At the bottom of the ocean, thermophilic bacteria have evolved to take nourishment from heat coming through cracks in the earth’s crust. Though similar in most respects to other bacteria, these thermophiles have the unique ability to harness this heat energy. Through natural selection, generation by generation, their species has adapted to take advantage of unseen power radiated from below the ocean floor. Organs that once digested physical nourishment have slowly mutated to perform this dual purpose.
If string theory is correct, space contains many more dimensions than the four that we can perceive. Imagine that some vastly intelligent being lives right next door to us along one of these unseen dimensions. Could he be sending information to us in some manner not easily measured by modern technology? He may even be looking forward along our “temporal” dimension and sending us clues.
Neuroscience is in its infancy. We’ve hardly even guessed at the function of vast portions human brain; much less the selective pressures and adaptations that carved it. Could we be evolving to better receive these signals? Even inchoate, such an ability would certainly confer a selective advantage. Could this vastly complex organ be only part thinking machine and part … antenna?
I doubt it, but my passengers are pretty fired-up about the idea. That’s why they’ve hired me to .. blah blah blah blah blah blah … etc.
Showing posts with label Cargo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cargo. Show all posts
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Monday, December 22, 2008
Cargo, Part 1
She’d planned never to be out here again, and turned down job after job, but this time the money is too good. She doesn’t know what’s so special about this asteroid. She doesn’t want to know. She just wants to get herself and her crew back to Earth with it and collect her pay.
The captain fears that the young crew has become overconfident after an uneventful trip to the asteroid belt, the easy time they had attaching the asteroid (even though the old space suit has so much duct tape on it, it looks like the Tin Man), and the very simple return passage thus far. It’s especially easy to get cocky when you finally start to recognize Earth again through the window.
She alone knows first-hand the dangers of this part of space. Out here, pirates don’t board your ship and they don’t leave you disabled and waiting for help. Why would they? They fire fifty-caliber bullets through your hull. Either you and your ship pop like balloons, or you and your crew are sucked out of the tiny holes the bullets make – strings and gobs of purple goop streaming through space, splattering on the cargo.
The Captain glances at a young crewman’s console. He’s watching an episode of a centuries-old science-fiction TV show. With the dawning of the twenty-third century, interest in this program has resurged. It is a vision of how things might have been.
All’s I can say is ‘Forget that Star Trek bullshit right now!’
the Captain announces. She continues:
It’s the twenty-third century all right, but there ain’t no Federation of Planets and there sure as hell ain’t no trek across the stars. What there is is me and my boys tryin’ to bring this damn rock, full of gold and uranium and shit … What the hell else did he say this had?
The crewman replies, Trituim?
The Captain smacks him hard in the back of the head.
Trituim!?! … That shit ain’t real! That’s Star Trek bullshit you stupid ass ... maybe you should turn off that TV for a few minutes you ignoramus!
As though she’s not still regaling the crew of five on the tiny bridge, the Captain looks away from the crewman and stage whispers:
… tritium … stupid asshole …
She continues with what has become her standard pep talk:
Anyway, If we can get this damn rock back to earth without it getting stolen along the way and manage not to drop it once we get there this time – man those dudes were pissed when we messed up that fjord or whatever the hell it was; DAMN you’d think somebody got killed – we’ll be some rich sons of bitches.
Unfortunately, pirates like to cherry-pick shipments like the one we got. We get within about two-hundred thousand miles of Earth and those fuckers come out of the woodwork. We know enough to stay away from the Moon -- it’s a goddamn pirate’s cove -- but those assholes can still find you. We got some big guns ourselves, but dudes a lot bigger than us still get blown away all the time. So keep your eyes on the scanner and off the TV!
There used to be dudes you could pay to escort you the last part of the way to Earth, but those chicken shits would never stick with you when things got heavy. Hell, half the time it was the escort’s damn cousin tryin' to jack you in the first place.
As if on cue, a half dozen tiny pirate ships appear on the scanner. They are old military fighters retooled for stealing cargo. An alarm blares on the freighter's bridge. The captain calls out to the crew:
Battle stations people! I've seen these guys before. These ships are fast and well-armed. Luckily, these pirates can't shoot for shit, but the sun even shines on a dog's ass once in a while. So hit them before they hit us!
The captain fears that the young crew has become overconfident after an uneventful trip to the asteroid belt, the easy time they had attaching the asteroid (even though the old space suit has so much duct tape on it, it looks like the Tin Man), and the very simple return passage thus far. It’s especially easy to get cocky when you finally start to recognize Earth again through the window.
She alone knows first-hand the dangers of this part of space. Out here, pirates don’t board your ship and they don’t leave you disabled and waiting for help. Why would they? They fire fifty-caliber bullets through your hull. Either you and your ship pop like balloons, or you and your crew are sucked out of the tiny holes the bullets make – strings and gobs of purple goop streaming through space, splattering on the cargo.
The Captain glances at a young crewman’s console. He’s watching an episode of a centuries-old science-fiction TV show. With the dawning of the twenty-third century, interest in this program has resurged. It is a vision of how things might have been.
All’s I can say is ‘Forget that Star Trek bullshit right now!’
the Captain announces. She continues:
It’s the twenty-third century all right, but there ain’t no Federation of Planets and there sure as hell ain’t no trek across the stars. What there is is me and my boys tryin’ to bring this damn rock, full of gold and uranium and shit … What the hell else did he say this had?
The crewman replies, Trituim?
The Captain smacks him hard in the back of the head.
Trituim!?! … That shit ain’t real! That’s Star Trek bullshit you stupid ass ... maybe you should turn off that TV for a few minutes you ignoramus!
As though she’s not still regaling the crew of five on the tiny bridge, the Captain looks away from the crewman and stage whispers:
… tritium … stupid asshole …
She continues with what has become her standard pep talk:
Anyway, If we can get this damn rock back to earth without it getting stolen along the way and manage not to drop it once we get there this time – man those dudes were pissed when we messed up that fjord or whatever the hell it was; DAMN you’d think somebody got killed – we’ll be some rich sons of bitches.
Unfortunately, pirates like to cherry-pick shipments like the one we got. We get within about two-hundred thousand miles of Earth and those fuckers come out of the woodwork. We know enough to stay away from the Moon -- it’s a goddamn pirate’s cove -- but those assholes can still find you. We got some big guns ourselves, but dudes a lot bigger than us still get blown away all the time. So keep your eyes on the scanner and off the TV!
There used to be dudes you could pay to escort you the last part of the way to Earth, but those chicken shits would never stick with you when things got heavy. Hell, half the time it was the escort’s damn cousin tryin' to jack you in the first place.
As if on cue, a half dozen tiny pirate ships appear on the scanner. They are old military fighters retooled for stealing cargo. An alarm blares on the freighter's bridge. The captain calls out to the crew:
Battle stations people! I've seen these guys before. These ships are fast and well-armed. Luckily, these pirates can't shoot for shit, but the sun even shines on a dog's ass once in a while. So hit them before they hit us!
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