sergeant, could you do me a favor?”

“Yes, sir.”

I handed him the nail clipper I recovered from the priestess.

“Sir?” He said.

“I also recovered the skull of a child.” I said.

“I understand.” He nodded and replied. “Yes, sir.”

I stood in my ranger suit with the helmet open in the forensic lab of the base as one of the doctors performed the identification tests. The doctor’s name was Cheryl Adams. She was a granddaughter of a little girl who was orphaned as a result of the attack on the Plymouth Colony. The girl’s mother had loaded her aboard one of three functional landing craft without boarding herself. All of the landers had docked with the starship Mayflower which still in orbit above the colony. The landers would never return to colony. It was too late to rescue any more colonists.

Doctor Adams had completed the tests.

“I’m finished.”

She brought up a video file on the workstation monitor. The sound and image was of a happy and smiling newborn girl with blue eyes.

I stepped forward.

“Her name was Elizabeth Mary Cook.” Said Doctor Adams. “She was my great aunt.”

The girl was also the granddaughter of Andrew Cook, one of the owners of the Mayflower, and whom I met in my first life on Earth.

I continued to watch the video file.

There are some people back on Zion ask me how I could live with what I do to the shrieks.

The fact is that I do not have a problem at all.

Sunday, April 06, 2014

Editorial

In an Associated Press story it was reported that:

Hillary Rodham Clinton said Thursday night that excessive partisanship flowing through the nation's political system is causing the U.S. to march "backwards instead of forward" and pointed to fall elections as a sign of how the country might tackle problems.

Let’s take apart this pathetic bit of whining.

The goal of those who style themselves as Progressives is simply to obtain absolute power over everything and everyone. No restraint has ever been shown by any of the partisans of “Progress” from Robspierre to the present day. As a result our world is littered with the mass graves of those who were murdered in the name of Progress.

The fact is the concept of “Progress” is no more than an excuse for the unrestrained exercise of absolute power. So what is this “partisanship” that this self appointed master to whining about? It is simply the fact that those condemned to be the slaves will not submit to the self-appointed masters. In the ideal form of the state their whim reigns supreme and those who stand in opposition and disobedience are to be permanently silenced. Thus the mass graves that litter our world.

In this state the Masters are no different than a pack of predatory animals.

So what is to done with them?

In actual ethics the proper way to respond to a predatory animal is to kill it. The Masters are essentially a pack of predatory animals, and thus the proper response to their actions is simply to kill them.

What are your questions on this block of instruction?