Six years ago this October, I lost my two cats in an apartment fire. Six years ago this November, I took in an older cat who needed a home. I wasn't ready for another cat, but if she'd gone to a shelter she never would have been adopted.
So Dirty Cat became my cat. And for six years her broken meow kept me entertained. She slept next to me every night, and demanded lap time every time I came home. I brought her back to Alta last November, five years after she'd left. She was somewhere between sixteen and eighteen years old, but never stopped moving.
I took this picture last week. When I let her outside, she moved right to the edge of the sunlight and sat there for about ten minutes, before coming back to me to go inside. I knew it was my last chance to get a good picture of her, and it will be how I remember her; always curious, but never straying too far from my side.
I love my car, I really do. It is quick, it is sporty, and it is a Rabbit. However, I now live in Little Cottonwood Canyon, and front-wheel drive just doesn't cut it anymore. So, I kind of want a truck. Nothing too big, so no F150's or Sierra's or Ram 1500's. Rather, I've been looking at the Tacoma, the Frontier, or a used Ranger (since Ford in their infinite "wisdom" has discontinued it in the U.S.); and have even given the Subaru Forrester, XV CrossTrek, and Honda CrossTour a look.
Right now the Nissan Frontier is the frontrunner, but I am always on the lookout for other options, and thus it was yesterday when I saw this peculiar looking truck as I drove down the road.
That is a Mitusbishi Raider, a mid-size truck based on the defunct Dodge Dakota. While it is not unreasonable for a Japanese manufacturer to sell a reskinned truck from a U.S. company (Mazda did it with Ranger), I was surprised that Mitsubishi would bother with trying to capture a slice of U.S. the mid-size truck market. Over here, at least, Mitsubishi is not known for their trucks. So, it should come as no surprise that the Raider sold poorly.
How poorly? In it's debut year of 2005 it sold barely 1/10 the amount of it's American cousin, the Dakota. And in it's final year of sales in 2010?
From a tiny acorn a mighty oak will grow, and so it was with Zvezda Station.
The outpost was just eight aluminum boxes and a handful of inflatable domes huddled in a small crater in the Sea of Tranquility. A pitiful forlorn hope when measured against the teeming mass of Humanity back on Earth. But that barest of toeholds was the seed of promise that would blossom into a sprawling commercial-industrial complex 100 kms in diameter. A glimmering center of solar cells and almuminum from which Humanity would launch itself fully into the stars.
First would be labs for scientists and engineers setting up proof-of-concept technologies of base building and expansion; autonomous construction vehicles taking in metric tons of lunar soil and then reguritating it over prefab buildings as radiation shielding. Mobile factories laying out kilometer after kilometer of solar panels working side-by-side with technicians installing the latest compact nuclear reactors. In the other direction robotic mining equipment blasted and probed looking for useful materials to be refined in the furnaces being constructed.
The basic infrastructure in place, industry took over. Mining of the Moon exploded, and with the discovery of massive deposits ice, Zvezda became practically self-sufficient, and began sending back to Earth more goods than she was receiving. The abundant sources of titanium oxide and alumina gave rise to metal manufacturing, and the super-strong low-gravity aluminum and titanium alloys allowed the construction of new generations of exploratory vessels, and the long dreamed of LaGrange colonies.
Asteroids were captured and moved into cislunar orbits to provide heavier elements not found on the Moon. Once depleted, the larger space rocks were further hollowed out, and used as the basis for massive generation ships that would go out and explore the Kuiper Belt, Oort Cloud, and beyond.
All that would come, and more. But for now the handful of astronauts in the tiny base would sit close to each other at meal times for, and joke about being the first true lunatics, while outside Earthrise would bathe their crater in blue and green.
The six-limbed terror of the Aquilea jungles was the closest Humanity ever came to committing genocide post-FTL. The scaly horrors had sixteen unblinking eyes in its be-fanged beak, eight per side. The rear-most limbs were heavily muscled, and perfectly adapted for pushing its enormous bulk to sprints of 45 kph which it used to chase down fleeing prey. Once caught, the stronger upper limbs would first gut, then hold in place the weakly struggling prey, where the smaller dual-digited arms could easily pick out the delectable bits of meat.
Standing at just under two meters height, these reptiloid hunters were the masters of their world. Perfectly adapted to their jungle environment, they roamed it's three continents as undisputed apex predators. Yet, lack of tools did not indicate a lack of intelligence, a mistake the Human explorers were lucky to survive. For the B'Ar'rm as they called themselves (lit. 'Those Who Roam'), were an intensely curious race. They knew there was something beyond the great canopy that covered their world, the vast expanse they called 'Not Ground', but the roiling clouds of their heavy atmosphere precluded them ever seeing more than the harsh light of their home star.
It was this curiosity that kept the first B'Ar'rm from gutting and snacking on the first Human explorers. For Humans evolved with a completely different biology from anything else on Aquilea, and thus smelled unlike anything else to the B'Ar'rm. This led the reptiloids to conclude that these soft not-prey must come from beyond the 'Not Ground', and that if they came down, they must therefore be able to go back up.
Now, put yourself in the shoes of the first explorer team members. You are surveying an alien and very hostile world, and the primary predator is a two meter tall death machine that hunts and lives in packs. The very sight of these things is enough to send your primitive hindbrain into a state of gibbering terror. Fortunately, they have been giving your survey area a wide berth ever since one of your team blooded one of them with a raking burst from their rifle. However, the perimeter sensors have been giving som strange readings these last few days, so you and two others are preparing to go check on them. Just as you are about to break camp, one of the scaly horrors strides out of the underbrush into the middle of camp. Once the shock of its appearance wears off, one of your team notices it's clutching something in its delicate under arms.
Gently, it places the sensor on the ground in the middle of camp, and then backs up and sits down on its haunches. Then another reptiloid appears from a different direction, another sensor clutched tightly in its arms. It lays that one next to the first sensor, then sits next to its packmate. This process repeats until every perimeter seonsor is neatly piled ont he ground, and the camp is surrounded by a ring of sitting reptiloids. Finally, when the last reptiloid has take position, the first creature folds its upper arms tightly against its chest, and slowly extends it lower limbs out, delicate claws up. It then cocks its head, and lets out a short chirp.
Today, some two hundred years after that first meeting, Humans and B'Ar'rm have developed an almost symbiotic relationship, and together we explore 'The Great Not-Ground' beyond the clouds.
Letty sighed as she pushed away from her desk, and stretched her arms behind her head. Holding position, she let her gaze settle on the picture that hung over her workstation and felt herself slipping into the arcing infinity of the torus' horizon. Closing her eyes, she released her hands and slid her chair out enough to allow her to bend forward at the waist, and stretch her arms behind her back.
When asked by a coworker why she had chosen the images she had to decorate her work area, Letty had smiled and said, "It reminds me of the mundanity of the amazing." The coworker had quirked an eyebrow, but was called to her own tasks before she could inquire what Letty had meant.
Finished with her stretch, Letty sat upright and pulled her chair back to position against her desk. Tilting her screen a bit to ease the strain on her neck, she dived back onto her work after one more wistful glance at her pictures.
Had the coworker stuck around longer, Letty would've explain that it was simple, really. The optimistic future depicted in the old 20th Century images was the mundane reality of their every day life. The open, airy dichotmy of a fully-enclosed artificial habitat, built by Human ingenuity in the harshest and most unforgiving environment, was the very thing she woke up to every morning-cycle. Letty and her coworker were living in a breathing, self-sustaining monument to the Triumph of the Human Spirit.
And looking at pictures painted by pre-FTL Humans from 300 years in the past helped remind her that living in someone's Future was pretty awesome.
What was unusual about the derelict was not that it was a 16th Century Dutch cargo fluyt floating in Earth's L-1 Lagrange point. After all, since The Fracture time-displaced anomalies had been popping into sidereal space improbably removed from their places of origin at a rate of about two per month. After the initial panic had worn off, bureacracy had taken over and it became routine to catalog, tag, and move to a safe location, all the historical detritus that was building up.
No, what made the derelict unique among an orbital sea of oddities was the fact that it was completely sealed to vaccum. And further, that in the two days since its appearance lights had been observed turning on and off in the stern cabins, and figures and shapes seen moving about.
This changed the derelict from a curiosity to a manned space vehicle, and now Unified Space Command had to get involved. Radio contact had failed. As had pulsed laser, maser, and semaphore attempts. Which is why Alica and Gendry found themselves outside their transport bubble, assessing their approach toward the archaic vessel in an attempt to make direct contact.
Simultaneity is a hard thing to prove in a Relative Universe. The time it takes for photons relfected off an object to reach observers takes a measurable amount of time that can change depending on where the observer is located relative to the object. Too, each observer takes precious tenths of a second to process those photons as they trigger optic nerves, and further, what each observer sees changes based on the experiences they have had leading up to that exact moment.
However, it can be said that at the precise time stamp that Alica, Gendry, their EVA bubble, and the powerful sensors that UniSpacCom had trained on the derelict all experienced - that precise moment that Alica and Gendry had decided how best to board the wooden ship - its tattered sails caught a gust of immaterial wind, and it sailed out of their reach.
The two hung there in the void, mouths agape, and watched in silent wonder as the ship gathered speed and then vanished, as if it had never been.
I am exhausted. It's been a long week of poor sleep and soul-searching, and I am riding that razor's edge between sanity and complete mental breakdown. Naturally, the best thing to do right now is listen to emotionally raw and beautiful songs that will batter at the crumbling seawalls of my sanity.
At my best, these songs engender in me a feeling of mono no aware - that beautiful sadness that comes from understanding that there is no permanence in Life.
At my worst, they will utterly wreck me.
Mumford & Sons - Winter Winds Whether you think the song is about star-crossed lovers, or an affair that the singer had second thoughts about, this is still a powerful ballad about how Life continues even after Love has died.
Brandi Carlile - The Story Oh man, Brandi's vocal range should be classified as "Helpless Anguish to Rending Heartbreak". Coupled with her ability as a storyteller, her songs will shake your world.
Brandi Carlile - Turpentine This song makes me really glad that I live only four miles from my sister. She was always there for me when we were children.
Patty Griffin - Burgundy Shoes Tell me you don't hear this song and have it take you back to being a child of four or five, running errands with your mother on the first warm day of Spring. Tell me you don't, and I will call you a liar.
Patty Griffin - Tony The tragedy of youth is that none of us realize that everyone around us is struggling with their identity just as we are. That sense of empathy develops too late, and for some it is fatal. All of us knew a Tony in school. And most us ignored him. And we failed him.
Angie Aparo - Cry Before you roll your eyes, Angie Aparo wrote this song and I find his version to have more emotional impact than the highly polished version that Faith Hill sang. Both versions are about the impotent anger that masks the pain we feel at being wronged by a lover, but Angie's vocals better convey the helpless feeling that comes from wishing for empathy from someone incapable of giving it.
Vienna Teng - Nothing Without You You are alone. The sum total of your life is present in the items around you, but all you have is your thoughts. You are alone. In a room full of people, none of whom you know. You are alone. And all you want is someone to talk to. Someone with whom you can share those moments you find precious.
Dave Alvin - Border Radio Is there anything sadder than hopeless love? Not unrequitted love, but a love that has lost hope. A love that leaves you with questions that will never have answers. A love that cries at midnight, and echoes against the stars.
Richard Thompson - 1952 Vincent Black Lightning Love. Struggle. Death. And some of the most beautiful guitar picking you will ever hear.
There is one other song that I wanted to include as it will bring me to tears no matter how good my mood. It is "In Better Hands" by Cindy Bullens, off her album, Somewhere Between Heaven and Earth. Written to help her deal with the death of her 11 yr old daughter the whole album, and "In Better Hands" specifically, reverberates with her anguish and loss. Unfortunately, I can't find it on Youtube so I can't add it to the playlist. However, I did upload it to my blog below.
Utah is burning. There is bugger all I can do about it except dump buckets of water on idiots lighting off firecrackers. So won't you join me in playing the fiddle while Utah burns with the the long-awaited return of Youtube is Eating My Brain?
The Trammps - Disco Inferno The Talking Heads - Burning Down the House Electric Light Orchestra - Fire On High Elvis Presley - Burning Love Blue Oyster Cult - Burning For You Kiss - Heaven's On Fire Bruce Springsteen - I'm On Fire Billy Joel - We Didn't Start The Fire Bloodhound Gang - Fire Water Burn Jimi Hendrix - Fire
While Jesselin rooted around for the tools she needed, Kembra did a slow turn around the needle-nosed interceptor that sat on blocks on the shop floor. Kembra brushed her fingers along the nose, past the cockpit, and could feel the singular purpose of the craft that writ into the sharp lines of fuselage. The underslung railgun pods had long been removed, their mounts now cut down and patched over. Where once there had been connection points for a warp pod, only exposed wires and scorch marks remained - grim scars of the once proud ship's final battle, or a poorly-wielded cutting torch. Past those were the massive thrusters, and Kembra paused there in her gyre, her eyes losing focus as she remembered the crashing hum of engines at full power; the punishing forces of high-g turns; and the silent coruscating of a dead ship as she boosted away, back to her carrier.
A sound brought Kembra back to the present, and she looked around to see Jesselin scowling at a large section of plating that had almost fallen on her foot. Moving on to where various pieces of equipment sat scattered next to the ship, she sat down on step ladder to gaze at the vessel. Despite the shape, the interceptors had never been meant to enter a planet's atmosphere, and seeing this one here, ignominiously propped up on blocks in scrap yard's bay and forever kept from the infinite sky, engendered in Kembra a feeling of melancholy. Instinctively, she reached out with her implant to the shipboard systems, only to meet a blank wall. No murmur of hello from the rudimentary A.I.; no acknowledgements from automated systems; nothing. The ship was well and truly dead.
A soft curse drew her attention to the space under the ship, and for the first time she noticed a man laying on his back on a mechanics creeper. He was holding a tablet in his hands and muttering to himself. "Dammit, now what? I know I fully disconnected everything, so why it trying to..." The man's voice trailed off as he pushied himself out from under the ship. Sitting up, he spied Kembra still perched on the step-ladder. "Oh." he said. "It was you." Kembra nodded as the man set aside his tablet and stood up. "A micro-nuke went off meters from her port rack," he waved in the direction of the sheared off stubs of the interceptor's leftside shield antennas, "And the EMP fried the A.I. and bolloxed every other system." The mechanic pointed to a rag sitting underneath Kembra's seat. Tossing it to him, she spoke. "You know it will never fly again." The man nodded. "I know." He replied as he wiped his hands. "And yet you attempt repairs, anyway." Kembra's tone was curious. A sad smiled came to the man as he sat back down on the creeper. "It gives me something to do." he said as he pushed himself back under the fuselage.
