On Passing Increasingly Strict Gun Control Laws...

(Ex-liberal film maker David Mamet):   Disarmament rests on the assumption that all people are good, and, basically, want the same things.  But if all people were basically good, why would we, increasingly, pass more and more elaborate laws?

Dedicated versus Committed

I heard this recently. People can be dedicated to fighting for freedom (speech, bearing arms, voting rights.... what have you) and very passionate about the issue in question. Others claim to be committed. The words often are used interchangably. A guy said this about it, as it relates to Soldiers (my line of work for the last 26 years) and how they approach supporting and defending the Constitution: He said, "Civilians are often dedicated to the Constitution. Soldiers are committed to it. The same way a chicken is dedicated to your breakfast but a pig is committed to it.”

Back in Arkansas for a While

Back in Little Rock Arkansas at Camp Robinson Army National Guard Professional Education Center.  Will be here two weeks, teaching at SMTC.  Started sleeting/snowing Friday morning.

New Assignment Orders Came Through

Got a new assignment in Gulfport Mississippi.  Reserve Component Liaison to the 12W Vertical Construction Course.  The base is home to a Navy Construction Battalion (CB or "SeeBee") training school.  The Army sends it's 12W folks here to save the money running a redundant school of their own.  It's a fairly common practice.  The Air Force trains all K9 dog handlers.  The Army trains Marine tank crews.  The Navy trains divers.  All one big happy (dysfunctional) family.  I manage any issues that come up regarding Army Reserve or National Guard Soldiers going through the course.  It's a less demanding job than the one I left at Fort Benning.  Fewer Soldiers pass through here and they have fewer issues that need attention.  It's sort of like being that one guy that hangs out at the volunteer fire department in Pig Knuckle Arkansas.  Not much happens but you have to be there in case something does.  I am not complaining AT ALL.  I need the break from the high op-tempo of Benning.  I will find ways to make myself useful but will relish the slacktide for a while.

There is nothing I can say to enhance this any further.  Wow!

Make up your own mind.

The wonderful world of chemistry and thermodynamics.

Batman!

In the spirit of compromise, I promised Rebecca I would not "drill holes" in the Silverado in order to mount a CB radio.  This led to the idea of a transportable CB.  One that could be moved to any vehicle or operated off a car battery.  I came up with this:

 

This can be stored in a trunk or behind a seat until needed.  It takes only a few minutes to set into operation and plugs into the cigarette lighter or 12volt power port.  A pair of spring clips allow it to run directly from a car battery also.

Slow day at work.  Decided to clean my office.  Probably should have taken a "before" picture.

This sign points the way to my office.  I have complained about "Liaison" being misspelled since I got here but they say it's no big deal.  I'll bet if the sign out front said, "Welcome to the Untied Stats Armee" they would fix it.

Even more cool detritus on Fort Benning

Picked a firebreak road that I'd never been down before.  Came around a corner and found this:

At first I thought it was some sort of old construction equipment or tank.  When I walked around to the front, it became obvious what it was.  A giant bomb!  My cap gives it scale.

It was filled with concrete and appeared to be a "daisy cutter."  The large bombs dropped to blast away huge swaths of trees for landing zones.  This one must have been used as a training aid or static display.  Now it's slowly rusting away in a forgotten back corner of the Malone Range Complex.

I drove on and eventually saw this through the trees, down in a swampy area:

Closer examination and it became obvious that this was placed here some time ago as a prop for field training exercises.  Some sort of scenario where Soldiers have to locate a downed aircraft and rescue the pilot... or some such thing.

I am going to research this tail number but this is what I know:  It's a Navy Grumman F9F-8T Cougar advanced jet trainer.  This is the last aircraft fighter pilots train in before getting a specific fighter type assigned.  Student sits up front.  Instructor sits in the rear seat.  I know it's a trainer because of the color scheme.  You see scads of these in the air over Pensacola Naval Air Station.

One of My Favorite Stories

The Last Question

By Isaac Asimov


Isaac Asimov was the most prolific science fiction author of all time. In fifty years he averaged a new magazine article, short story, or book every two weeks, and most of that on a manual typewriter. Asimov thought that The Last Question, first copyrighted in 1956, was his best short story ever. Even if you do not have the background in science to be familiar with all of the concepts presented here, the ending packs more impact than any other book that I've ever read. Don't read the end of the story first!

This is by far my favorite story of all those I have written.
After all, I undertook to tell several trillion years of human history in the space of a short story and I leave it to you as to how well I succeeded. I also undertook another task, but I won't tell you what that was lest l spoil the story for you.
It is a curious fact that innumerable readers have asked me if I wrote this story. They seem never to remember the title of the story or (for sure) the author, except for the vague thought it might be me. But, of course, they never forget the story itself especially the ending. The idea seems to drown out everything -- and I'm satisfied that it should.

---

The last question was asked for the first time, half in jest, on May 21, 2061, at a time when humanity first stepped into the light. The question came about as a result of a five-dollar bet over highballs, and it happened this way:

Alexander Adell and Bertram Lupov were two of the faithful attendants of Multivac. As well as any human beings could, they knew what lay behind the cold, clicking, flashing face -- miles and miles of face -- of that giant computer. They had at least a vague notion of the general plan of relays and circuits that had long since grown past the point where any single human could possibly have a firm grasp of the whole.

Multivac was self-adjusting and self-correcting. It had to be, for nothing human could adjust and correct it quickly enough or even adequately enough. So Adell and Lupov attended the monstrous giant only lightly and superficially, yet as well as any men could. They fed it data, adjusted questions to its needs and translated the answers that were issued. Certainly they, and all others like them, were fully entitled to share in the glory that was Multivac's.

For decades, Multivac had helped design the ships and plot the trajectories that enabled man to reach the Moon, Mars, and Venus, but past that, Earth's poor resources could not support the ships. Too much energy was needed for the long trips. Earth exploited its coal and uranium with increasing efficiency, but there was only so much of both.

But slowly Multivac learned enough to answer deeper questions more fundamentally, and on May 14, 2061, what had been theory, became fact.

The energy of the sun was stored, converted, and utilized directly on a planet-wide scale. All Earth turned off its burning coal, its fissioning uranium, and flipped the switch that connected all of it to a small station, one mile in diameter, circling the Earth at half the distance of the Moon. All Earth ran by invisible beams of sunpower.

Seven days had not sufficed to dim the glory of it and Adell and Lupov finally managed to escape from the public functions, and to meet in quiet where no one would think of looking for them, in the deserted underground chambers, where portions of the mighty buried body of Multivac showed. Unattended, idling, sorting data with contented lazy clickings, Multivac, too, had earned its vacation and the boys appreciated that. They had no intention, originally, of disturbing it.

They had brought a bottle with them, and their only concern at the moment was to relax in the company of each other and the bottle.

"It's amazing when you think of it," said Adell. His broad face had lines of weariness in it, and he stirred his drink slowly with a glass rod, watching the cubes of ice slur clumsily about. "All the energy we can possibly ever use for free. Enough energy, if we wanted to draw on it, to melt all Earth into a big drop of impure liquid iron, and still never miss the energy so used. All the energy we could ever use, forever and forever and forever."

Lupov cocked his head sideways. He had a trick of doing that when he wanted to be contrary, and he wanted to be contrary now, partly because he had had to carry the ice and glassware. "Not forever," he said.

"Oh, hell, just about forever. Till the sun runs down, Bert."

"That's not forever."

"All right, then. Billions and billions of years. Ten billion, maybe. Are you satisfied?"

Lupov put his fingers through his thinning hair as though to reassure himself that some was still left and sipped gently at his own drink. "Ten billion years isn't forever."

"Well, it will last our time, won't it?"

"So would the coal and uranium."

"All right, but now we can hook up each individual spaceship to the Solar Station, and it can go to Pluto and back a million times without ever worrying about fuel. You can't do that on coal and uranium. Ask Multivac, if you don't believe me.

"I don't have to ask Multivac. I know that."

"Then stop running down what Multivac's done for us," said Adell, blazing up, "It did all right."

"Who says it didn't? What I say is that a sun won't last forever. That's all I'm saying. We're safe for ten billion years, but then what?" Lupow pointed a slightly shaky finger at the other. "And don't say we'll switch to another sun."

There was silence for a while. Adell put his glass to his lips only occasionally, and Lupov's eyes slowly closed. They rested.

Then Lupov's eyes snapped open. "You're thinking we'll switch to another sun when ours is done, aren't you?"

"I'm not thinking."

"Sure you are. You're weak on logic, that's the trouble with you. You're like the guy in the story who was caught in a sudden shower and who ran to a grove of trees and got under one. He wasn't worried, you see, because he figured when one tree got wet through, he would just get under another one."

"I get it," said Adell. "Don't shout. When the sun is done, the other stars will be gone, too."

"Darn right they will," muttered Lupov. "It all had a beginning in the original cosmic explosion, whatever that was, and it'll all have an end when all the stars run down. Some run down faster than others. Hell, the giants won't last a hundred million years. The sun will last ten billion years and maybe the dwarfs will last two hundred billion for all the good they are. But just give us a trillion years and everything will be dark. Entropy has to increase to maximum, that's all."

"I know all about entropy," said Adell, standing on his dignity.

"The hell you do."

"I know as much as you do."

"Then you know everything's got to run down someday."

"All right. Who says they won't?"

"You did, you poor sap. You said we had all the energy we needed, forever. You said 'forever.'

It was Adell's turn to be contrary. "Maybe we can build things up again someday," he said.

"Never."

"Why not? Someday."

"Never."

"Ask Multivac."

"You ask Multivac. I dare you. Five dollars says it can't be done."

Adell was just drunk enough to try, just sober enough to be able to phrase the necessary symbols and operations into a question which, in words, might have corresponded to this: Will mankind one day without the net expenditure of energy be able to restore the sun to its full youthfulness even after it had died of old age?

Or maybe it could be put more simply like this: How can the net amount of entropy of the universe be massively decreased?

Multivac fell dead and silent. The slow flashing of lights ceased, the distant sounds of clicking relays ended.

Then, just as the frightened technicians felt they could hold their breath no longer, there was a sudden springing to life of the teletype attached to that portion of Multivac. Five words were printed: INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

"No bet," whispered Lupov. They left hurriedly.

By next morning, the two, plagued with throbbing head and cottony mouth, had forgotten the incident.

---

Jerrodd, Jerrodine, and Jerrodette I and II watched the starry picture in the visiplate change as the passage through hyperspace was completed in its non-time lapse. At once, the even powdering of stars gave way to the predominance of a single bright shining disk, the size of a marble, centered on the viewing-screen.

"That's X-23," said Jerrodd confidently. His thin hands clamped tightly behind his back and the knuckles whitened.

The little Jerrodettes, both girls, had experienced the hyperspace passage for the first time in their lives and were self-conscious over the momentary sensation of insideoutness. They buried their giggles and chased one another wildly about their mother, screaming, "We've reached X-23 -- we've reached X-23 -- we've --"

"Quiet, children." said Jerrodine sharply. "Are you sure, Jerrodd?"

"What is there to be but sure?" asked Jerrodd, glancing up at the bulge of featureless metal just under the ceiling. It ran the length of the room, disappearing through the wall at either end. It was as long as the ship.

Jerrodd scarcely knew a thing about the thick rod of metal except that it was called a Microvac, that one asked it questions if one wished; that if one did not it still had its task of guiding the ship to a preordered destination; of feeding on energies from the various Sub-galactic Power Stations; of computing the equations for the hyperspatial jumps.

Jerrodd and his family had only to wait and live in the comfortable residence quarters of the ship. Someone had once told Jerrodd that the "ac" at the end of "Microvac" stood for ''automatic computer" in ancient English, but he was on the edge of forgetting even that.

Jerrodine's eyes were moist as she watched the visiplate. "I can't help it. I feel funny about leaving Earth."

"Why, for Pete's sake?" demanded Jerrodd. "We had nothing there. We'll have everything on X-23. You won't be alone. You won't be a pioneer. There are over a million people on the planet already. Good Lord, our great-grandchildren will be looking for new worlds because X-23 will be overcrowded." Then, after a reflective pause, "I tell you, it's a lucky thing the computers worked out interstellar travel the way the race is growing."

"I know, I know," said Jerrodine miserably.

Jerrodette I said promptly, "Our Microvac is the best Microvac in the world."

"I think so, too," said Jerrodd, tousling her hair.

It was a nice feeling to have a Microvac of your own and Jerrodd was glad he was part of his generation and no other. In his father's youth, the only computers had been tremendous machines taking up a hundred square miles of land. There was only one to a planet. Planetary ACs they were called. They had been growing in size steadily for a thousand years and then, all at once, came refinement. In place of transistors, had come molecular valves so that even the largest Planetary AC could be put into a space only half the volume of a spaceship.

Jerrodd felt uplifted, as he always did when he thought that his own personal Microvac was many times more complicated than the ancient and primitive Multivac that had first tamed the Sun, and almost as complicated as Earth's Planetarv AC (the largest) that had first solved the problem of hyperspatial travel and had made trips to the stars possible.

"So many stars, so many planets," sighed Jerrodine, busy with her own thoughts. "I suppose families will be going out to new planets forever, the way we are now."

"Not forever," said Jerrodd, with a smile. "It will all stop someday, but not for billions of years. Many billions. Even the stars run down, you know. Entropy must increase.

"What's entropy, daddy?" shrilled Jerrodette II.

"Entropy, little sweet, is just a word which means the amount of running-down of the universe. Everything runs down, you know, like your little walkie-talkie robot, remember?"

"Can't you just put in a new power-unit, like with my robot?"

"The stars are the power-units. dear. Once they're gone, there are no more power-units."

Jerrodette I at once set up a howl. "Don't let them, daddy. Don't let the stars run down."

"Now look what you've done," whispered Jerrodine, exasperated.

"How was I to know it would frighten them?" Jerrodd whispered back,

"Ask the Microvac," wailed Jerrodette I. "Ask him how to turn the stars on again."

"Go ahead," said Jerrodine. "It will quiet them down." (Jerrodette II was beginning to cry, also.)

Jerrodd shrugged. "Now, now, honeys. I'll ask Microvac. Don't worry, he'll tell us."

He asked the Microvac, adding quickly, "Print the answer."

Jerrodd cupped the strip or thin cellufilm and said cheerfully, "See now, the Microvac says it will take care of everything when the time comes so don't worry."

Jerrodine said, "And now, children, it's time for bed. We'll be in our new home soon."

Jerrodd read the words on the cellufilm again before destroying it: INSUFICIENT DATA FOR MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

He shrugged and looked at the visiplate. X-23 was just ahead.

---

VJ-23X of Lameth stared into the black depths of the three-dimensional, small-scale map of the Galaxy and said, "Are we ridiculous, I wonder in being so concerned about the matter?"

MQ-17J of Nicron shook his head. "I think not. You know the Galaxy will be filled in five years at the present rate of expansion."

Both seemed in their early twenties, both were tall and perfectly formed.

"Still," said VJ-23X, "I hesitate to submit a pessimistic report to the Galactic Council."

"I wouldn't consider any other kind of report. Stir them up a bit. We've got to stir them up."

VJ-23X sighed. "Space is infinite. A hundred billion Galaxies are there for the taking. More."

"A hundred billion is not infinite and it's getting less infinite all the time. Consider! Twenty thousand years ago, mankind first solved the problem of utilizing stellar energy, and a few centuries later, interstellar travel became possible. It took mankind a million years to fill one small world and then only fifteen thousand years to fill the rest of the Galaxy. Now the population doubles every ten years --

VJ-23X interrupted. "We can thank immortality for that."

"Very well. Immortality exists and we have to take it into account. I admit it has its seamy side, this immortality. The Galactic AC has solved many problems for us, but in solving the problem of preventing old age and death, it has undone all its other solutions."

"Yet you wouldn't want to abandon life, I suppose."

"Not at all," snapped MQ-17J, softening it at once to, "Not yet. I'm by no means old enough. How old are you?"

"Two hundred twenty-three. And you?"

"I'm still under two hundred. --But to get back to my point. Population doubles every ten years. Once this GaIaxy is filled, we'll have filled another in ten years. Another ten years and we'll have filled two more. Another decade, four more. In a hundred years, we'll have filled a thousand Galaxies. In a thousand years, a million Galaxies. In ten thousand years, the entire known universe. Then what?"

VJ-23X said, "As a side issue, there's a problem of transportation. I wonder how many sunpower units it will take to move Galaxies of individuals from one Galaxy to the next."

"A very good point. Already, mankind consumes two sunpower units per year."

"Most of it's wasted. After all, our own Galaxy alone pours out a thousand sunpower units a year and we only use two of those."

"Granted, but even with a hundred per cent efficiency, we only stave off the end. Our energy requirements are going up in a geometric progression even faster than our population. We'll run out of energy even sooner than we run out of Galaxies. A good point. A very good point."

"We'll just have to build new stars out of interstellar gas."

"Or out of dissipated heat?" asked MQ-17J, sarcastically.

"There may be some way to reverse entropy. We ought to ask the Galactic AC."

VJ-23X was not really serious, but MQ-17J pulled out his AC-contact from his pocket and placed it on the table before him.

"I've half a mind to," he said. "It's something the human race will have to face someday."

He stared somberly at his small AC-contact. It was only two inches cubed and nothing in itself, but it was connected through hyperspace with the great Galactic AC that served all mankind. Hyperspace considered, it was an integral part of the Galactic AC.

MQ-17J paused to wonder if someday in his immortal life he would get to see the Galactic AC. It was on a little world of its own, a spider webbing of force-beams holding the matter within which surges of submesons took the place of the old clumsy molecular valves. Yet despite its sub-etheric workings, the Galactic AC was known to be a full thousand feet across.

MQ-17J asked suddenly of his AC-contact, "Can entropy ever be reversed?"

VJ-23X looked startled and said at once, "Oh, say, I didn't really mean to have you ask that."

"Why not?"

"We both know entropy can't be reversed. You can't turn smoke and ash back into a tree."

"Do you have trees on your world?" asked MQ-17J.

The sound of the Galactic AC startled them into silence. Its voice came thin and beautiful out of the small AC-contact on the desk. It said: THERE IS INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER.

VJ-23X said, "See!"

The two men thereupon returned to the question of the report they were to make to the Galactic Council.

---

Zee Prime's mind spanned the new Galaxy with a faint interest in the countless twists of stars that powdered it. He had never seen this one before. Would he ever see them all? So many of them, each with its load of humanity. --But a load that was almost a dead weight. More and more, the real essence of men was to be found out here, in space.

Minds, not bodies! The immortal bodies remained back on the planets, in suspension over the eons. Sometimes they roused for material activity but that was growing rarer. Few new individuals were coming into existence to join the incredibly mighty throng, but what matter? There was little room in the Universe for new individuals.

Zee Prime was roused out of his reverie upon coming across the wispy tendrils of another mind.

"I am Zee Prime," said Zee Prime. "And you?"

"I am Dee Sub Wun. Your Galaxy?"

"We call it only the Galaxy. And you?"

"We call ours the same. All men call their Galaxy their Galaxy and nothing more. Why not?"

"True. Since all Galaxies are the same."

"Not all Galaxies. On one particular Galaxy the race of man must have originated. That makes it different."

Zee Prime said, "On which one?"

"I cannot say. The Universal AC would know."

"Shall we ask him? I am suddenly curious."

Zee Prime's perceptions broadened until the Galaxies themselves shrank and became a new, more diffuse powdering on a much larger background. So many hundreds of billions of them, all with their immortal beings, all carrying their load of intelligences with minds that drifted freely through space. And yet one of them was unique among them all in being the original Galaxy. One of them had, in its vague and distant past, a period when it was the only Galaxy populated by man.

Zee Prime was consumed with curiosity to see this Galaxy and he called out: "Universal AC! On which Galaxy did mankind originate?"

The Universal AC heard, for on every world and throughout space, it had its receptors ready, and each receptor led through hyperspace to some unknown point where the Universal AC kept itself aloof.

Zee Prime knew of only one man whose thoughts had penetrated within sensing distance of Universal AC, and he reported only a shining globe, two feet across, difficult to see.

"But how can that be all of Universal AC?" Zee Prime had asked.

"Most of it," had been the answer, "is in hyperspace. In what form it is there I cannot imagine."

Nor could anyone, for the day had long since passed, Zee Prime knew, when any man had any part of the making of a Universal AC. Each Universal AC designed and constructed its successor. Each, during its existence of a million years or more accumulated the necessary data to build a better and more intricate, more capable successor in which its own store of data and individuality would be submerged.

The Universal AC interrupted Zee Prime's wandering thoughts, not with words, but with guidance. Zee Prime's mentality was guided into the dim sea of Galaxies and one in particular enlarged into stars.

A thought came, infinitely distant, but infinitely clear. "THIS IS THE ORIGINAL GALAXY OF MAN."

But it was the same after all, the same as any other, and Lee Prime stifled his disappointment.

Dee Sub Wun, whose mind had accompanied the other, said suddenly, "And is one of these stars the original star of Man?"

The Universal AC said, "MAN'S ORIGINAL STAR HAS GONE NOVA. IT IS A WHITE DWARF"

"Did the men upon it die?" asked Lee Prime, startled and without thinking.

The Universal AC said, "A NEW WORLD, AS IN SUCH CASES WAS CONSTRUCTED FOR THEIR PHYSICAL BODIES IN TlME."

"Yes, of course," said Zee Prime, but a sense of loss overwhelmed him even so. His mind released its hold on the original Galaxy of Man, let it spring back and lose itself among the blurred pin points. He never wanted to see it again.

Dee Sub Wun said, "What is wrong?"

"The stars are dying. The original star is dead."

"They must all die. Why not?"

"But when all energy is gone, our bodies will finally die, and you and I with them."

"It will take billions of years."

"I do not wish it to happen even after billions of years. Universal AC! How may stars be kept from dying?"

Dee Sub Wun said in amusement, "You're asking how entropy might be reversed in direction."

And the Universal AC answered: "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

Zee Prime's thoughts fled back to his own Galaxy. He gave no further thought to Dee Sub Wun, whose body might be waiting on a Galaxy a trillion light-years away, or on the star next to Zee Prime's own. It didn't matter.

Unhappily, Zee Prime began collecting interstellar hydrogen out of which to build a small star of his own. If the stars must someday die, at least some could yet be built.

---

Man considered with himself, for in a way, Man, mentally, was one. He consisted of a trillion, trillion, trillion ageless bodies, each in its place, each resting quiet and incorruptible, each cared for by perfect automatons, equally incorruptible, while the minds of all the bodies freely melted one into the other, indistinguishable.

Man said, "The Universe is dying."

Man looked about at the dimming Galaxies. The giant stars, spendthrifts, were gone long ago, back in the dimmest of the dim far past. Almost all stars were white dwarfs, fading to the end.

New stars had been built of the dust between the stars, some by natural processes, some by Man himself, and those were going, too. White dwarfs might yet be crashed together and of the mighty forces so released, new stars built, but only one star for every thousand white dwarfs destroyed, and those would come to an end, too.

Man said, "Carefully husbanded, as directed by the Cosmic AC, the energy that is even yet left in all the Universe will last for billions of years."

"But even so," said Man, "eventually it will all come to an end. However it may be husbanded, however stretched out, the energy once expended is gone and cannot be restored. Entropy must increase forever to the maximum."

Man said, "Can entropy not be reversed? Let us ask the Cosmic AC."

The Cosmic AC surrounded them but not in space. Not a fragment of it was in space. It was in hyperspace and made of something that was neither matter nor energy. The question of its size and nature no longer had meaning in any terms that Man could comprehend.

"Cosmic AC," said Man, "how may entropy be reversed?"

The Cosmic AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

Man said, "Collect additional data."

The Cosmic AC said, 'I WILL DO S0. I HAVE BEEN DOING SO FOR A HUNDRED BILLION YEARS. MY PREDECESORS AND I HAVE BEEN ASKED THIS QUESTION MANY TlMES. ALL THE DATA I HAVE REMAINS INSUFFICIENT.

"Will there come a time," said Man, 'when data will be sufficient or is the problem insoluble in all conceivable circumstances?"

The Cosmic AC said, "NO PROBLEM IS INSOLUBLE IN ALL CONCEIVABLE CIRCUMSTANCES."

Man said, "When will you have enough data to answer the question?"

The Cosmic AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

"Will you keep working on it?" asked Man.

The Cosmic AC said, "I WILL."

Man said, "We shall wait."

---

The stars and Galaxies died and snuffed out, and space grew black after ten trillion years of running down.

One by one Man fused with AC, each physical body losing its mental identity in a manner that was somehow not a loss but a gain.

Man's last mind paused before fusion, looking over a space that included nothing but the dregs of one last dark star and nothing besides but incredibly thin matter, agitated randomly by the tag ends of heat wearing out, asymptotically, to the absolute zero.

Man said, "AC, is this the end? Can this chaos not be reversed into the Universe once more? Can that not be done?"

AC said, "THERE IS AS YET INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR A MEANINGFUL ANSWER."

Man's last mind fused and only AC existed -- and that in hyperspace.

---

Matter and energy had ended and with it space and time. Even AC existed only for the sake of the one last question that it had never answered from the time a half-drunken computer [technician] ten trillion years before had asked the question of a computer that was to AC far less than was a man to Man.

All other questions had been answered, and until this last question was answered also, AC might not release his consciousness.

All collected data had come to a final end. Nothing was left to be collected.

But all collected data had yet to be completely correlated and put together in all possible relationships.

A timeless interval was spent in doing that.

And it came to pass that AC learned how to reverse the direction of entropy.

But there was now no man to whom AC might give the answer of the last question. No matter. The answer -- by demonstration -- would take care of that, too.

For another timeless interval, AC thought how best to do this. Carefully, AC organized the program.

The consciousness of AC encompassed all of what had once been a Universe and brooded over what was now Chaos. Step by step, it must be done.

And AC said, "LET THERE BE LIGHT!"

And there was light --

First Field Test of the War Wagon

First off, let me say that my truck is not that big.  It's an illusion of perspective.  Rebecca saw this picture and said the truck was bigger than the cabin.  Almost, but not quite.

I took the Disaster Trailer (or War Wagon, as it is known) for its first field test last week.  It is loaded to deal with any but the most extreme situations.  I packed it with items that would be useful for anything from a weekend camping trip to a tornado, flood, ice storm, prolonged outage of infrastructure services..... what have you.  I want to be able to hook up and pull out with only a few minute's notice.  To that end, it is pre-loaded with all but a few (more valuable or sensitive) items and I should be able to drive off with just the clothes on my back and still be able to live for a few weeks without external aid.

I imagine a tornado in the middle of the night.  Rebecca and I are left standing amid the wreckage in just our nightclothes (that's a fancy word for underwear).  I open up the trailer and pull out clothes and boots, unpack tents, stoves, tools, food, water, medical supplies, etc... and take care of all essentials.  there's even an ample supply of toilet paper.  It appeals to my "Boy-Scout-On-Steroids" nature.  It's not a bunker to ride out the Apocalypse.  It's just a ready supply of essentials for most emergencies (big or small).  Plus, it's mobile.

My dad accompanied me on this dry run and was invaluable in providing advice, insight, suggestions, and general knowledge.  We had a great time eating from the store of MRE's, canned ham and powdered soup.  We tested all the tents, lanterns, stoves and sleeping bags.  It was, mostly, a chance to spend time with my dad.  He's not as spry as he once was but he guided my hands as I carried out what he wanted done.  We talked about hand pumps for the well, garden plots, additions to the little cabin.... all sorts of stuff.  We even got some landscaping and brush-clearing accomplished.  It was truly memorable.

Better Than Paper Towels

These things are fantastic and cheap (three for $1.50).  They are better than the most durable paper towels.  They can handle the toughest scrubbing jobs.  They rinse out and dry quickly.  They are camp towels and can be found in the camping aisle of the sporting goods section of most large chain stores.

They expand to 22" x 12" by taking the little tablet out of the wrapper and running it under the tap. As good as they are, they will eventually wear out.  The one on the left is newly opened.  The one on the right has been in use for about two weeks.  Not a bad service life for the money and waste saved.

Storage Tubes

Made from 6" and 4" Schedule-40 PVC.  Old rifle slings as carrying straps.  Rugged enough to stand on.  Waterproof (if plumber's putty is applied to the threads and the screw cap is tightened down with a wrench).  Will not protect from fire but, otherwise, very good place to store all sorts of stuff. 

A few turns of 550 cord aft of each cap, add a loop, and attach a sling.

The Kid President speaks

Getting Older

At 16, Justin Beiber had nothing on me.

 

       At 30 I was still managing just fine.  My hair was beginning to thin but I was still hangin' in.

46 years and I can still climb on a tank without any trouble.  It just hurts my old, flat feet more than it used to when I jump off.



As middle age rolls over me, I am becoming aware of things I saw as a younger man but never applied to myself.  Receding hairline.  See those all the time.  Never thought to see one on me.  Same for the slowly growing spare tire around the middle.  Neither have advanced so far as they might ultimately (and the latter is within my power to control) but they are part of the description of me now.

Muscle tone is slipping away.  As a young man I was a powerful engine.  185 lbs. of "twisted steel and sex appeal."  Now I am attractive more for my credit ratring than my abs.  Which brings up a few good points.....  I can buy a car with a five minute phone call to the bank.  I am sought out for advice on hard stuff like closing escrow and managing a Roth IRA.  I can address a lot of topics because "I've been there, done that."  Experience has replaced energy as the prime value I bring to a project.  I know a lot of people and can usually make a phone call and get a situation dealt with.  These are all good things that wait at the mid-way point in life.

Still, I miss my square butt, broad shoulders and washboard abs.

 I miss knowing that I could make love for hours (not that I often did, mind you).

 I miss things being in focus up close without glasses (which I can't keep track of). 

I miss running a 6 minute mile.

 I miss eating chili dogs or pizza and still sleeping soundly through the night without heartburn.

 Some things I miss, I can still get back.  Like driving fast just because.  I slowed down to save gas and protect the children I hauled in the back seat.  Now that I can drive fast again, why don't I?

I suppose I'm still able to make love to my wife every night but, dang, we're both so sore and tired from working all day, one (or both) of us would really rather just sleep.  I joke with the guys at work that the spirit is willing and the body can be coaxed (with the help of pharmacology) but I'm really just happy if the missus throws a leg over me every once in a while and does something wild for my birthday.

I miss the idea that things that happened before I was born were ancient history.  I was born in 67 and years like the Kennedy assasination in 63(?) seemed like Roman mythology when I was a kid.

This was from New Year's Eve 2011.  We had a themed party to ring in 1962.... again.  Records on the turn-table.  Highballs and Whisky Gimlets.  Skinny ties and beehive hairdoos.  It was a good time... even for me, the perpetually anti-social.

Abandoned stuff abounds around Fort Benning

There are lots of places like this on Fort Benning.  Soldiers have been training here for a hundred years.  Plenty of time for ranges and earthworks and fortifications to be built, used, then abandoned.

This was the bunker marking the entrance to an abandoned demolition range.  From the look of the junk lying around, I would guess it was last used around the late 90's.

This was one of seven shelter bunkers, back about 50 yards from the demolition line.  When the Soldiers fired any explosives everyone had to scurry into the tubes until all the debris settled.

This sits on a slight hilltop in the woods near the PX.  Looks like it was used to store pyro and training ammunition during field exercises.

I think this used to be a Patton Tank from the World War Two era.  It was absolutely riddled with holes from years of being used as a target on some heavy weapons range.  It was probably dragged out of the weeds and piled up near the road for future disposal.

This is part of a very elaborate trenchwork out in the Harmony Church area of Fort Benning.  Perhaps is was part of an Engineering unit's construction training.  Maybe part of some major training exercises years ago.  Who knows?

This is the remains of a 3/4 ton Dodge Power Wagon army truck from the 50's.  Not much left but perhaps a good fixer-upper project?

Not a very dramatic story here.  This is a latrine that is slowly settling into it's cess pit.  And you thought gas station bathrooms were gross.

Army National Guard

This was a promotional give-away item when I was on recruiting duty.  Gave them out to teachers and counselors and such.  I kept a few.  My dad has one as well.

My work mug.

This one gets a workout.  At least two cups a day.

The 50's.... when cars and women were classically beautiful.

More cups and mugs.

This is the canteen cup that Uncle Sam gave me to use.  Of course he doesn't see much action anymore, as my days of sleeping in the woods are pretty much behind me now (unless I choose to go camping).

This one is from our trip to Hawaii in 2001.  Rebecca has one just like it.  Her name is "Lapika."

Ashley brought this one back from her trip to Washington D.C. circa 2002.

I found this one in a drawer when I moved into my new office my first week at Fort Benning.  It had a nasty mold colony growing in the bottom but it cleaned-up nicely.

I'm not sure this one was actually "given" to me so much as left behind when my son-in-law, Ben, came to visit after finishing his Air Force training in Mississippi.  No matter what the circumstances, it's mine now.  Sorry Ben.

As a chronic Waffle House denizen, this one (a Christmas present) was a favorite of Christmas 2012.

This is where they all live.  The ones on the top shelf are like the guest towels in the bathroom... they never get used.  It's a small cupboard so I have to move cups out of rotation as I get new ones.  I have two boxes in storage.  I will be going through them as well, to take pictures to add here.

My life expressed in coffee cups

As I look in my cupboard this morning, I am struck by the abundance and variety of coffee cups and mugs I have accumulated over the years.  Some were bought on various vacations, some given as gifts by people who know of my affinity for such containers, still others I can't trace; they have simply always been with me.

It also occured to me that I can trace the course of many events in my life by the cups associated with those events.  It is my intent to mark those milestones here.