September 06, 2017

Prologue - Happy Birthday

Mom - February 1970 (not an actual photo)

Sitting on the 3rd stair from the bottom she tugged gently at the sleeve of the yellow dress she wore.  She glanced for the millionth time at the clock….. 10:13 p.m.  Her water had broken just an hour or so before, nothing major, but it was time.

The contractions had started shortly after her water broke.  Looking at the clock, and judging from the intensity of the contractions, she knew it was only a few hour until the baby came.  The contractions at this point were about 15 minutes apart, but still, this not being her first baby, she knew was a sign the baby was coming fast.  She sighed and stood up.

Her little hard backed, plastic pink suitcase sat by the first step, aligned in perpendicular fashion with the step, the small plastic handle resting lazily on the top of case. The silver edging on the seam of the suitcase shone brightly in the dull hallway light, reflecting back to her the stress of being nine month pregnant.

10:30 p.m. - already?  She glanced again at the hallway clock, it’s large wooden, radiating arms flaring out from the center of the brass center, numbers dark and black, proclaiming the hour proudly.  Minutes were a bit harder to read, and seconds whizzed by, imperceptible really on the brass back ground.

Then suddenly lights flared in the drive way, flashing across the living room, next to the stairs. making the blinds reflect shadows on the wall, for a moment looking like a prison cell.  Eagerly, she pulled herself to her feet, flex picking up the suitcase, hanging from her right hand, left hand clutching her right wrist, suitcase hanging before her knees like a plastic shield.  

On the other side of the door the rustling of keys jangled like wind chimes in a storm.  She thought she heard cursing.  Her lips pursed in a tight line she stared at the door in the dark hallway, anxiously waiting.

The door swung open, following its arching shadow was the smell of viceroy cigarettes moved, at least to the nose, as fast as the shadows.  Grumbling about keys, his voice echoed across the small entry way.  Fumbling his hand hit the light, and for the first time it seemed he saw her, standing in her little avocado dress, red hard back suitcase in hand, he mumbled, “Ellen?”

“Bob,” matter of fact, “I’m in labor, we have to go to the hospital.”

For a moment, one of those rare moments when time seems to stop, the clock’s hand seems to move, backwards: he clutched the keys in his hand.  The cigarette in his mouth suddenly was too hot, too smoky, too bitter. He choked back a cough and said, “What?”

Not her first pregnancy, her lips belaying a patience not really present she muttered, “I’m in labor.”

Through this news the gin fog that soaked his frontal cortex faded and the reality of his wife’s condition finally hit.  “Ellen!” he exclaimed “We have to go to the hospital.”  He looked down at his clothes, a suit he had worn all day, “I have to change.”  He shot up the stairs, brushing past his wife in her  avocado dress, the stair handrail groaning under his weight leaning against it as he propelled himself up.

She looked at the clock, grimaced as the start of another contraction rose into her body.  She sat down on the steps again, knuckles white against the handrail, which groaned again.  She closed her eyes, a tear seeping out and resting on her cheek.  This pain, rising up from her groin and across her belly wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was felt again like the first time.  As the contraction tightened her muscles she remembered to breathe through it, gasping as her belly tightened around the uterus, the as of yet to be born baby slowly, imperceptibly moving into place.  In the pain, during the contraction, time seemed to stop, breathing was its own reward The contraction faded and she looked at the clock again, 9 minutes since the last one, and this one lasted nearly 30 seconds.  They had some time, but she knew not much.  The pain lingered across her belly, she wiped the tear away and glanced up over her shoulder at the top of the stairs where she could her him rushing to get changed.  She crinkled her nose at the smell of the cigarette that he burning in his lips, the dull haze of smoke clung to the air like the tension of labor.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, gasping for air, the cigarette still burning on his lips.  He looked down at her head, she was still sitting on the stairs her hand clinging to the rail.  “Ellen, I’m ready let’s go!”  He started down the stairs, his Florsheim shoes bright under the hall lights.

She looked back up at him, pulling herself upright with the hand rail.  He paused as she stood.  A light smile tugged at her lips.  He waited, cocked his head and noticed the smile, “What is it?” he asked.

The tugging became a full smile, “Bob, before we go to the hospital I think you should put on some pants.”

His face flushed and he looked down.  “Shit”  and ran back into the bedroom.  He jerked his slacks up over his shoes, flicked his cigarette with the aim of a marksman into the adjoining bathroom toilet, and fumbled with the belt, hopping into the pants as he headed back to the top of the stairs.  She was still standing at the top, the little suitcase in hand, waiting.  “Ellen let’s go” he barked as he lumbered down the stairs.

It was cold outside, February in Denver generally was, cold and dry.  The air was quiet, only 19 degrees, but the car was still warm from his earlier outing.  She climbed into the seat next to him, the suitcase resting at her feet.  She knew another contraction was due soon, it had been nearly six minutes from the last one.  He pulled a cigarette out from his pack, pushed the car lighter on, turned the key and the car rumbled to life immediately.  He looked at her, “ready?”  She nodded at him, her hands folded together in her lap, little black gloves protecting her fingers against the winter’s cold.  

They backed out on the street and he gunned the engine.  The lighter popped out of the dashboard, and without even a thought he lighted his cigarette, the acrid smoke immediately filling the car.  She coughed a little and he glanced at her, “sorry” and rolled the drivers window down a crack, the winter’s air a fridge breathe of relief.  The streets were quiet, it was a Wednesday night at nearly 11 p.m.

She gasped as the beginnings of the contraction hit her.  He looked at her, panic flashing across his face, the cigarette on his lips standing to attention from the pursing of his lips around it.  The car began to accelerate, it was a 1964 OldsmobileF-85 DeLuxe, a big car with lots of power, and like new.  They were in Littleton, but the doctor they were powering towards was a couple of miles away in Denver.  She groaned as the pain tightened, and he pressed harder on the accelerator.  A stop sign blew past, unnoticed and forgotten, except that behind them appeared the familiar red flash of a cop car its siren screaming into the winter’s night.

The cop’s siren seemed to make the onset of the contraction worse, and she clinched her teeth as the pain clutched her belly, the shifting muscles pushing the unborn closer to escape.  Bob muttered under his breath, “Shit.”  He slowed the car, flipping the turn signal on from habit, and the car rolled to a stop, engine still running, cigarette burning, its ember light lost in the flashing lights of the car behind them.  His grip tightened on the wheel, the creaking of his tendons audible in the cold night.  Even in her contraction she glanced at him and offered a grimacing smile, “It’s okay Bob.”
The cop pulled his car behind the Oldsmobile and looking through his wind shield he noted in his log the license plate number and make of the car.  He opened his door, the fridge February air enveloped his skin quickly and he gasped.  He could see the heads of the couple in the car before him, not moving really.  He noticed the car was still running. He debated using his car loud speakers to tell them to turn it off, then shrugged, probably a couple of kids out drinking.  No big deal.

He ambled to the car in front of him and got to the driver’s window, with the butt of his flashlight he tapped the glass, which was already partway down, “Sir, roll down your window and turn off the engine.”  He turned the light to shine it into the car for a better view.  It was a young couple, a woman in the passenger’s seat and a guy, looking very nervous behind the wheel.  He could smell cigarettes from the car and maybe gin.

Bob rolled the window down, his hand shaking, and glancing at his wife who was in a full contraction, he started to stutter at the cop, “This is an, a, uh, well, damn, a, um, this is AN EMERGENCY.”  His voice became fever pitched and the emotions of the night carried in his tone.

The cop clicked his tongue, leaned into the now down window, and managed a forced smile, “Sir, what emergency?”  He was focused on the driver, who it seemed was either drunk or something else.

Bob stammered, waving his right hand towards Ellen, “My wife, she’s pregnant!!”

The cop looked more closely at the woman in the passenger seat. He noticed she had her head back, her lips were tight, and her hands were clutched her full belly.  She was indeed pregnant.  He looked back at the driver, “Sir I can appreciate that but…….”

“Damn it man!” Bob yelled, “She’s in labor right now!!!” 

The cop looked back at her and noticed she was gasping, in distress.  He stepped back and stood upright, looking back at his car.  He could call an ambulance and they would take care of this.  He looked back at the driver, “Sir, you say she’s in labor?”  Bob nodded.  “Miss, miss, can you hear me?”  The woman nodded, just barely as she breathed through what appeared to be a severe contraction.  

Bob had it, he reached through the window and grasped the cop’s arm, “Look bud, we can debate this all night, but I”m not sure we’ll make it in time for you to call an ambulance, we’re going to hospital and you can arrest me there, but we’re going unless you want to deliver a baby!”

The cop sighed, he looked at them both.  He had only been on shift an hour or so, so this was already more excitement than he had seen all month.  “All right sir, I can’t have you running stop signs and speeding, and no, I don’t want to deliver any babies, so tell you what, you follow my cruiser and I’ll get you to the hospital.  Deal?”

Bob nodded, his cigarette’s ash falling on his coat.  “yes, let’s go, Porter Memorial”

The cop nodded, pleased at himself and jogged back to his car.  He picked up his CB radio, and dialed into dispatch.  “Dispatch, this is unit 99, over.”  

“Go ahead 99, over.”

“Yeah, um, I’ve got a 10-59, a pregnant couple urgently need escort to hospital, location Porter, Denver County.”

“Roger 99, to confirm you’re 10-59 to hospital, Porter, Denver County.  Please be advised 99 it’s out of jurisdiction, over.”

“Roger, I’ll escort and get out of there- over.”

“10-4 99, over.”

The cop smiled, flipped his siren back on, pulled out in front of the couple’s car, waiting for them to assume position behind him, and he floored it, lights and stop signs be damned.  He nodded, hell this was kind of fun.

They had been close, and the drama of an escort was minor, but Bob pulled into the hospital’s emergency parking, the cop was on his heels, “Sir, let me help.”

Bob glanced at him nodded, “just grab a wheelchair I think.”  The cop nodded and darted into the hospital, emerged moments later pushing a small wheel chair to the car.  He noticed the couple were out of the car, and the woman seemed to be okay, she was clutching with on hand a small pink suitcase, and the other holding on the man.  He wheeled over to them.  “Folks here you go, good luck.”

Bob smiled at the cop and helped his wife sit down.  He glanced at the cop, “Thanks for everything, be safe.”

The cop nodded and watched them disappear into the building, their breath seemed to linger behind them in the cold.  He slid into his cop car and shook his head.  Babies and drunks.  What a night.  He pulled out and headed back into Littleton.

Later, several hours, they rested in the room, the baby had been delivered.  She stroked his little face, dark features, everything was completely normal.  He was nestled against her breast, asleep.  She sighed when she looked at his little face and nodded with a smile, “Hi Thomas.”

And thus I was born.

December 22, 2015

The Faith of Mars - Chapter 13

Train on Mars

“Listen young man, Bishop West himself commanded I review the next train to the Lowell Crater.”  Don glowered at the young man operating the Electrotrak to the southern pole of Mars.  “You won’t have it on your record, because as I told you, it’s confidential.”

The man, nearly a boy, cleared his throat and looked again at the computer pad in his hands.  “Sir, I understand that, but I have been given instructions, I believe from your office, that no deviation to protocol is allowed without express written permission signed by you and by the Bishop himself.”  The young man wiped his brow, a bit of sweat appearing there.

Don rubbed his eyes and adjusted the pack on his shoulder.  “Look kid,”  he squinted at the boys name patch, “I mean Master Parks,” Don smiled feebly, “I know the rules but you also know I am your commanding officer.”  Don looked back over his shoulder down the corridor, no lights were on, they were alone.  “There is an emergency at Lowell, the new site we’ve begun digging and it requires my immediate and in person attention.  This time we have to break protocol.”  Don put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “Have I ever asked you to do anything you shouldn’t do?”  Don smiled at him again, trying to look fatherly.

The boy’s eyes shone in the harsh artificial lights of the floor and ceiling, “No sir.”  He shifted uncomfortably.  He looked at the pad again.

Don sighed, he had trained this young man several months ago.  This was Parks’ first assignment, and his first time off Earth.  He would do anything he could to prove himself faithful first to the Bishop, second to Don.  Don weighed his options carefully before his next words.  “Master Parks, you have a long career ahead of you but there is something that every soldier needs to able to move forward.  Do you know why we don’t staff our outposts with Robots?”

Parks raised his eye brows and looked up at Don.  “Sir?”

“Robots boy, do you know why we don’t have robots doing the job that you’re doing right now?”  Parks slowly shook his head.  Don smiled a bit, “Because they lack the ability to make abstract decisions.  They will always follow their programing, to the T, to the letter.  They are perfect in that fashion. ”  Don cleared his throat a bit, “the issue is no one else in the entire known universe does that, that is follow the rules to the letter.”  Don removed his hand from the boy’s shoulder, allowing it to drop down by his pistol.  “If you were a robot son, I’d have to deactivate you. I’d turn you off.  That’s how important this mission is to the Lowell Crater.  But son, you’re not a robot, right?”  Don looked into the boy’s eyes.

Parks shifted nervously, considering what Don had just said.  He glanced again at Don, noticing that Don’s right hand was on his side arm.  Sweat flowed more freely.  He swallowed visibly, his voice catching a bit, “Sir I am not a robot, Sir!”  He snapped to attention, both hands clutching the computer pad, his own side arm ignored.

Don nodded.  “That right Master Parks, you’re not.  You also won’t need to be deactivated.”  Don slowly lowered his hand from his holstered pistol.  “Parks I am going to submit a note to your record for outstanding service. ”  Don looked at the entrance to the Electrotrak.  “Now we’ve delayed this transport long enough don’t you think.”  he glanced back at Parks.

“Yes sir.”  Now the stress of that moment, of breaking orders had passed, Parks assumed a new disposition, one indicating he was going to follow Don’s orders.  He dropped the pad into the satchel he wore and turned to the door of the Electrotrak typing in his security code.  The lights flashed green around the entrance handle, indicating they were unlocked.

Don struck the boy just at the base of his neck with the butt of his pistol, knocking him unconscious.  “Sorry Parks, but you’d report this immediately after I left I have no doubt.”  Don bent down next to the young man and felt his pulse, it was strong.  Don shook his head, he’d have hell to pay, but he would worry about that later.  His rank and experience would likely result in a demotion, or at worse, a reassignment to one of the small colonies on Mars.   Don rolled Parks away from the door and turned the handle to open the entrance to the Electrotrak platform.  The rush of the super cold and stale air from the corridor rushed around his feet and he looked worriedly at Parks, who began to moan slightly.  “Damn” he muttered.  He bent down and lifted Parks chest up off the floor by reaching under his arm pits. He slide him into the corridor and shut the main door behind them.  He could see through the glass the metal frame of the Electrotrak car, a lone yellow light blinking on it.
The trains were largely automated, the only function that wasn’t was the launch sequence, usually initiated from the platforms.  This particular train had been loaded by the robots and Parks job had been to download the shipment manifest, confirm the train number and shipment contents before hitting the all clear and sending the auto train on it’s way to the miners at Lowell Crater.  It was the last unmanned transport to the crater until next week and Don knew he had to be on it.  He reached into the satchel and pulled out the computer pad.  He flipped it on and scanned the contents.  Mostly tools, some water, a hydrogen cell, rations and…… Don’s eyes widened.  He looked down at the young man at his feet, still mostly unconscious.   He then looked back at the main corridor, good, no lights on.  He bent down to one knee to be near the boy, while moving near him, pulled Parks’ gun out of its holster and placed it in the jacket pocket he was wearing.  Don reached down and grabbed Parks face around his cheeks.

“Soldier!” he growled, “wake up.”  The boy moaned, “I know you’re coming to, I didn’t hit you that hard.”  Don shook the boy’s head a bit, eliciting more moans, “Wake up soldier, you have work!”  For a moment Don thought the boy would pass out again completely, but then the boy’s eyes fluttered open.

“Si.i……rrr,” he stammered.

Don didn’t have time for this.  “Look Parks, I’m taking the train, and unfortunately you’re going to have to go with me.”  Don pulled the pad out, “Tell me where these came from.”  he pointed at a line on the pad.

The boy couldn’t focus, he shook his head.  “Sorry, sir I, I can’t….”

Don dropped the pad and grabbed the boy by his lapels lifting him close to his face, “Tell me why there is a thermonuclear warhead on this train!!!”

Parks squeezed his eyes shut, “Sir, I don’t know, sir.”  He muttered.  “I just verify the train’s contents, I don’t know why they are there.”  Don dropped Parks back down from his lapel holding.

“Bull crap boy,”  he leaned down to be centimeters from the boy’s face, “It didn’t occur to you to ask someone, your immediate superior, about a thermonuclear device on a train on Mars?”  He gritted his teeth, “FUCKING robots know better.”

The boy pushed himself away from Don as much as he could, “Sir, I was given direct orders to not ask questions and to make sure this shipment makes it to Lowell Crater.”  His eyes were widening as he looked at Don’s face.

“Who?”  Don leaned closer, their noses touching, “who gave these orders?”

“W-w-est, um Bishop West sir!”  The boy was awake now.

Don almost fell backwards.  He leaned back onto his haunches, “Did you actually speak to the Bishop?”  He looked down at the boy.  The boy didn’t say anything, he only nodded.  “When?”

The boy looked at the door to the main corridor, hoping perhaps someone would save him.  No lights were on, no one was there.  He looked back to Don’s face, “sir, please, I’m just following orders, I can’t say anything more!”

Don sighed, he reached down the to dropped pad, placed it in the satchel Parks still wore.  “Alright, look, I’m taking the Electrotrak, we’ve got to get the damn thing moving before we arose suspicion.”  Don stood up, his hand on the butt of his holstered gun.  “I’m guessing you’re not going to give me any trouble?”  the boy shook his head.  “I thought not.”  Don looked at his wrist monitor, “okay I figure we’ve got 5, maybe ten minutes before someone comes to check on you, on why the damn train is still sitting here.”  He looked back at the boy, “Did you verify the contents yet?”

Parks, still laying on the floor, half propped up nodded, “yes Sir, just a moment before you arrived.”

Don nodded.   “Good.  I take it this train has environmental systems, enough to take it to the Lowell Crater?”  Parks nodded.  “Good.  And are their any robots?”


Don glared at the boy, “Are there any active robots on the train?”

“Oh, yes, yes sir.  Two.  One is a general maintenance bot, the other is a war bot.”

“A war bot?  What’s its primary directive?”

Parks cleared his throat, “to guard the warhead.”

Don groaned.  “Shit son, this didn’t cause you concern?”  Don walked towards the end of the connecting corridor, to the entrance to the train.  For a moment forgetting the boy on the ground.   He leaned his face against the thick glass leading to the train.  “What in the hell is going on here?”  He started to turn back to the soldier, when he was struck.

The boy was on him, suddenly very awake, and very strong.  he had hit Don, but his timing had been off as Don turned just as he swung.  As a result the blow glanced off Don’s chin.  He didn’t stop though and threw his full weight into Don’s midsection, knocking the wind out of him.

Don fell back against the wall, for a moment surprised, but he was a soldier, and had fought before.  He brought both his fists down on Parks back while bringing up his knee. He allowed the wall to leverage his balance and center of gravity.  This combination forced Parks to fall away from Don to his right.  Don had a second, “Parks stop!”  the boy was up again, fists swinging, and suddenly he had a knife, surely pulled from his boot.  “We don’t have to do this, you must know there is something wrong here!”


Parks shook his head, grimacing at the pain in his neck, he slashed the knife at Don, who side stepped, “No sir, the only wrong doing so far is that you attacked a soldier.”  He trust the blade at Don again, Don jumped to the side, sliding along the wall.

“Parks, stop, you cannot best me!”  Don’s gun was out and he leveled at the boy.  “STOP!”

Parks saw the gun, shook his head and grimaced, “Sir, you won’t shoot me.”  He started to step towards Don, knife in the lead.

The roar of the gun was amplified by the small space, deafening.  For a moment neither man moved, then, as if in slow motion, the knife fell from Parks’ hand to the ground.  Parks looked at Don, his other hand reaching to his stomach, blood welling out.  “Sir?” he muttered as he dropped to his knees.  He fell forward on his face, his head hitting the top of Don’s boot.

Don slowly lowered his weapon, a bit of smoke drifting from the barrel.  He slid it into his holster.  He slide his boot out from under Park’s head, which thumped on the cement floor with a sickening sound.  Blood was pooling under Parks’ body.  Don quickly reached down and pulled the satchel and computer pad from Parks’ lifeless body, slipping it onto his shoulder.  He stepped over the body and went to the door leading to the Electrotrak platform.  He entered his own access code and the door to the train slide open, even colder air poured down.  Don reached behind him and pulled the hood of his coat up around his face, activating the protective cover.  He pulled it, like a ski mask and the seal on the neck magnetically activated, protecting him from the immediate air of the surface.  There was atmosphere on the platform, but it wasn’t intended to sustain breathing for more than a moment.  Don walked to the door of the train, the yellow light still blinking.   Don entered the door code and the light above the train blinked green and slowly the door of the train slide open.  he activated the timer to launch the train in two minutes.  Don looked back at the body of Parks, laying in his own blood, which was already beginning to freeze as the warmth of the corridor was compromised by the platform’s freezing Martian air.  He shook his head and stepped onto the train, leaving the door of the platform room open.  He knew that when the seal from the train was disengaged the Martian atmosphere would completely freeze Parks’ body. That would buy Don a few hours time probably before a manhunt was launched for him.  Enough time that he would make it to the mining colony at Lowell Crater.

He activated the door code and the train door began to close.  A red light flashed and the body of Parks slide behind the closing door.  The train became pitch black.  Don activated his mask’s light and turned to look into the train.  It was filled with crates, each marked with numbers.  Don knew that the computer pad he carried would tell him what was contained in each crate.  He looked around and spied the main console for this train car.  Walking to it, he activated the car’s lights and environmental controls.  A claxon alarm sounded, scaring him, then the train threw itself into motion.  The sudden and forceful acceleration threw Don to the floor, and he nearly broke his arm trying to soften his landing.    “Damn,” he said out loud.

He allowed himself to stay on the floor for a moment, his body, his hands were shaking. Not from the fall but from the fact that he just murdered a soldier.  “Shit” he said.  He took several deep breaths, placed his hands palm down on the train floor and stood up.  For a moment he couldn’t catch his balance, then it occurred to him that there was no gravity enhancement on this train.  No wonder he felt so light, and no wonder he was having trouble staying upright.  “Computer,” Don called out.

“Computer active,” came the response.

“Computer activate gravity controls.”

“Unable to comply, this train is not programed for artificial gravity.”

“Damn.”  He said out loud.  “Computer, what is the estimated time of arrival at Lowell Crater?”

“Our estimated arrival time is 22:00 hours, Martian.”  Don looked at his wrist monitor, good, nearly 4 hours.

He looked around the train again, now with the lights on.  “Computer what is the oxygen and ambient temperature in this car?”

“The oxygen level is 21%.  The temperature in the car is 12.6 degree Celsius.”

Don smiled, reaching up he opened his hood and released the magnetic clasps holding it in place.  The car air was cool, and smelled stale, but it wasn’t cold and it was breathable.  Satisfied he took the satchel off, removing the computer pad.   he dropped the satchel and turned on the pad, “Now where was that…..”  he flicked the screen with his finger nail, scrolling the roster.  “There!”  The code was listed as TN911TERM.  Only a soldier of his rank even knew that code was for a high yield nuclear device.  They had been banned after the war, but of course the Church was the only power to enforce the ban, she still had the weapons.  These devices were the size of a water melon, and could yield enough force to destroy 350 square kilometers of area.  They had one purpose, to completely destroy a target.  Released in a cavern, like the mine at Lowell Crater, well, nothing would be left.

The device was listed in crate number 2304, train car number 6.  Don looked around, “Computer, what train car number is this one?”

“This is car number 4.”  Don sighed.  He had to get to the crate and see the device himself, but he knew there was a warbot waiting for him.  “Computer” he said again, “In which train car is the maintenance robot located?”

“Maintenance bot 6453 is located in car two.”  Don nodded and said aloud, “Then it’s off to car two I go.”

December 04, 2015

Knife's Edge

Grave Stone
This is a tough post for me and I've debated writing about this topic in a public fashion, but for those who know me, and if you're learning about me here or on social media, I'm a fairly open book.  There are no secrets here.

I think as a child, a catholic child specifically, is when my fascination with life really took a hold. I should clarify, my fascination with what happens to life after death.  I have to remember all these years (like almost 40 years) have passed between when I was a little boy and today.  In that time my curiosity about life and death have evolved, thinking back now as an adult trying to remember my thoughts,  my experience of life and death as child, well they are very different.  All the same though, my curiosity on the topic remains.

All this aside, I have always wondered that question, which I suspect many of us do, does life truly end at death, or does this strange phenomenon of awareness of self continue beyond the experience of death?  I don't know the answer, but in growing up in the Catholic Church I was given many answers to this question, most of which said resoundingly, yes life goes on.  Not only does life go beyond death, but it's better than life here!  It is perfect living, especially if you are not a "sinner" (whoa such a qualifier) and even more especially if Jesus Christ is your lord and savior.  Now as it was I was indoctrinated into that faith, I never was given the option to choose it so while as a child, and even as a young man I would have said if asked, "Yes, Jesus is my lord and savior."  This answer though was meaningless because I had no idea what the alternative was, and in fact did not know that there was an alternative.

Funny stuff this immortality given as  a gift only after one dies.  Heaven is described as perfection.  It was there that we were taught that in heave there existed: no suffering; no fear; no loneliness; total union with the divine; perfect knowledge.  And as a young boy I wanted this.  I wanted all those things, they sounded so amazing.  Yet a caveat existed, you couldn't go to heaven if you committed a mortal sin, and self harm to the point of death (suicide) disqualified you.  The act was anathema.  And so we had to wait for the gift of heaven until we got old and died, got cancer and died, hit by a car or shot by a bullet and died.  No way that was coming to us in the state of knowing that we were (or are) currently in.
I like the darkness.  My entire life I have always wanted to be the hero, the noble knight, the heroic cop, Superman.  Yet for all that longing, I always found myself feeling more empathy with the fallen knights like Lancelot (stealing Arthur's wife); the bad guy who fell into crime because of social and economic situations; I'm more Batman than I will ever be Superman.   I remember reading the stories, fables really, of Lucifer, Satan, and thinking, "Well I can understand his jealousy of mankind.  I always suspected that the stories of the bible, regarding the "bad" guys, or evil, had been biasedly written from the perspective of the good guy, and I always thought that likely this perspective was subjective rather than objective.   Bad guys probably weren't as bad as good guys said.  Evil probably wasn't the force of destruction as much as the good guys said. I mean after all, my entire life I was told that the best football team in the world was the Denver Broncos, but I'll bet that if I grew up in Dallas, I would think that the Dallas Cowboys were the best.  Oh dear reader, see how much I like darkness.....I used a sports analogy!
I had a nice life as a child. I played quite a lot, though I was truly a loner.  I had no more than two or three close friends my entire childhood; Chester my cousin; Daman my junior high friend; Marc, Chris and John in high school.  That was it.  As a little boy I most often played alone.  Creating in my mind entire universes; whole worlds that better or more closely looked like this heaven I had been promised in church.  In my imagination, heaven was  my play time.

But there were those times, evenings often, when I wasn't playing anymore.   I would sit alone in my room, surrounded always by my hundreds and hundreds of stuffed animals and wonder then what was heaven really like.  My wonder actually was more along the lines of, what is death?  So often I would think of this, and wonder that I began to imagine that it might be okay if I died.  I began to tell myself that death, in all it's scary "unknowingness" was so tempting, so much a desire, that I was less afraid of it than I was of living.    Play into death was as tempting for me as play in life.
Death Dancing
So there, alone, in darkness I wondered and debated.  If my imagination created such a wonderful life, full of adventure and mystery, fulfillment and fun, then too wouldn't the experience of heaven past life provide this even more, and more completely, fully immersed?   And thus my first thoughts about ending my life crept into my very young mind.  I was probably eight or nine years old.  And my conflict was that I was afraid of the affect not of death, but that if I died at my own hand, I could potentially be neglected the experience of heaven.  Now I didn't experience much in the way of teachings about hell.  It was brought here and there, mostly in context of sorrow things like, "oh those poor souls in hell," or occasionally in referencing truly awful people like Hitler, "he must be in hell."  Now, I didn't want to be associated in this fashion, and I thought, no surely, someone like me, even if I brought myself to death I would be spared hell.

But  I didn't want to risk it.  Not at first anyway.

Now please know, I was in no way neglected or unloved by my family.  My mother was a very caring person (still is).  She fretted over us, kept us fed, loved us, sang to us.  I did have joy in my life, and I wasn't exactly depressed.  I did brood (I still do), I did like reading about dark things like dragons, evil wizards, devils and demons, but I also loved bright happy things too.   I played for hours with my legos, hot wheels, swords and things.  But many times, I would imagine myself dead.  Gone, wandering into the next life whatever that life may be.

One memory, so clear for me, is of an evening when I was alone in my room, maybe around 1979. I had a small Swiss army knife, the old kind that had only a few tools and blades.  It had one larger blade, and this one was pretty dull.  I pulled myself under the blankets in my bed and took out that little knife.  I remember holding it in my hand.  The sensation of the red plastic case at first cold, then warming to the touch of my skin.  I remember flipping open the largest blade, gleaming under the flash light and snapping it shut, time and time again.  Then  I remember taking this blade and pressing it against my stomach, point into my flesh. I remember pressing it, hard enough to push the skin in deep without cutting, and thinking to myself "press harder, you're so close."
Fear.  I was afraid of the knife, not of what it would do, but what if it couldn't do what I wanted.  At so young an age I didn't know what that meant, hurting myself, desiring to know what lay beyond the veil of living into the veil that we all are finally in, death.  I think I knew that the little Swiss Army knife couldn't have possible killed me, or I was just very, very afraid of the possibility that everything I had been told about death was not true, that there was no living beyond dying.  Or part of the fear was in me that if I hurt myself to the point of death, the promise of heaven would be lost to me because self harm, suicide was a mortal sin, it killed you not only on this plane but in the next.

I didn't come so close to death again for a long time after that.  Whatever held me back in that moment kept the thoughts of dying at bay for many years.  The thought occasionally came into my mind, flittering from time to time, sweeping in like a little humming bird, buzzing around my brain tempting me with, "death just like sleeping, don't you like to dream?"
Anna's Hummingbird
It's funny, I'm not a depressed person.  I rarely am low, I don't have many bad habits, I don't usually mull too much over things.  I think my friends would describe me as happy, carefree even, most certainly silly.  But as we have seen in life, those high moments, which is where I usually reside, can lead to dark lows.  Dips in my mood are severe, but they are fleeting.  I'm not a manic depressive, at least not clinically.  If you meet tomorrow and then run into me in three months randomly, you'll find me in the same mood. I'm consistently consistent.  So this fascination with death isn't one that boils up because I'm hopeless or lost, but rather it comes from this place of pure dream.  It's a fantasy, a dark, dangerous fantasy.  I suppose I would say that if I am depressed I'm an odd bird, because for most days I value the experience of living and I'm quite happy.

But there somewhere in my mind are whispers of a darker desire, hints back to my childhood begging me to explore life and it's natural end.  Now that I've studied death myths, legends, theories of heaven and afterlife I do not believe there is any type of continuance of existence beyond what we know.  I believe that at death I simply cease to exist.  Our lives, our consciousness are like light switches, once flicked off, we simply cease to shine.  So the fascination with death for me has lost the appeal of escaping into a better existence.  But funny, this thought of dying, death has become such a close friend of mine, it's hard to let it go.

There was a time in 1993, January, when I stood on the edge of a rooftop on a building in Rome, some ten stories tall and looked down at the paving stones below and nearly leapt.  Now this was a time when I was depressed. I had been living in Rome then, studying to be a priest, struggling with my sexuality, struggling with being an atheist, struggling with a realization that the Catholic Church, which had become my home, my lover, hated me.  So standing there on the roof of the Pontifical North American College, looking down in the darkness at the road below, I stood; toes dipped over the edge of the building, the wind buffeting my back, encouraging me, daring me to fly - for a moment - to kiss our earth - to stop being me.
I remember the guilt of such dark terrible thoughts. I remember wondering what would my mother think?  My father?  Would they have to come to Rome to get my body or would they ship it back to the USA?  I stood there that dark evening, chilled in the Mediterranean winter air, and once again, for a moment heard my inner voice whispering to me "step over the edge, you're so close."  My own sense of self preservation kept me anchored to life that evening, but I was closer to the edge than I ever had been.

There have been other dark moments in my life and those random thoughts have popped up for me thinking how much easier it could be for me if I just allowed myself to slip into the great sleep.  In all these years, with therapy, the right friends, and maintaining a more firm grasp on reality, I've not stepped off the edge, but what my ever present struggle with thoughts of death and suicide have brought me, are an absolute lack of fear.  I've known pain, physically with surgeries, a bout with cancer, broken bones.  I've known pain in loss of loved ones, death of friends, end of relationships, heart break.  I've known pain in feeling insignificant, unimportant, unable to affect change in the world.  So yes, those dark thoughts have crept up in my mind, and the faint whispers of my old friend death hisses in my ear, "'re so close."  And because my old friend death is an ever present part of my personal darkness, I've come to not fear him at all.
Death and the maiden
So where am I today dear readers?  Well I'm happy, living and working hard at bettering myself.  I'm trying to learn more, discover more, love more. I'm trying to complain less, seek the bright parts of life and living while acknowledging that life isn't a matter of heaven and hell.  I am trying to remember that death too is not a matter of heaven and hell.  Rather, this life, my existence, my awareness, is an incredible gift of great fortune brought on by the power of stars.  The alignment of "knowing", that is consciousness awareness, seems, at least to humanity now, to be rare.  We are special, at least in this corner of the infinite universe.  And knowing this, acknowledging this is enabling me to better appreciate and respect the uniqueness of my experiences of life.  Every moment is special, powerful, unique for what it is.  My existence is so quick in the grand scheme of things that I realize the desire to end life, my life, is pre-mature.  It would be like going to a movie, picking the perfect seat, ordering my popcorn and soda and then walking out when the previews start.  I'd be missing the point.  So I've buckled down, accepted that the temptation for relief of the great sleep is real, at least for me, but that I shall not give in.  Rather I am focused on building up within myself the temptation to stay, to thrive, to live.

I'm happy to discuss this topic and post with you or anyone - leave a comment or send me a message.  I've lost friends to suicide.  I've lost friends and loved ones to early death, and to death after a long life.  And that loss is real.  That loss is painful.  That loss is hard to bear.  I know my life will one day end, hopefully not for a long time, I'm learning there's lots more living to do and I'm only getting started.  So in  the meantime I'm going to keep growing, keep learning, allowing myself to fail, but always allowing myself to get back up after a failure and try again.  I know that death is always close, lurking around the corner but my movie has only just started and I don't want to miss the ending.

I wrote in my "Thoughts Along the Way" journal about this a few months ago.  Here are those musings, "I am, for this rather insignificant moment in space and time, aware.  Based on the incredible rarity of life, especially life aware of itself, this is the importance of being.  Our existence itself seems to point to the meaning of life itself."
Thoughts along the way
If you or someone you know is struggling with thoughts of suicide ask for help.  In the USA the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is an amazing resource.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
1 (800) 273-8255

December 03, 2015


As a young boy I admired ants - their singularity of focus, scurrying from place to place.  Today as I scurried to work, single in focus, I realized I and the ant are so nearly the same.

December 02, 2015


How has our socially, virtually connected reality affected the "how" in our abilities to experience those difficult to achieve in-person moments of one's truth


I still wonder about the why of evolution, that is awareness of self. By all accounts life existed quite nicely without knowing itself. Then somewhere on the plains of Africa our ancestors knew of themselves. I wonder to what end?  WHY

November 29, 2015

Letting Go

Do we learn to love so we may learn to let go?

November 27, 2015

Subway cat

It occurs to me that I have much for which to be grateful.

I saw a young man sitting the other day at Grand Central on the subway platform with a cat on his lap. The man was asleep and the cat quite calmly and peacefully was cleaning herself, ignoring the screeching trains and people.

And we were ignoring them.

The Faith Of Mars - Chapter 12 – The Inevitability of it All


Date 6,253,101 B.C.E.

Neomis looked out the window on the world swirling below.  He loved the view they had from the station spinning around Kieaa.  How many times since he had been had he seen the sun rise and set?  Hundreds, an effect afforded only because of their unique place in the atmosphere.

It had been two days since they had disengaged the space elevator, a precaution taken in case the world below had a catastrophic event from a passing asteroid, but that fear had been misplaced, and the asteroid it seemed would strike, but in the depths of the ocean, washing the shores in the water, floods, tsunamis.  Their new little family of apes would be safe, as they were so far inland.  They disengaged the elevator because they could not risk any damage to the this, the station.  However, now it was disengaged, without the Mothership, they would not be able to re-engage the elevator.  They were going to be forced to use the small shuttle to take them from the station to the surface, and to take the last of the apes, now encoded with genetic modifications so as to evolve more fully into the same species as Neomis and his people.

He pulled his gaze away from the world below and looked at his communication station. Still no word from Gugulaania, the silence had Neomis worried, of course Galela reminded Neomis that if Mothership had started the final journey to the south pole, communication could be spotty or cut off entirely.  They still received the locator beacon feedback from Mothership, so whatever had happened to their family, it had not yet terminated all communications on the surface.

Neomis had been  raised on Gugulaania, it had been the only home he had ever known.  He knew that this father, Neomin, also had been raised there, but when Neomin was a child, Mothership and her power reserves were strong.  By the time Neomis was old enough to be aware, he and his people were confined to the inner colony, near the equator of Gugulaania.  The out laying colonies were being abandoned, and transportation to those habitats eliminated.  The Mothership continued to provide everything they needed, shelter, air to breathe, warmth, everything.  But for those of their people located around the solar system, it was a different story.  Many explorers were working on stations around the great gas planets, the largest of which, the fifth planet out from the center star, had provided a wealth of learning and discovery.   There was a small icy moon that had some of the earliest signs of life and the scientists in orbit there had reported that perhaps they could colonize that small system in a space station.  Those explorers died hoping that someday they would be rescued, that their research could be used to recover the decline in Mothership.  This hope slipped away and they waited for a rescue that never came.  No doubt by now their ship, being unattended and not powered, had slipped into the atmosphere of the gas giant.

All this, the exploration, the space stations, occurred before the actual decline of the Mothership was well known.  Once it was discovered Mothership's power supply was expiring, and it was learned that they could not support stations on other planetary bodies besides Kieaa and Gugulaania, those explorers were abandoned.  Most of them had anticipated Mothership would retrieve them, and likely that had been the original plan from her A.I. program, but it seems a flaw in the programming was that Mothership failed to communicate her  demise to her children.  Once they discovered Mothership's cascading power failures, and in communicating with her, they found she had known  of this catastrophic event nearly two centuries earlier.

Neomis sighed, his hand resting on the computer console.  Each device on the station was interconnected, powered by the same source as Mothership herself.  The power, a fusion technology that they had not been able to replicate, because they hadn't needed to in centuries, could almost be felt, humming around them.  Neomis and most scientists knew that technology was a combination of biomechanical and quantum mechanical integration of energy packets and fields.  The use of gravity waves to manipulate matter, both its form and function, was the heart of the technology.  A heart that only Mothership knew how to care for.  The hundreds of centuries his people had spent in space, traveling to this solar system, then the hundreds of years settling on Gugulaania, well no one thought to learn the inner workings of Mothership.  Likely no one could have.  As the technology advanced, thousands of years ago, the science and calculations needed to use and comprehend Mothership was no longer something his people had the capacity to do.  Only Mothership and her computers had the computing power to know herself and her own workings; this removal from needing to know or work with Mothership's computers resulted in freeing his people to become writers, artists, philosophers, lovers.  They explored more the meaning of life from their libraries and lectures.  They did not need to build, grow, construct.  Those things were all done for them.
He moved his hand away from the computer and looked over his shoulder at the lab door leading to his little family of apes.  Most of the apes had been brought back to the surface, this last group of 50 of the original 200 individuals who had been genetically modified, imprinted with the key genetic codes of his own people.  Neomis smiled.  This was a last desperate act of species preservation.  One hundred years prior when the idea had been suggested, and finally approved by Mothership as viable, they had set on working with the apes.  Neomis' own grandfather had lead the first group to Kieaa, and they had found the apes that they wished to work with, the ones who were the closest match to their people's genetic codes.  It was most fortunate that this solar systems origins of life were shared in common with his own people's some billions of years prior.  The earliest microbes which evolved into life must originated in the same region of space as their home world, many solar systems apart, because genetically speaking they shared an ancient common ancestor.  He smiled at the thought of the apes.  The wonder of it all, here they were millions of light years apart from his people's home world, and sitting in the room next to him were his cousins, not so different than he.  Perhaps if he and Mothership hadn't intervened these apes might have eventually evolved into a species perhaps not so different than his own.  Now though, they had accelerated that process, and what would have taken perhaps many tens of millions of years, would now take only a few million.  The original plan of course had been to even further accelerate the evolutionary process, that plan was the one being initiated by Neomis' grandfather, but once Mothership had revealed that she would fail, nearly completely, before that could to pass, they simply wanted to accelerate the process as much as possible.  They knew that they would not live to see these apes evolve much, but in terms of the age of the universe, it would a relatively short amount of time indeed.

Neomis stood, he lifted his arms above his head and stretched.  He felt the fibers in his body pull and tighten.  He was delaying what he had to do next, which was prep himself and the apes for the journey back to the surface.  The effects of the asteroid strike had been much less severe than anticipated and the flooding and damage to the surface was minimal.  They had more time than the surface of Gugulaania, Mothership had divested greater power reserves to them than the surface of Gugulaania.  He frowned at that thought, the inevitability of the loss of life, the loss of his parents, friends, his people was overwhelming.  Sighing he walked over to the lab door and entered the sequence for entry.  The room had to be under pressurized for him; the thick duplicative Kieaa atmosphere, so heavy with nitrogen and oxygen was nearly impossible for him to breath.  While he could breath in it for a few minutes, he would rather not.  His own lungs were designed by Mothership to better breath on the nearly non-existent atmosphere of Gugulaania, which was mostly composed of carbon dioxide.  Though his people in their home world had evolved hundreds of thousands of years ago to breath a nitrogen/oxygen mix, not unlike that of Kieaa, his people arriving in this solar system knew they had to modify their genetics, their bodies to adapt to Gugulaania.  Once it was clear several hundred years ago that they would never be able to settle on Kieaa, and that Gugulaania would be their home, Mothership began the process in working with the geneticists and biologists to adapt their lungs and bodies.  Gugulaania did not have a sustainable atmosphere, but with the modifications and with Mothership's ability to create oxygen from the Gugulaania atmosphere.   This essential technology was another mystery to most of the scientists, knowledge lost to complacency.  He reached into a small wall compartment and slipped on a breathing apparatus.  The door to the lap slipped open and the lights came alive.

Simbia was already at the door to her habitat, a smile on her lips.  She cooed at him, making hooting noises to him indicating her pleasure at seeing him, and no doubt expecting food.  He smiled at her, "Ah dear Simbia, I know, I know."  He unlatched the door and she jumped out at him.  The artificial gravity was much less here than on Kieaa, and so her powerful muscles launched her at him.  He grunted as she hit him, though she was quite large, Neomis still had greater mass than she.  He swung her around his body in a spinning motion, much like one would spin a child in a circle.  He laughed as she held onto him.    "I missed you too!"  He allowed her to nuzzle his neck.  He looked at the other apes, now all attentive and watching closely.  While they all had some sort of bond, Neomis was especially close to Simbia.   He had known her only for a few years, she was a young ape, and her mother, Sulki, had been a very good mother.  Sadly though she had disappeared some time ago on the surface, taken no doubt by a predator, which had left Simbia an orphan, and thus Neomis had adopted her.  She was one of the first apes he had modified, using his own codes in her genetic sequence.  The modified sequences focused on higher cognitive functions, speech and bipedal walking.  Other more subtle modifications would affect the apes' development of self awareness, conceptualization of time and abstract thinking.

"Come Simbia,"  he pulled off him and lowered her to floor so she could walk.  "Go, release Membia."  Membia was a young male, a close friend to Simbia and a very gentle ape.  He would in normal circumstances, if left to develop on the world unmodified, likely have been the lowest order of ape in the group, maybe even an out cast.  As it was here though, he was showered with affection from Neomis and Simbia, his status raised amongst the other apes.  Simbia darted to Membia's habitat, his bright eyes were shining through the glass front, glittering in the lab's bright lights.  He hooted at her as she opened the door.  He was more cautious than she, and he didn't immediately leap down to the floor.  Instead he looked to Neomis, his hand extended out to him, palm up.

Neomis smiled and walked over to Membia,  he brushed the palm of Membia's hand, "Yes young man, you may come out."  Membia carefully lowered himself to the floor, immediately Simbia was hugging him and they rolled onto the floor together, excitedly hooting.  The other apes joined in the ruckus, and for a moment Neomis thought he would go deaf.  He clapped his hands sharply once, and immediately the apes grew silent.  "Simbia, Membia come with me."  The two apes joined their hands and followed Neomis to the far door of the lab, using their free hands to support themselves as the lumbered along just behind Neomis.  Neomis opened the door and immediately felt the dissipation of the gravity, a relief for him, he looked over his shoulder at the two apes following him.  They had paused at the door entry.  The artificial gravity here was much closer to the levels found on  Gugulaania, but the apes had done just fine walking in the lighter gravity previously.  Neomis smiled, he knew they were curious and that the promise of some fruit would entice them.  "Darlings," he said to them, "come and I'll give you a treat."

That was all it took and the two apes jumped into the hall following Neomis.  He smiled at them, the brushed past his legs, running towards the end of the corridor  It wasn't a long hallway, but it lead to the main station hanger, where the spacecraft rested that would be used to transport them all back to the surface below in a few days.    The apes loved the adventure, and Neomis tried to let them roam around the station as much as possible.  Of course they could get into trouble, and without Mothership directly monitoring the station and servicing for immediate repairs, he had to be cautious.  But he couldn't bear the thought of them in their little habitats for much longer.  They were already showing greater signs of intelligence, communicating very differently since the modifications.  They hadn't yet formed the cognitive ability to form words, after all they didn't have a voice box, but their abilities to grasp more complex phrases and words was astounding.  He sighed as he walked behind them, oh how he wished he had more time, that he would see them grow into the intelligent beings that he knew they would.  He just wished that he would be the grandfather to their children.

They got to the end of the corridor and the apes were waiting for him, hooting and calling, almost running circles around him.  "Settle down, you'll be able to go in an play."  He activated the artificial gravity for the hanger, waiting a few moments while the air pressure changed as well.  This space, because it was so large, was easier to allow the apes to play and run.  They would be able to hang off the shuttle craft in the hanger, and they would have access to enough space to really release energy.  Not only this, but the gravity was approximately 60% of that on Kieaa, so this would really give them a workout compared to the lesser gravity of the lab and the station in general.  Not only this, but it was a very oxygen rich room.   The apes now pulled at his hand hanging by his side.  He smiled down at them, lifting his hand to stroke Simbia's head.  "Dear, just a moment longer."  He smiled when the indicator light blinked, "see, there is now the right air to breath and more gravity to make you feel normal."  He felt his own face to make sure his breathing apparatus was properly affixed.  Since they had taken the apes in a more permanent fashion, he wore it nearly all the time.  Really only his own personal lab had the mixture of air that didn't require the mask.

"Neomis!" he heard a voice at the other end of the corridor.  "There you are!"  It was Galela.  The apes heard her too - and recognized her and began immediately to hoot and call out to her in greeting, but so great was their desire to go into the hanger they did not run to greet her.
"Galela, you've come just in time, I'm going to exercise these two and do a bit more work on the shuttle."  He reached down again to stroke Simbia's head.

"And the others aren't worthy?"  She asked jokingly as she approached him.  She got close to him and kissed his head, ignoring the apes pawing at her as she did so.  She looked down at them, "you little beasts," her tone was playful, "you only like me because you know I have fruit."  She reached into a pouch at her side and pulled out fruits from the planet below, small skinned fruit that grew in vines as bunches.  They were very sweet, and the apes loved them.  She gave each ape a bunch of them.  She looked at Neomis, "You'd better let them in there or they'll tear down the walls.

Neomis nodded with a smile, "Okay my darlings, in you go."  He activated the door, and the air whooshed around their feet, chilled, but not stale.  The apes immediately darted into the room, carefully carrying their precious fruit, each going to opposite corners to eat the treat.  Neomis looked up Galela.  "Are you well my dear?"

Her eyes gleamed in the bright lights of the hanger, now blinking on in succession from the entrance to the back, where the large space doors stood closed.  "I'm very well.  I've monitored the asteroid strikes, little catastrophic damage, well at least for our troops of apes.  There will be rain and wind, but we survived with no loss of life."  She stepped into the hanger, expecting Neomis to follow, which he did.  "There is no hope though for the elevator.  I was working with Ramudu, he had been in contact with Mothership the longest, but as you know, she's not contacted us in nearly two days."
Neomis nodded, "He told me though the location beacon was still active."

She nodded, "It is, and that's a good thing, it means that whatever is happening on Gugulaania hasn't destroyed everything.  She turned back to him, "but it also means that we're more alone than ever."  She looked at the shuttle craft in front of them, ignoring the apes running around the room, "Can you fly this thing without Mothership?"  She looked back at him.

Neomis looked at the shuttle, just behind her.  He saw the apes there, running under the machine, playing near hoists holding it in place.  "I do not see that we will have any choice other than to do so.  I've run the simulations that Mothership provided last week, and I've memorized the manual controls.  Acting like flying and actually doing it are two entirely different scenarios, but I have to do it.  They," he motioned at the two apes, "Cannot live here."  He lowered his arm.  "Nor can we."
She looked down at his face, her head turned sharply to his eyes.  "Don't Neomis, don't think about it."

He smiled at her, he knew she hated to hear him speak thusly.  "Galela, it is simply the reality, the truth of our situation.  Our priority now must be to reconnect with Mothership, hopefully with Neomin and Normia, and to get these creatures home.  They are already changing."  He started to walk towards the shuttle in front of them.  Galela followed him.  "Did you read the results from their intelligence test?"

"Yes, it was remarkable.  Their progress is unprecedented.  Now if only we had time to place them in the gene sequencer longer, advance their individual evolution, rather than relying on nature to take it's course."

"Even if we could, without the power from Mothership, there is nothing to be done."  He stood just below the front nose cone of the craft, he reached up and touched the cool metal.  "Just think, we'll be the first to fly one of these machines alone in nearly five hundred years."  He looked at her.  "How did we arrive at this place Galela, how as a people did we forget everything we ever knew.  When did we stop doing, and just became learners?"
She stood next to him, and placed her hand over his, "When you have everything you need, how do you know what you are missing?"
He looked at the two apes, rolling around wrestling with each other, having found a long cloth to drape over themselves like a blanket.  "Our future in these creatures will be very different than our past."  He smiled, "I've made sure to include the marker for curiosity. I want them as they evolve to long to search, to find, to discover."
She smiled at him.  "Careful dear, don't give them too much."  She looked at the apes and smiled.  "Funny, they seem less beastly to me today." 
He was almost offended, but knew her humor well enough to know she wasn't entirely serious.  "I think Galela, we might actually have become the beasts.  Beasts of complacency.  We forgot the discovery and wonder of self reliance and became too much children of science and technology."
She frowned.  "Were we?"  She shook her head, "I mean are we?  This world below us, so full of life, of wonder.   I can't help but wonder if this entire journey of our people all these centuries was our destiny, meant to be perhaps."  She looked around.  "We all wonder why Mothership didn't teach us to care for her. She could have.  Perhaps some part of her wanted us to be at this place, so as to force us to figure it out.  Maybe even she wanted us to be the parents of this new world, give life and meaning to new children.  Our world, where our lives are so old and mundane had stopped living a long time ago; Mothership knew that perhaps it was time we fade away.  It could be, in all her great power she knew that the lives we have been living for centuries was empty because we were not truly living any more, we were only existing.  It wasn't until we arrived in this solar system that our scientists started to learn, observe, discover.  So then, I believe that on some level our extermination is the beginning of new wonder for the future children of this world.  Our time has run its course, time to let it go."
He sighed, removing his hand from the craft, he reached up to her shoulders and turned him towards him.  "Speak not of these things my dear Galela.  Our lives, our past, it exists in our future too.  These creatures, these apes, Simbia and Membia  and all the others are not the result of complacency.  They are the result of a great and ancient people, a people who were lost but have found hope not in their own present, not in the offspring of their loins, but found hope in the future of these adopted children."  He pulled her close to him.  "We are not lost my dear.  We've simply come home."
The two apes had come over to them and had sat at their feet, grooming each other.  Neomis felt the hand of Simbia on his leg.  He knew that this was meant to be.  Galela trembling in his arms.  She was crying.