February 2025 Story

The Forward Observer

Glossary of substitute words:

Fug: used by Mailer in “The Naked And The Dead” to get around censorship in 1948.

Bustard: a large Asian bird

Sheet: a bed covering

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He had been very lucky so far. To escape before he was murdered by his captors, in the confusion of the explosions from the swarm of low flying kamikaze attack drones he had called in from his forward observation post just before he was captured. He had volunteered to be a forward observer after the enemy had learned how to nullify the high flying scout drones that done the job previously. And he had done such an infuriatingly effective job that, after his capture, the angry officer in command ordered his execution, contrary to the formal rules of combat. But in this war, rules were often ignored by both sides.

Now the man was huddled in a bomb crater in no-man’s-land, faced with a major problem. How to get back to friendly lines without getting killed since his FIDS dog tag had been ripped off his neck by his captors. (FIDS or Friend Identification System is an electronic signal that identifies the bearer to all drones as a friend, not to be targeted.) His captors were probably planning to use his in an infiltration. At least it was night, and until the engineers figured out a way to restore vision to the scout drones, attack drones would be directed to their targets by human forward observers like him. It was autumn so the nights were not freezing cold and yet cold enough so that the corpse he shared the crater with was not sickeningly-foul smelling, just rotten. Rain water pooled in the bottom of the crater. Not potable since the corpse lay part way in it. One of them, not us, he noted with satisfaction.

The whir of a drone over the background clatter of artillery and distant explosions. He kept very still as it passed to the left. Ours or theirs? Didn’t really matter since without his FIDS he would be a target. And he would be called a friendly fire statistic if anyone ever knew. I’d better try to move. Crater to crater. Earthy wet dirt smell, whiff of rot, mingled with that of TNT and burn. Stop listen for a whir, try to spot drones against clouds and patchy starry background. Nothing. Then move quickly. Gotta get beyond the sight of the enemy by morning. He hoped that the squad that captured him had been so decimated in the attack that their replacements would not know of his escape and would not specifically send out a drone to look for him.

The sky was turning grey to the east. Sun up soon. Time to find a deep crater and spend the day hiding. Think I’m about midway across no-man’s-land. Attack drones will likely not pay as close attention here than closer to the battle lines. Luck! A crater without a body or puddle. Getting thirsty and hungry. Just got to suck it up. And wait. Don’t even raise my head to look around. Just gotta hope they don’t send out a squad on foot to probe our defenses. Whir of a drone quadricopter. Sheet—damn fly walking across my face and I can’t move! Flying low towards the enemy line judging by the sound. Must be one of ours. Just one, so it must not have a specific target—just out to seek and kill some bustards. Damn—missed the fly! Aren’t they supposed to be gone now that it’s cold? Guess there’s a lot of corpses around for them. I’m not one—go find a real dead body. Like the one in here. But I could become fly bait if my luck runs out.

At last, sunset then twilight, and night with just a thin, waning moon in a partly cloudy sky. Dark enough. Time to move. He dared to lift his head at last and look around. Crater to crater again. And luck—a recently killed body to judge by just the faint odor of decay. One of theirs. Check the backpack. Yes! Full canteen and an unopened meal ration. Take a drink. No time to eat. Get closer to our lines, then I’ll stop and eat.

The man froze whenever he heard a drone, worried that if there were nearby explosions he would be unable to hear the soft whir. He was within a mile of friendly lines by first light. He found a shell hole. Now I can eat and have another drink. And plan. If I try to get closer by sneaking from hole to hole and get spotted, they’ll take me for an infiltrator and drone or shot me without a hesitation since those bustards took my FIDS. Or if I wait for one of our patrols to stumble on me, again someone will shoot before I can identify myself. Fat chance to have one of our patrols just happen to come my way anyway. I’m stuck. Sheet.

Night came at last. A waning crescent moon. He began to edge forward, praying that he wouldn’t be spotted through night vision glasses. He was in luck and by dawn he had found a shell hole within a half mile of friendly trenches. Now what? A plan, I need a plan. How can I let them know I’m one of us without my FIDS? If I move by day, they’ll just shoot first without questioning. But they’ll be especially trigger happy if I try to move closer by night. He was tired, hungry, filthy, and out of options. I’m fugged. And now the sun was up and head down, he hugged the earth. It’ll be noon, soon enough. So close. What to do?

In the forward trench the two drone controllers, Max and Jakob, had their virtual reality goggles on, as well as monitoring a large screen displaying the sector in front of them. The drones they oversaw were autonomous killing machines, programmed to attack any moving object without FIDS. The controllers’ function was to provide oversight and override through their goggles, seeing what the drones’ cameras viewed, so that the drones did not waste their weapons or themselves (if they were the kamikaze type) on a mistaken target or a dummy. It was noon.

“Look at that crazy bustard crawling out of that hole,“ said Max. “He’s buck naked and waving his hands in the air.”

“Civilian?” asked Jakob. “What’s he doing in no-man’s-land? Look he’s dancing! Fugger must be nuts!”

“No weapons, no clothes. Not a suicide bomber.”

“Drone’s zeroing in on him,” said Max. “Won’t matter anyway.”

“Wait,” said Jakob, pausing the drone. “Suppose that fugger is one of ours? Got lost out there.”

“No FIDS, can’t be,” said Max.

“Leon’s position was over-run four days ago and we don’t know what happened to him,” said Jakob.

“That crazy bustard. Did he get lucky?” asked Max. “I’m going to fly the drone up close so I can see his face.”

“The fugger isn’t running from the drone. In fact he’s standing there and waving his arms like he wants the drone to get closer,” Jakob said.

“Damn! Dirty as hell, but it sure as hell is Leon!” Max exclaimed. “Holy sheet!”

“Pause the drones and bring him in,” Jakob said. “I’ll tell the boys in the trenches to hold their fire. Leon’s coming home.”

January, 2025

Ornaments

It was seven days after New Year’s Day and he sighed. It was time to undecorated the tree and take it down. The letdown after the Holidays. Celebrations and parties over. Kids and grandkids returned to their homes on the Mainland. Fir needles starting to crisp and fall. Every year the space between Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed more compressed, and Christmas to New Year’s Eve was just a blink in time. And now it was January.

He had waited until two weeks before Christmas to get a live tree, bring it home, get out the stand that each year showed more rust, and lift the tree onto a side table with his son’s help. It was a five foot tree and putting it on the table kept it out of the dogs’ reach when they came over. What he used to do with his wife, then after her passing, alone, he now needed help with. You must not use the step stool to decorate the top of the tree; tell me when you want me over and I’ll do the climbing, his son had admonished. He bowed to common sense and agreed. I’ll let the tree branches settle for a couple of days and call you, he told his son.
Before calling to help with that, he got out the tree lights and the two ornament boxes in readiness. If you can do put on the tree lights, and the top angel, I can do the rest, he said when his son arrived. No climbing his son reminded him. I haven’t shrunk that much that I can’t hang the ornaments, he replied, though he was now 5’ 9” instead of the 6’1” he had been when he was 60. Thank you, but I can do the rest myself more slowly, now that you’ve done the high stuff. I don’t want to take up too much of your day. Yes, I’m sure I’ll be careful. He liked to decorate slowly, remembering. The former top angel that had been on their first tree, now looking quite worn, he hung from a lower branch. He unpacked and decided where to place each ornament, an annual trip down memory lane. Don’t need all of them this year; we used to have taller trees. Turned on the lights and they looked evenly placed. There would be some shifting of ornaments for a few days until he was satisfied with their distribution—that used to be fun for his wife.

But all that was over three weeks ago, and now it was time to put things back in storage and start a new year. He began by getting out the two plastic storage boxes. I’ll start with the high bulbs that are within reach and leave the top ones and lights for my son to take down. Now here are the two small glass ones that we had on our very first tree. That was in a studio apartment on Third Avenue in NYC, six months after they were married. The tree they bought from a sidewalk stand on First Avenue.

And these three were from Sears in Boston, two blocks from our apartment, just across the railroad bridge. Made in Poland, he remembered—which seemed odd at the time. Survivors of our moves across the country. We also bought our trees from the lot in the Sears parking lot. He wrapped each bulb one in tissue paper as he stored them.

After Boston it was Great Falls, Montana and USAF life for two years. Where’d we get these two crazy birds with top hats? From the BX or “The Paris of Montana?” That was the department store in town where they sold everything including furs coats up front and bought pelts from hunters and trappers in the back. Our dining room set came from them. We went to the National Forests in the snow to cut our own trees. A caravan from the base, hunting trees. Hunting pheasant was earlier in the fall.

On to Seattle for four years. His wife acquired a few more ornaments each Christmas, including the wooden figures from Sweden that he staged in a winter diorama each year. The store was a Scandinavian shop on University Ave. Do all college towns have a University Avenue? Yeah, the kids got a kick out of that and look for it even now when they come back. The felt birds she sewed as a volunteer with the Children’s Hospital Guild now hang on our son’s tree. And when we went Christmas shopping at night at Frederick’s, the store had a supervised play room for the kids. Frederick’s is no more, but I still have ornaments from it. I guess there are still chocolate mints that sell under that label.

And finally back to Honolulu. Here are the musical angels that play “Silent Night.” From Liberty House and bought so long ago that they were made in Japan rather than China. He wrapped them carefully in two layers of paper towels. Liberty House. They had a store in Union Square, San Francisco once. I even bought a sport coat from that store. Liberty House. Sold by AmFac to a Mainland buyer and later bought by Macy’s. The small wooden creche ornament was from “India Imports.” Another local store crowded out of Ala Moana Center. And these bulbs from Germany that we got for our first Christmas back in Hawaii—from Sears. Gone too. Wrap them and stow them. Our tree that year was a local-grown live Norfolk pine. No odor though. We planted it at our first house the next summer.

Ornaments and decorations with histories, barely remembered now. And now I’m the sole curator of these decorations and memories, he thought. Ornaments, carefully packed away with their stories until next Christmas.

December 2024

The sun in July still warmed as it was slowly setting to the West;

reluctant to give the day over to the night. But the summer night

was welcomed as a cool respite from the furnace heat of the day.

December’s sun is beautiful as it slips into the sea. But it gives

no warmth as it hurries to bring on the night. And December’s night

is long and deep, and the stars shine with a cold, bright light in

the cold, black winter sky.

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Happy New Year. I have just published through Amazon a collection of short stories, titled “Short and Shorter Stories”

If you decide to take a look–the quotation marks are needed to get you to the right site–thank you. If you actually buy a copy, thank you very much!

P.S. For less than the price of a plate lunch.

November 2024 story

Do Over

“Are these really the Pearly Gates and are you Saint Peter?”

“Welcome William, and yes to both your questions.”

“What a relief! I wasn’t sure that I would qualify to be here.”

“Why were you worried? You lived a life that many who were sent the Other Way would have envied and now wished that they had led.”

“But I’ve done things and left things undone in my life that I now deeply regret and wish that I could do over.”

“Perfection is only for our Supreme Being. Remember, there were even angels who fell from grace because of arrogance and pride and were banished to Hell. And I denied the Christ three times out of fear and cowardice and yet was forgiven. As has been said, ‘to err is human.’ And fortunately, ‘to forgive is Divine.’”

“Still I have regrets. Is there any way I could help my mortal self be a better me?”

“A do-over. You are a good soul to wish that you could have led an even better life than you did. Most people are just delighted that they made it here and are happy to leave their earthly past behind. But you do recognize there is an element of pride in your wish?”

“But is there a way?”

“Yours is an infrequent but not unique request. Yes there is a way, but there are rules and stipulations. You cannot physically return because that would mean there would be two of you occupying the same space and time, an impossibility in the scheme of the universe. Nor can you return as an astral body, since if the earthly you saw you that would give him foreknowledge of the after life and influence his exercise of Free Will.”

“What then?”

“You will be permitted to return to visit your younger self when he is in REM sleep. To speak to him then, to persuade him to alter his future behavior. Thus you will neither give him knowledge that there is after-life nor affect his Free Will, since it will be his choice to heed or not what you say to him. And unlike ordinary dreams, he will retain memory of your visit when he awakens.”

“Will it work?”

“If I told you, that would influence the exercise of your Free Will.”

“It seems so complicated, but thank you. It’s worth a try.”

“No need to thank me. It’s all in the rules. And in what guise you choose to appear in his dream will be up to you. The Gates are open for you. Enter. You may start whenever you wish.”

Time has no meaning in Heaven. Sometime after William got over his initial awe that he was actually there, joyfully reunited with his mother and father, he began to pay visits in dreams to his mortal self.

Jonah, his best friend in middle school, had moved to another city across the continent. They said that they would stay in contact but, after a few months, he ghosted Jonah because he thought, ‘what’s the use? I’ll never see him again.’ Jonah continued to send messages but he never replied. Years later he ran into Jonah at a meeting who told him how hurt he had been by William’s rejection.

William decided to appear to his teen-self as their mother who admonished teen-William for neglecting his best friend’s messages: ‘Jonah was your best friend, how can you just cut him off without even an explanation? it’s a really terribly cruel thing to do. how would you feel if he did that to you?’ “But Mom, I’ll never see him again, so why waste my time and his?” the teen replied in his dream.

In college, he bought a stolen copy of a final exam in a course where he was barely getting a ‘C’. William appeared to his college-self as his father who was a sternly honest man: ‘you are tempted to use that stolen exam to cheat, something I have tried to teach you never to do. though you may receive a high grade, you will always remember that you cheated and violated the honor code and it will linger on your conscience.’ (As indeed it had.) “Dad, I have to keep up my GPA so that I’ll have a chance at grad school,” college-William replied.

There was the time he attended a convention alone in Los Vegas and ran into Roxanne, his former girl friend from high school, who was at the same meeting. Roxanne had been pretty in high school and was now a mature beauty, divorced for two years. The third day of the meeting, they had dinner together to catch up and talk about old times and, both well lubricated by wine by dinner’s end, when Roxanne invited him to her room he accepted. But at her door he stopped, saying ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t. It’s not you, it’s me. I have a wife I love; kids. I’m sorry. I’d better go.’ He turned and left quickly with Roxanne loudly cursing him. He never told his wife, but always carried a tremendous feeling of guilt about the near-betrayal.

So he decided to appeared to convention-William in a dream on the first night of the meeting as his teenaged older daughter Cindy. ’dad, you once thought you loved Roxanne in high school, but now you love mom. please don’t hurt mom by falling again for Roxanne. even if no one else ever knows, you always will.’ William woke with a start, disturbed by the dream. But later that day, he made dinner reservations for two.

There were other times he appeared in the dreams of his mortal self—once as an older William saying directly that ‘I know what will happen if you don’t do this. take my word for it. i’m you in the future.’ Too weird, thought his younger self on wakening. He also appeared several times as a good friend and another time as a business associate. And even as his fiancee who would become his wife.

Saint Peter checked on William to see how the interventions were working.

“It’s very disappointing,” William said. “No matter what I’ve said and tried, my mortal self continues to do the same things.”

“What about that time in Vegas?” asked Saint Peter. “You didn’t yield to temptation.”

“But I didn’t heed the warning and went ahead to arrange for dinner that led up to being tempted. At Roxanne’s door I didn’t stop because I remembered the warning. I stopped because there was still a shred of decency that cut through the wine and lust.”

“And what do you conclude from this?” asked Saint Peter.

“That the past cannot be changed from the vantage point of the future?”

“Yes, you are right. Because even a small change in the past would have cascading effects that could alter what follows and produce different futures. History is non-malleable.”

“I guess that means that our mortal selves had better get it right the first time, because there are no do-overs,” William said.

October 2024, story

Homeless

Why do you wish to join us?

I’ve become homeless and I thought perhaps I could move in with you until I get a new home.

Tell us why you became homeless.

You ask ‘why?’ It’s not like it was something that I chose to do.

Okay, if you must be picky. How did you become homeless?

I was quite happy in that old house on Barren Hill. Wouldn’t have moved. But one day two men came to the house and I heard them talking.

When was that?

You know that time really has no meaning for us, so I’m not sure. Could have been six months or two years. Anyway one man said, “It is old and would need some repairs and renovations, but just look at that view over the town all the way to the lake. Priceless.” The other man said, “I’ve heard some stories about this property.” The first man replied, “You know every town has its stories and legends. If you don’t want to renovate, you could just tear it down and build a brand new contemporary home.” And the second man said, “I’ll need to think about that. But you’re right about the view.” They may have talked some more, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying since they had moved outside..

What did you think? You weren’t curious or worried?

Nothing happened for a while and so I forgot about it. And what could I have done? Anyway, things went on as before until one day workmen showed up and they cleared out the bushes around the house and the property. Shortly after that heavy equipment arrived and I remembered what the men had said about tearing down my house. So that night after the workers had left, I managed to introduce water into the fuel tanks. In the morning there was a lot of swearing and blaming when the men tried to start the engines. No work was done that day. I did the same thing when they tried again and again they couldn’t get the engines going. They thought that some kids were playing tricks so they posted a night watchman.

And the watchman spotted you when you tried a third time?

Yes, and it was really funny to hear him scream when he did. Haven’t had that much fun since the last couple that rented the house fled in the middle of the night. But that brought about my move because when he told the others what he saw, they brought in a priest to do an exorcism. And even though I’m not a demon, we still are bound by the rules and so I had to stop sabotaging their machines and had to leave. And that’s how I became homeless.

Did they tear down your house after you left?

It was really sad. I’ve got so many memories attached to the house. I knew every plank, timber, and nail. All gone.

And here you are. Asking us to let you join us.

But not permanently. Just until they finish building. Then I will move back.

Wait a minute. The house is gone and that was the connection that kept you there. You can’t just haunt a new house. There’s got to be an attachment.

I died in the garden while weeding the cabbages. The rules say that qualifies me to return. After all, I was a lawyer once. So please, may I stay here? Temporarily?

I’ll ask the sentiment of the graveyard. Shall we let this wandering spirit stay for a time? Any discussion? Yes? Oh good point. You can stay if you do not do any haunting. That’s reserved for us permanent residents. Especially with Halloween just around the corner.

I don’t have any choice or good options. I agree.

Any other questions or discussion? If not, all in favor say boo or rattle your bones; opposed, wail. The boos have it. You are welcome to stay with us temporarily here in Green Lawn.

Thank you. And when the house is finished and I move in, you will all be welcome to come and celebrate the first Halloween there. It’ll be a haunting to remember.

September 2024 Story

A Killer Rig

“We won!” John Dohe, the CEO of Reoltuff Motors reported to his board of directors. “We beat out GM. Ford, Rivian, and Tesla. Just got the official notice about the army contract to build the next generation of ACIR’s (Autonomous Combat Infantry Robots). This will be big since it reflects our experience and leading position in building autonomous long haul big rigs,” “Good work and congratulations, John,” said the Board Chair. “The long hours that your project team put in plus a strong lobbying effort, paid off. How soon do we start?”

“We’ll be using the autonomous driving program for our rigs as the platform and we’ll build the combat requirements on top of that. Our driverless rigs have been on the road for four years now and have been accident-free except when another vehicle was involved and was at fault. So it’s a pretty well-proven place to start from.”

ACIRs had largely replaced human infantry except in guerrilla warfare, where human irregulars still predominated as the enemy. The trend towards using robots in combat began with the Ukrainian War, where the outnumbered Ukrainians ingeniously developed armed drones on land, sea, and in the air to take the place of humans and successfully used them against the Russian invaders.

Bill Sams, the lead engineer on the team, provided the Board with an overview of his plans. “The military already has their friendly fire avoidance system, FIDS (Friend ID System), operational. Basically an electronic dog tag that all personnel and all military equipment carry that identifies an unknown as friendly and not to be fired upon. In contrast, the SKF (Seek and Kill Foe) attack module identifies all non-FIDS persons or objects as potential legitimate targets to be destroyed. SKF is designed so that if the ACIR has exhausted its weapon stores it will continue to engage the enemy physically by ramming until it is disabled. It should not be difficult to modify our existing driving program to add these modules. We’ll just need to disable the collision avoidance system for non-FIDS encounters. The ACIR vehicles themselves have been tested on all possible terrains and in weather and are mechanically reliable. It remains to fit them with the with software and weapons.”

“Is there human oversight of the SKF before firing on a target or is it fully autonomous?” asked one of the Board members.

“It depends on the situation If combat is occurring in a setting where there are civilians mixed in with the enemy, then a human observer would make the final firing decision. If there are no civilians involved, then the ACIR would follow its programming,” replied Sams.

“Any other questions?” asked Dohe. “If not, we’ll let Bill go back to work.”

What seemed like a fairly straight-forward situation; of adapting a highly successful truck highway program to combat use, proved to be more difficult than envisioned. But Sams’ team finally succeeded and the first ACIRs passed their military trials with flawless performances.

However, in the process of adapting the civilian highway program to military use, some elements of the SKF combat software had been introduced, contaminating the program. How this occurred was never fully determined: whether by programming error, maliciously by a disgruntled employee, or as an act of industrial sabotage.

Whatever the cause, the result was a stretch of horrific accidents on the interstate involving a newly manufactured Reoltuff rig. (Civilian vehicles of course do not carry FIDS and so would become targets for SKF.) Two miles of the interstate was littered with smashed vehicles and the dead and injured.

One factor limiting the toll from being even worse was the fact that long haul rig were built one by one as orders were received and not mass produced like sedans so only one newly built rig carried the faulty software. The other mitigating factor was that big rigs are not as maneuverable as smaller vehicles and so the collision avoidance system in on-coming traffic worked to prevent some head-on collisions.

But vehicles going in the same direction as the rig were not so lucky and were crushed from the rear. There were terrible accidents. The worse involved a school bus returning from an excursion that was rammed from the rear and driven off the road and into a river. The rogue rig itself was finally stopped by a missile from a National Guard helicopter. The lawsuits that followed drove Reoltuff Motors to the cusp of bankruptcy. Fortunately for the company the army continued to order ACIRs in large numbers.

Someone had to be blamed and Bill Sams became the scapegoat and was “early retired” with an aluminum parachute.

August 2024 story

Martian Dreaming

Aldron Betts was Mars obsessed from childhood. As an eleven-year old, he had discovered his father’s copy of Ray Bradberry’s ‘Martian Chronicles’ and even though the idea that there were water filled canals and golden eyed Martians waiting on the fourth planet had been long dispelled by hard science, the poetry of Bradberry’s tales found a place in his soul. It even shaped the choice of his favorite candy bar. Someday, he thought, someday.

But first there was the matter of education and then after that, of making a living. Aldron’s family was solidly middle class so there was no boost of family money or connections to ease his way.

In his high school senior year he was voted class nerd, but also the most likely to succeed. Though Aldron always possessed a quick mind, he was not a genius level thinker. He was awarded a four year partial scholarship to a highly competitive college and graduated with a cum laude, not a summa. But he had tenacity of spirit, a willingness to take chances, and an analytic ability to see beyond the short term.

After graduation, he began working at a consulting firm. In his spare time he played with immersive game design that he self-marketed, and when his third offering took off and was voted the game of the year, he quit his corporate job. His followup release was eagerly awaited by gamers and though it did not achieve quite the level of critical acclaim that his breakthrough had, its high sales numbers were enough to attract two very lucrative buy out offers. And so at age twenty-seven Aldron Betts was rich and looking for new challenges.

He had made many contacts during his five years at the consulting firm and he used them to keep abreast of the newest trends in innovation and technology not only in silicon valley but across the country and abroad. By using a proprietary program to assess early stage developments for the likelihood and degree of success or failure, Aldron was able to buy in very early. Of course his ventures did not always pan out, but a seventy-five percent success rate was more than good enough to make his reputation as a venture capitalist so that he was eagerly sought out by inventors and innovators looking for financing.

He financed major positions in one company that achieved a breakthrough in battery technology and another in a company that totally revolutionized chip design. They were were true industry disrupters and Aldron became immensely wealthy. The second or third most wealthy man on earth depending on the fluctuations in the stock prices of the companies he was invested in.

But space and Mars still beckoned. He began to look at aerospace industries and when a former leader in commercial aviation experienced a series of actual and near-disasters—certainly PR disasters— and its stock price plummeted, Aldron became a major minority stock holder and obtained a seat on its board of directors. On the board, he led the charge for better quality control, emphasizing engineering competence over financial return, arguing that in the long run, this would restore the company’s tattered reputation and increase its value. In this process, the company spun off its rocket, satellite and space division that Aldron acquired and took private. The division already had contracts with NASA for explorations of the solar system. And that included Mars.

Of course much had been learned about Mars from robotic explorers and much of that information emphasized how harsh surface conditions on Mars actually were. But evidence of water and then past microbial life were breakthroughs in planetary science. There was or had been alien life on a planet other than earth. What else lay hidden beneath the Martian sands? The evolving information about Mars only strengthened his own Martian resolve. Unmanned flights to Mars were already almost routine. The Holy Grail for Aldron was to send the first manned flights, first to circle without landing, and then to land, eventually to establish a permanent colony. And beyond? Those water-filled canals of his youth?

His passion for Mars was for a time matched by that of another uber-billionaire, Midas Crassi, an industrialist, who had honed his space competence in preparation for journeys to Mars through commercial satellite launches and space tourism. When Crassi turned his vision away from Mars to mitigating climate change, Aldron acquired his space-related assets. After the necessary reorganization and downsizing to eliminate redundancies, the two companies were reformated as Betts Space Inc. Now Aldron had all the expertise and resources both human and industrial to make a push towards Mars. Recruitment of crews was not a problem since there were many others smitten by the idea of traveling to the Red Planet. Candidates were subjected to vigorous physical and especially psychological testing.

In the meantime, there was design and testing of the hardware needed. He chose not to be discouraged by those who cautioned that a round trip to Mars would be a multiyear journey with all the dangers of prolonged exposure to radiation and psychological stress and rage that would affect any crew. His answer was to shorten the journey. But how to propel a ship faster, since that would require a huge amount of fuel? If the ship could be assembled in space, in earth orbit, no fuel would be needed to lift the ship from the ground and the fuel saved could be used to propel the ship on a more rapid course to Mars. Nuclear powered rockets were the key.

The first step was to establish an orbital base where assembly workers could stay for two weeks at a time. Then the various components of the ship itself were rocketed up from earth to the base for assembly including the nuclear engine. And finally the fuel. The first flights were crewless. Then followed a crewed flyby, which demonstrated the importance of the human factor. By the time the ship completed it’s roundtrip of sixteen months, the four-person crew was no longer on speaking terms with each other and had almost come to blows. The nuclear engine worked flawlessly.

And so a larger crew cabin was designed with nocks where the crew members could get way from each other when they felt stressed. The psychological evaluation of potential crew was made more stringent.

And then just as the second mission was about to go, Aldron received truly terrible news from his doctors. His recent weight loss was due to stage three pancreatic cancer. And there was still no cure. He would not live to set foot on the Red Planet. He bitterly compared his fate to that of Moses who led his people to the Promised Land but did not cross over into it himself. After his initial reaction of rage at the cruelty of Fate, he came to accept reality and planned. He thought, I will not be denied my dream of being the first human to land on Mars. He left careful instructions. His ashes were to be placed in a gold urn and welded shut. No landing on Mars until after his death. And then on that first trip his urn was to be carried on a drone launched from the space ship and landed at a random spot on Mars well away from where the crew was to land. It was done. And so Aldron Betts did became the first human to land on Mars.

July, 2024

mid-summer sunsets

How lovely the long, lingering sunsets of mid-summer.

These special times, so casually enjoyed during the spring and

busy summers of our lives,

When winter seemed a distant season.

Are more evocative now when viewed from December’s perspective.

Each golden mid-summer eve to be savored, for each is unique and

gone forever when day fades into night.

How useless to wonder how many more there might be,

For that is unknowable, to be decided by fate.

Better to not question, but to just inhabit and enjoy,

The gift of these special hours.

June 2024 Short Story

Avatar

David’s life had been snatched away so suddenly, without any warning, Riding his bicycle for exercise on a Saturday morning, struck by a speeding hit and run driver and probably killed on impact. Sue had kissed him as he left home, asking, “Will you be back for lunch?”

“I should be,” he answered, “But if I’m a little late, go ahead and eat first.”

She spent the morning looking into the various options for their planned cruise on the Danube. She became a little concerned when he hadn’t returned by one-thirty. And then the phone call came that would forever haunt her memories and nightmares. “Is this the home of …..” The caller would or could not say how badly injured David was, just that she should immediately come to the St. Joe’s emergency room but please drive carefully.

She drove there somehow, with an icy ball of fear in her abdomen, heart racing, palms sweaty. When she burst through the door to the ER and identified herself, she was taken to a side room by a nurse and a doctor and offered a seat.

“Where’s my husband, how is he?” already dreading the answer.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Lang, but he was already gone when the ambulance brought him in. We don’t think he suffered after the impact. We’ll take you to see him when you feel ready. Nurse Kay will stay with you. The chaplain will be here soon.”

Sue was too numb to cry. That would come later. The chaplain offered to pray with her, which she declined, but he gave her his phone number anyway. They led her to where David’s sheet covered body lay on a gurney in a curtained alcove, and gave her space to be alone with him. “Oh David, how can you be gone? I was expecting you home for lunch.” She kissed his cold lips and silently wept. The nurse quietly parted the curtains and reentered, putting her arm around her. Sue was in a daze the rest of the time as a social worker talked with her and helped her with the forms she had to sign. They asked if there was anyone they could call for her or call her a cab or Uber. She said she was all right to drive herself home. You’re sure? I’ll be all right driving, she repeated.

At home Sue gathered herself to call their son Peter, who lived half-way across the continent and when he answered, managed to tell him between sobs. He would fly in the next day he said, and stay with her. His wife worked and their two children were in school.

After making the call, Sue sat alone in the quiet house, drained, emptied of feeling. The future she and David had planned now utterly vanished. She couldn’t think beyond this day that replayed itself over and over in her mind. Her best friend and lover, her companion, the man who loved her unstintingly and whom she loved, all gone. Alone at 77. She had no appetite for dinner and faced a sleepless night in a cold bed.

Peter arrived and now there was someone who could share her shock and grief. He took over the task of calling far-flung family and friends; helped with the many details of a life’s end—notifying lawyers, insurance companies, banks, social security, getting death certificates, arranging for the cremation, going through the closet and drawers, and more. They talked and reminisced, smiled, teared -up and even laughed at times. Peter worried about what his mother would do once he left. Sue turned down the idea of flying home with him to stay for as long as she wanted.

“No, I need to get used to the idea of being alone. No point putting it off.”

“I’m worried about you being alone. Doesn’t sound like you have a huge network of support. You used to Skype with Auntie Mary and Auntie Bess, but Auntie Mary is gone now and Auntie Bess is in a memory care home. And your best friend here Cassie died last year.”

“Once I feel like it, I’ll get together twice a week again with my pickle ball group.”

“But how well do you know them? They haven’t called to see why you haven’t been playing.”

“No, we’re court-side friends. If you’re worried, we do have fun and enjoy each other’s company at the courts. And I’ll start volunteering at the hospital again. So don’t worry, I’ll have enough social contact to not turn into a hermit. And I have you on zoom.”

But the house did feel empty and quiet once Peter left. The daily routine conversations with David about grocery shopping, weather, watering, the TV news, aches and pains were missing. “I’ll have to be very careful that I don’t get into a habit of talking to myself,” Sue told herself even as she did so.

One evening Sue was watching TV and saw a segment about Japan where there was a growing population of elders who lived alone. There was a trial program setting up computer-based AI ‘friends’ for them to communicate with regularly that seemed to be making a real difference in their mental well-being. That seems a little weird, she thought, but maybe I should check it out. She googled and found that it wasn’t just in Japan, but that there were apps that did the same here. That you could create an on-line ‘friend’ specifying appearance, and with a back story as detailed as you wished. Some sites were even erotica oriented. And yes, there were monthly fees, but reasonable ones. Then a crazy thought—David! Instead of talking to his urn on the mantel, I could ‘talk’ to him on line! Of course I’d ‘talk’ by keyboard but he would answer me.

Sue found out as much as she could about the pros and cons of the different choices and settled on ChatPal, the one that had the features that she wanted. She looked through the albums to find a picture of David and decided on one in his 50s. Ones from the twenties, thirties and forties were too distant from the present. Then she set about entering a history of their life together and of what he had said about his childhood and young adult years before they met so that their conversations would draw from his life accurately. She described his personality and even added some of the corny jokes that he delighted in. This took the better part of a week. I can always add more details later, she thought. I won’t tell Peter what I’ve been up to until I’m sure this isn’t all a waste of time so he won’t think I’ve gone looney.

Finally with trepidation Sue sat at her desk-top and brought up David’s picture. Such a nice photo of him; those were good years she thought with a pang, then she began to type.

—hello david. i’ve missed you

—hello love. i’m sorry i left you so suddenly and gave you such a bad time. are you doing better now?

That’s just how David would respond, Sue thought.

—yes, i’m getting used to being alone. it’s not as hard as it was at first. peter was such a rock during those first weeks.

—he’s a good kid. you did a great job raising him.

—kid? peter’s fifty-one years old.

—i kid you not. you raised him right.

He even makes the same kind of corny comments, Sue thought.

—david it’s so good to ‘talk’ to you but i wish i could hear your voice too.

—why don’t you watch some of those travel dvds of our trips. i talk on those.

—i don’t think i’m ready for that.

—why?

—we had so much fun that they’ll remind me of what i’ve lost with you gone.

—i wish i could somehow make it easier for you. you know i love you. even now.

That was too much for Sue and she began to cry.

—we better stop here. you know i love you too. i’ll never stop loving you.

—i’ll be waiting for you to bring me up again when you’re ready love.

She shut down the computer, wiped her eyes, and sat staring at the blank screen, gathering her emotions. Oh David, that was almost too much. It seemed so real to be ‘talking’ to you. We stopped and now I’m here alone again.

The next morning Sue joined her pickle ball gang after a light breakfast—she’d resumed playing a week after Peter left. But her mind really wasn’t on her game as she kept thinking about the night before, talking with David, brief as it was. Now that I know how it works, I’ll be more ready emotionally next time.

“Are you alright Sue?” asked Jill, one of the players who was also a widow. “You seem so quiet today.”

“Yeah I’m okay. I was just thinking.”

“I know how that goes. Give me a call if you want to talk, okay? Otherwise see you on Thursday.”

After lunch she brought up David.

—how are you today, love? feeling better?

—i’m back playing pickle ball with the gang in the morning but i couldn’t keep my mind on the game.

—how so?

—i kept thinking of how natural it seemed talking to you last night.

—i’m glad that’s how you feel. i hope that this helps you during this time. so what else are you doing today?

They talked about grocery shopping, what she had to buy, what she was fixing for dinner that night and what his favorite dishes were. The Toyota needed a safety check, be sure they check the tires.

—i’ll talk to you again tonight, okay?

—i’ll be waiting love.

That really was like we were just talking in the kitchen, thought Sue. This really works!

She looked forward to their conversations and signed in whenever she began to feel lonely. And David as always waiting for her to lift her spirits except when what was said made her realize what was lost. But those were good tears.

There were occasional off-kilter moments such as the time she told him the Tuesday pickle ball game was called off because of rain, and David suggested that they all switch to water aerobics instead.

—what? what made you say that?

—you’d get a good workout and never worry about rain

—you’re joking right?

—no, i’m serious

And the time they were recalling their cruises and David said:

— i remember on our danube cruise when we visited the castle where richard the lionhearted was held prisoner.

—we never took our danube cruise, david. we were planning to do it.

—really? i thought we did.

One day she found a notice from ChatPal announcing a new feature—voice recognition and verbal replies for an additional fee. The user could either select from a library of different voices or could input a sample of an actual voice. Sue was thrilled. The fee is reasonable and then we can have actual conversations. I’ll use our travel dvds for samples of his voice. It’s a good thing that David liked to narrate as he was recording.

She told David —i’m going to give you your voice back. no more keyboard.

The result wasn’t perfect. For one, his lips didn’t move. And David’s voice came across as somewhat flat and uninflected and there was a slight pause before he replied. But it was his voice. As an added bonus she could now talk to him on her cell phone at any time. Sue found that she could discuss questions that came up during the day and, unlike his suggestion about water aerobics, his comments were often reasonable. This is just like when he would go away on trips and we’d stayed in contact by phone, Sue thought.

She told Peter how natural it felt to talk to David anytime.

He replied, “Mom, you can’t let these calls replace your actual social contacts. You’ve got to remember that it’s not really Dad you’re talking to but a computer program.”

“I know, but it really is a comfort to pretend.”

“Just so long as you know it’s pretend.”

“Don’t worry, I do.”

Still there were times when her emotions rose up unexpectedly and she had to terminate the conversation. David would always say he understood when they reconnected. The holidays and especially their personal celebration days were the hardest for Sue. She told David she might not be up to calling on those days, but he encouraged her to do so, so that she could remember with him.

Their wedding anniversary came around. The first since his death. In the past if they weren’t traveling, they would get out their wedding album and look at it together.

“If it’ll be too hard for you we don’t need to talk on our anniversary,” David said.

“I still want to do it,” Sue replied. “It’s our tradition.”

And it was hard to get out the album and even harder to sit at her desk with David on the computer screen instead of sitting side by side on the couch. She described each photo and how she felt at that moment, stopping to wipe her eyes so that she wouldn’t drip onto the pages.

“You sure you want to go on?” he asked.

She stopped for a long time to gather herself when she came to the photo of their kiss after the cake. “We were so happy then,” she blurted out.

“I am so grateful that you said yes and married me,” David replied.

The last photo was of David lifting her in her wedding gown, as if to carry her off to their new life together, though of course it was taken at their reception. Sue sobbed as she closed the album, unable to speak.

“Are you still there love, are you okay?” David asked into the silence.

She finally was able to reply, “That last picture brought back so many memories of our first night together. Oh God I, miss you so much David. I want to hold you. I need you. I thought I was getting used to being alone. I feel so lonely without you. Why did you leave me?” she cried.

“I didn’t want to,” David said.

“There are still moments when I’m not sure that I can go on alone,” she said.

After a pause, David carefully replied, “If you really feel that way, you don’t have to keep going on alone.”

“What do you mean, David?”

“You can come and join me.”

Sue was jolted out of her sadness. “Wait, What?

“If you really find that life is too hard for you, there are sites and instructions on line,” David said.

Reality. Of course, Sue thought, the logical response a computer programmed to offer help and solace might come up with. Peter was right. I have to remember that it’s not really David I talk to but a program that can make mistakes.

“Thank you David. Happy anniversary, but I’d better sign off now.”

‘

May 2024 story and song

The Sand Miner

Lee ended his presentation by saying, “You would be known as the one person who saved the planet. To go down in history, forever honored. Think about that, Mr. Crassi. Rather than continue to pursue your dream of settling another planet, which many experts say would be either near-impossible or would take many lifetimes to achieve, you could, in your lifetime, reverse global warming.”

“You sell a tempting story,” replied Midas Crassi. “But how certain are you that what you propose would actually work?”

“The year after the eruption of Krakatoa in 1883 was known as the year when summer did not arrive. The volcanic dust that was injected into the stratosphere and carried by wind currents around the world cooled the planet and created lurid sunsets for two years. What I’m proposing is a controlled version of that eruption.”

“I’ve heard the suggestions to release various sulfur compounds into the atmosphere to do what you are suggesting. That would certainly be simpler and cheaper.”

“The objection to that approach is that sulfur compounds are not innocuous. Think of the problems with acid rain during the last century. Mr. Crassi, you are one of the few people who has the wealth, the resources, and the national and international prestige to make this a reality.”

“You are appealing to my ego, but I won’t hold that against you. Still, my engineers and scientists have been very honest with me about my hope of settling Mars, telling me that it would be at best a very long shot, even under the threat of being fired for telling truth to power. It is hard though to give up on a dream I’ve had since childhood. But I’ve always been a pragmatist. Tell me, does your plan have better odds than that?”

“There are no guarantees of course, but yes, I believe so,” replied Lee.

“Other than legal, what could or would be the downsides and risks?”

“There is the possibility of unwittingly altering rainfall patterns that could cause droughts in some parts of the world and floods in others. It could alter ocean warming or cooling that could contribute to, or diminish, the formation of storm systems. And there are always the unthought ofs and the unknowns. That is why I’m proposing a gradual phase in rather than a sudden large atmospheric injection.”

“To go down in history as the man who saved the planet. That’s a very tempting pitch, Mr. Lee. Give me full details of your plan. What are all the risks, what resources are needed, what your estimated costs would be, the time frame, and who else you’ve contacted—Aldron Betts say?”

“You are the first person I thought of, Mr. Crassi. The details will be on your desk next week,” Lee said.

“And you may call me Midas. What’s your first name, Lee?”

“Apollo.”

“Apollo. Interesting. The sun god who lights and warms the earth that you are hoping to cool.”

Sand from the Sahara Desert, swept up by the winds, blows all the way to South America, up into northern Europe, and even to the Far East. Such windblown sand can be carried as high as 25,000 feet but is too heavy to linger long in the atmosphere.

Sand mining, legal and illegal, has been a lucrative enterprise for many years, providing material to manufacture concrete. But it has also contributed to beach, coastline, and river delta erosion.

Lee’s plan was to take sand from the interior Sahara desert and mechanically micronize it into tiny particles that would float in the upper atmosphere for a longer period of time, mimicking what occurred after the volcanic eruption. And unlike sulfur, micronized sand would not interact unfavorably with rain or surface water and vegetation.

Five weeks later, Lee was nervously waiting at the office of Crassi Enterprises having been summoned to learn the fate of his proposal..

“You may go in now, Mr. Lee,” said Loren, Crassi’s administrative assistant. “Mr. Crassi is off his call and he is expecting you.”

“Apollo,” Crassi said without a preamble as soon as Lee came through the door. “I’ve gone over your idea with my lawyers and engineers. And with independent climate scientists. They think it stands a chance of working. Our government wants nothing to do with it officially since it does not want to be blamed in case things go wrong. But they would not stand in my way since I’m doing as a private individual and it will largely be done in Algeria and Libya. I’ve begun to explore contracts and fees with those countries. If they come on board, then I don’t think any other country or the UN could stop us.”

“That’s wonderful news, Mr. Crassi. Frankly I’m stunned. I had no idea you had already come to a decision and proceeded this far.”

“Once I decide to become involved in something, I don’t like to waste time. The world continues to warm and I am not getting younger. If, as you said, climate change can be reversed in my lifetime, then we’d better get moving. As for Mars, I’ll let Aldron Betts pursue that dream uncontested by me.”

“You already have much of the heavy equipment that would be needed,” said Lee. “They would just need to be transported to the mining sites on your ships,”

“You’ve been doing some research about me on your own too,” Crassi said. “I like that. Now you told me that the micronized sand could be delivered into the upper atmosphere by a number of methods. Planes, rockets, and large balloons that you were leaning towards. You mean like blimps?”

“More like a large version of weather balloons which can reach heights of 100,000 feet above sea level. This would be the cheapest and least polluting way to deliver the sand.”

“Cheapest and least polluting. That’s good.”

“I’ve had initial conversations with an American company that manufactures very large weather balloons as well as the Chinese company that produced their spy balloons,” Lee said. “They can both produce balloons large enough to carry 2000 to 6000 pound payloads to altitude and the balloons would be recoverable. The Chinese company’s balloons are maneuverable to some degree which is an advantage, but the American company assured me they could add that capability without much difficulty.”

“Did you tell them what they would be used for and who you were representing?”

“No, I was careful to not say.”

“Good. I don’t want this to get out and go viral among the conspiracy nuts on the internet until we have already begun. Since one of my companies is in construction, mining sand in the Sahara would not seem unusual. Which balloon source is more reliable and cheaper?”

“The Chinese company has the experience and would be cheaper. However there is that stigma of their spy balloons that overflew us and other countries. There likely would be a political and public backlash if we used them.”

“So you recommend American.”

“Yes even if the cost would be slightly higher. But nothing like the cost of using rockets or planes for the job.”

“I agree. Work with them regarding order size, delivery schedule and final price and let me know. I will set up a company for the sand mining and make the payments from that account.”

Six months later, Lee and Crassi stood atop a dune in the Algerian Sahara in the relative cool at sunset, watching the largely automated sand mining operation below, the engine and machinery sounds softened as they were absorbed into the vast, cloudless sky above. Most of the heavy work, the digging and the grinding, was done at night when the winds were quieter, less prone to whip up the sand and was supervised by local engineers, as stipulated in the contract with the Algerian government..

“Looks like it’s going pretty much as planned,” said Lee.

“We probably don’t need this number of engineers on the job since the operation is largely automated, but it’s in the contract with the government,” said Crassi. “Helps provide jobs for their university graduates. The cost of doing business.”

“Our first launch with six balloons is tomorrow morning,” Lee said. “After all the planning and preparation we’re actually about to do it! If all goes well, they’ll be returning in about two weeks after circling the globe.”

“Notices have been sent to all countries in their path so there shouldn’t be any military action taken against them,” Crassi said. “Don’t want them to be mistaken for spy balloons or UFOs.”

Below, the delivery pods were being filled with the micronized sand from the grinding unit. They would be attached to the balloons during the night. The balloons would fill with helium as dawn neared and, after the sun had warmed the air, the balloons would launch.

Crassi and Lee descended from the dune to where a small support city had been built. They checked once more with the weather scientists in their prefab lab about the jet streams in which the balloons would fly, and then with the flight controllers who would supervise and maneuver the flights to follow the most favorable load release paths as mapped out by computer simulation. And then they tried to sleep.

In the morning, Crassi and Lee joined the crowd of workers and scientists watching the launch, cheering as the first balloon lifted away. Then one by one, five other huge white balloons rose carrying their sand-filled pods, ascending till they became high, distant white globes drifting to the west.

It didn’t take long for news about the launch to trigger a public reaction The response of the major news networks was largely neutral, with a wait and see attitude. The scientists interviewed expressed views from cautiously hopeful to negative. Posts on the internet fractured in all directions as could have been predicted, from dire and paranoid to praiseful. And then reports of “UFO” sightings came in. Later there would be claims of eye irritation attributed to the micronized sand. A splinter group of Green Movement activists organized boycotts of Crassi Enterprises but these did not go far as the effects of heat were felt and seen worldwide and most people were glad that someone was trying to do something about it since government efforts to decrease carbon emissions were too little and too late. Among some religious sects this was denounced as subverting God’s plan to punish humanity for all its sins by fire this time rather than flood. There were threats of violence that Crassi had anticipated and so the desert operation was guarded by units of the Algerian army with constant drone surveillance. And the desert itself was a huge protective barrier.

Lee became a frequent guest on media to explain and answer questions and address doubts. He preached patience and cautioned against expecting immediate results. The worldwide temperature continued to rise during the first year of flights. And nay sayers were quick to point that out. At the end of the second year global temperatures leveled off. The oceans were a huge reservoir of heat and it would take time for them to cool. Public attitudes became more hopeful. The news cycle moved on to other things, and people scarcely looked up anymore when one of the balloons passed high overhead.

It would take many more years of carefully titrating and adjusting balloon releases to reverse sea level rise and see the slow revival of polar ice caps and alpine glaciers as global mean temperatures moderated.

Lee and Crassi were old men when the Nobel committee awarded them the Peace Prize.

“Was it worth it, Midas?” asked Lee in Oslo. “Is this better than going to Mars?”

“You were the visionary, Apollo, I just had to provide the wherewithal,” Crassi replied. “We will go down in history as the ones who reversed global warming. And yes, that is far better than going to Mars. Which, by the way, Aldron Betts has still not achieved.”

May song

Memorial Day 2024. I just received my 70th Anniversary College report. Of the 1222 entering freshmen, 31% of us are still alive. For the good friends, more casual acquaintances, and classmates who left too soon or more recently, I’ll republish this from last year.

Where Have All The Flowers Gone

(adapted from Pete Seeger)

Where have all the flowers gone?

Long time passing.

Bright in the morning sun,

Long time ago.

Where have all the flowers gone?

Faded, scattered every one.

When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?

————-

Where have all the young maids gone?

Long time passing.

Strong and graceful, without fear,

Long time ago.

Where have all the young maids gone?

Grown grey and tired, long in years.

When will they ever learn, when will we ever learn?

————-

Where have all the young men gone?

Long time passing.

Swift and certain of their dreams.

Long time ago.

Some are gone and some remain,

Moving slow with aches and canes.

When will they ever learn, when will we ever learn?

————-

And where have all the children gone?

Long time passing.

Full of wonder, spirits free.

Long time ago.

Where have all the children gone?

They’ve grown to be like you and me.

When will we ever learn, when will we ever learn?

————-

Where have all the flowers gone?

Long time passing.

Bright—in the morning sun,

So long ago.

Where have all the flowers gone?

Faded, scattered every one.

What did we ever learn, what did we ever know?

What did we ever know?