Contact Conclusion

"Hire, come quick!"
Hire started awake. He must have dozed off.
"Hides' discovered something incredible about the disc."
Hire was up and out his office door before Flame had even finished talking.
The lab was still awash in activity, but less so than before. Glancing at a time keeper, Hire realized that he had been in his office for much longer than he thought. He stepped up to the platform where the most people were now gathered, the same where Hides had been working. He gently elbowed his way to the front of the group.
Hides was talking animatedly. "What'd you find, Hides?" Hire interrupted.
Hides looked like he might explode. "It's unbelievable, sir. You won't believe it. This disk? It's not a tablet, like I thought originally. I was studying all the drawings on here, looking for patterns, and then I saw this. I know it's too small for you to see from there, but every picture on here has a series of dots and dashes around it. Every single one, without fail. I thought at first that it was their language, maybe like combinations of these dots and dashes make words or concepts. But there's no breaks between them, so it can't be that. Then I showed them to Carver, and he of course immediately thought of binary. Ones and zeroes. On and off. I thought, obviously it's binary. I mean, what very language is written on our own probes in case of contact? Binary. So I ran the binary through my communicator, but it couldn't translate it. At least, not into Agian."
"Makes sense. It would probably only be able to translate it into whatever language it originated from."
"Right. That's what I thought. But then I thought of our own probes again, and I realized I had been going about it the wrong way. Any creature intelligent enough to launch a probe would know that its finders wouldn't speak their language. Our probes contain messages in binary, but not to be translated into written language. The binary on our probes is meant to be read geometrically. As in, it would be translated into shapes and pictures. So, I ran the binary again, hoping to come up with some pictures. Again, nothing. I then wondered if the beings had included some sort of key, you know, A=dot dash, B=dot dot dash, that sort of thing. It didn't take me long to realize that they had, and that the key was right under my nose." He swept his hand triumphantly over the disk.
Hire moved over to stand behind Hides and focused on the disk, but couldn't see anything that looked like a key. Now that he was closer, he could see the dots and the dashes, but other than that, all he could see were the pictures...
He gasped. "The pictures?"
Hides nodded. "Exactly. Taken together, the binary coding and the pictures represent the message."
"So what does it say?"
"Well, that's the tricky part. I think this big circle here is a picture of the disk, and the binary seems to describe a way in which the disk and the box it was found with interact. Some of this down here is describing different frequencies on the audio spectrum, this over here is describing speed, I'm thinking audio frequencies and speed at which the message is meant to be listened to. We might have to adjust those in case the extraterrestrials speak at a slower speed or lower frequency than we can understand. Anyway, these two are more instructions on how the disk interacts with the box. I'm thinking this square here represents a viewing medium, and this square with the circle in it represents the box with the disk on top of it."
"So how do the disk and the box interact?"
Hides looked sheepish. "That I don't know. I think I can read the diagram here okay, but the directions don't make sense. I think they want the box to spin while the disc is on top of it. but we have no way of making it spin without the disc falling off. I think maybe there were more pieces that held the disc in place while the box spun. I don't know. That's just a theory. But that's not even the really exciting part."
"What is?"
"The pictures and the diagrams are only part of the message. I looked at the disc with a vision expander, and it looks like it's covered in tiny tracks consisting of alternating raised and depressed sections. Again, the dichotomy, which makes me think more binary. Carver's been working on a way to record what binary is in these tracks without visually following each track and just writing down the pattern, which would take weeks. When he's done, we'll be able to retrieve the messages stored on this disk. I think these diagrams are instructions on how to access the real message, which is recorded on the disk in binary."
Hire thought about it. "It's brilliant, really. we've been trying to find ways to store large amounts of binary on our probes without requiring a power source."
"This would do it. The only thing that would destroy this would be colliding with another celestial body, and odds of that are astronomical."
"Incredible." Hire looked over to Carver, seated at another table. "How long until we can read this?" He asked.
"Just minutes. All I'm doing is rewiring a microscopic image spectrometer to follow the tracks on the disk and record the ups and downs. We should get a clear, translatable, binary code in no time."
Hire took those minutes to ensure the lab's visual/audio recorders were functioning, and set his own communicator to record and store everything it heard. This was potentially one of the greatest moments in all of human history, and he wanted to make sure it was properly recorded.
Carver came over with a small spectrometer suspended between a tall tripod, and positioned it over the disk, which Hides had placed carefully on the box that accompanied the disk in the body of the craft. Carver gently pressed the power section of the spectrometer, and it quietly whirred to life. It scanned around itself, catching its bearings, and then zeroed in on the disk. It moved slowly back and forth, laterally to the tracks on the disk, then snapped all the way to one side of the disk and began slowly spinning in a circle, following the tightly spiraling grooves in the disk.
They waited in frantic anticipation. Apart from Flame asking if Carver's communicator was recording the solid stream of digitized binary being recorded by the spectrometer, which he answered with a nod, the room was silent. The hum of the spectrometer was the only noise. After what seemed like an eternity, the spectrometer’s circles became tighter and tighter, then stopped. The spectrometer reset itself, settling back into its passive position.
"It's done," Carver said, after a moment's pause.
Hire gently lifted the disk from its cradle on the alien box. "There's more on the other side. Let's set the spectrometer to record this while we see if we can translate the binary we have." He flipped the disk over, and laid it back down. Carver again set the spectrometer to scan.
As soon as the spectrometer was spinning away, the scientists of the Galactic Outreach Program gathered around a single communicator, preparing to hear the first words of an extraterrestrial ever heard by man.
Hides' communicator, retrieving the data from Carver's, opened a visual display field in the air above itself, preparing to translate the binary it had received. Hides gave the little machine instructions on how fast to play the data stream, based on data inscribed in binary on the outside of the disk itself. Then, the visual display field went from opaque to white.
Hire found his heart thumping madly within his chest as he waited for something to happen. He didn't have long to wait.
A scratchy noise began to emit from the communicator.
"Is that part of the message?"
Hire shook his head. "Unlikely. Probably a result of tiny imperfections in the coding of the binary on the disk. The spectrometer didn't know what to make of them, so it translated them as white noise."
"Can you have your communicator ignore those bits of data?"
"Um...unfortunately, no. There's no way to tell the junk data from the real data at this point."
The white screen flickered hazily, then faded up into a white screen with a plain black circle in the middle of it.
Carver slapped his thigh in triumph. "That's one of the pictures drawn on the disk, right next to the picture of the visual display field. I think this means we coded it right."
The picture again faded to opaque, but the scratchy noise continued. The excitement was almost palpable.
Then, it happened. A quiet, unintelligible voice began speaking from the communicator.
After a few moments, Hides sat back and put his head in his hands. "It's human."
The room erupted in a babble of moans. "Hold on, we don't know that," Flame said, raising her arms to gain attention.
"Come on, Flame. What are the odds that a non-human entity would use such a similar mode of speech to our own?"
"Well, evolutionarily speaking, it's not that far of a stretch. Almost every creature we've ever encountered uses vocalizations of some kind. Besides, even if the extraterrestrials don't use vocalizations, they could just be attempting to copy what they've observed on our own probes and satellites to make it easier for us."
"Everyone shut up, it's changing."
The voice had now changed pitch. This new pitch was used very briefly, and in a few moments, the voice again changed pitch. As they listened, the voice changed pitch both higher and lower several times.
Hire concentrated. "It...sounds like multiple entities talking."
They continued to listen to the different voices. After a few minutes, the message changed completely. A series of whistles, clicks, and moans emanated from the communicator. The hair on the back of Hire's neck stood on end.
Flame looked pale. "Is that...are those voices?"
Hire scrunched his eyes and shook his head, listening harder. The voices had completely stopped now, and the room was filled with an unsettling montage of noise.
"This must be data corruption. None of this means anything."
"To us. Maybe it means something to the beings who sent this."
After a few minutes, the noises faded, and the scratchy silence again filled the room. Hire found himself relieved. Then, sound again began coming from the communicator. This time, it was definitely, inarguably, music.
"My God..." Flame put her hand over her heart and stepped back. "It's music."
"It could be just another form of communication."
"Listen to it. Rhythmic timing, active quick changes in pitch and dynamic...it's music."
The sound of the alien music filled the room, and the audience was too stunned to say more.
They were interrupted by a soft click coming from the spectrometer. "The other side of disk is coded," Carver said softly.
Hire stood in awe, bathed in the wonder of the extraterrestrial music. "Stop this playing. We need to share this with the world."






The Chairman of the Humanities Board, the only person on Agian 7 who could be said to hold any power, stood directly beside Hire, looking down into the main examining area of the Galactic Outreach Program's main lab. Hire had called a stop to all the work with the exception of Carver, Hides, and Flame, and organized the rest in a massive preparation project. They immediately notified the Humanities Board, the acting head of Agian 7's government, who then notified the other Boards and established a communications link with the leaders of nearby planets. Within an hour it had exploded into a near-riot. The people of Agian 7 has streamed into the streets in droves, attempting to gain access to the labs of the GOP to see the alien device themselves. The Board of Knowledge set up an enormous visual display in the streets outside the GOP for the masses to see. The visual recorder that was linked to this massive display was a short distance to Hire's left, currently focused on the entirety of the craft itself, set up in a dramatic display on one of the tiers across the room. In the center of the room, in the main examination area, Carver, Hides, and Flame were setting up the connection to the display that would exhibit the sights and sounds recorded on the disk. The most exciting part was that Carver had taken a look at the data stream from the back side of the disk, and he thought it could be pictures. Actual visual displays.
The event was being broadcast not only across Agia, but across the vast expanse of space to neighboring planets. This was potentially the biggest moment in human history, and it was being treated as such.
The Chairman of the Humanities Board leaned over to Hire. "I think we should start as soon as your technicians are ready."
Hire nodded and waved to Flame, who returned with an affirmative gesture.
"We're ready. Would you like to make a speech?"
The Chairman chuckled. "No, I think I'm the last person anyone wants to hear from right now. Let's just let the non-human entities speak for themselves."
Hire nodded, and signalled Carver, who started the stream.
The now familiar sound of the voice filled the room, and echoed through the streets of a thousand human habitations across multiple worlds. Husbands and wives gathered with their children, young and old alike. Billions stood still, mesmerised by the voice. When the music started, many people shed tears at the sheer wonder of it. A dozen different musical selections played, each unique in its sound. Some sounded remarkably similar to music heard on human worlds in the past, some sounded completely foreign in every way. At the end of the musical selections, a vast silence was heard as the communicator switched data streams and began playing the data from the backside of the disk.
The first thing to appear was a faded image. Hire's heart leaped into his throat. He could barely make out what appeared to be two beings on the image. The image slurred for a moment, then came into sharp focus.
"They're remarkably humanoid," the Chairman muttered.
Hire thought he was going to be sick. "No, Mr. Chairman. They're human."
The image clearly showed a nude man and woman, standing next to a simple scale for comparison. The image flickered and changed, now showing what appeared to be a young family smiling into the recorder. Various pictures appeared and disappeared, each depicting regular humans performing regular tasks. The disappointment was overwhelming. Hire found himself drawn to the images, each causing his heart to sink further and further into despair. In the streets, the crowds slowly began to disperse, parents leading sad children back to their homes to prepare their evening meals. There was nothing more to see.
When the data stream ran dry, Hire sat and stared at the craft across from him. He laughed softly to himself and shook his head. To think he had raised his hopes on such a meaningless and impossible thing. He left the room. Flame, Carver, and Hides still sat quietly, lost in thought. He retrieved his things from his office and began the commute back home to celebrate his daughter's birthday.
The celebration was subdued, but it's hard to suppress the spirit of a child, and soon Whispers was back to her excited, buoyant self. Hire and his small family laughed and played until well after Agian's sun had disappeared behind the horizon. At the end of the day, Hire found himself on a small hill behind his home, looking up into the vast night sky, seeing the swirling cosmos and blinking stars that represented the arm of the galaxy in which Agia twirled. His communicator buzzed gently, informing him of an incoming call. He answered it as Whispers appeared over the crest of the hill, silhouetted in the glowing light of their home. She came to him, and he picked her up in his arms.
"Yes?"
"Hire. It's Carver. I know it's late, but I discovered something you might be interested in."
"What is it?"
"I ran the voices through translation software half a dozen times, and I managed to translate part of the transmission into Agian."
Hire was tired, and he found he really didn't care, but he went along with it. "What does it say?"
"It's not much. I think a lot of it is in different languages, and the translator doesn't have a big enough sample of each language to translate them all. There seems to be one language used more than the others. The biggest segment I could get says something like: 'As the general secretary of the communities which are...together...united, I guess, something about one hundred and forty-seven member states, which represent almost all of the inhabitants of the planet Earth, I send greetings on behalf of the people of our planet.' The rest is too corrupted to make sense."
"I've never heard of any planet close to that name."
"No one has. I don't think it exists. But you remember that painting on the outer shell of the craft?"
"Blue square with red and white stripes next to it?"
"That's the one. We still believe it could be a map. The blue section looks like it could have stars represented on it. The stripes could be some sort of measurement of distance or relationship. And you know the characters next to it? The collection of straight and curved lines? Turns out it's a primitive system of writing. We put the characters through our translation software, assuming that each symbol represents one of the sounds heard in the recording. We had to fill in some gaps, and make some assumptions, but we got it. It says: 'The united states of America.' I think this craft could still be valuable, Hire. I think we should continue to find out what we can about it. I'm going to send it to the guys at the..."
"Carver, I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed. Take tomorrow off if you want to.
"Uh-huh. Okay Hire. See you later."
Hire disconnected the communicator, and drew his daughter in close.
"Were you eavesdropping?" He flicked her nose playfully.
She smiled and lowered her head. "Maybe."
Hire laughed. "How was your birthday, beautiful girl?"
She waited for a moment before answering. "It was fun, but I wish I could have talked to extratellestibles."
Hire hugged her tighter. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry."
She smiled at him. "It's okay, daddy. It's not your fault."
They were quiet for a moment, each admiring the celestial parade of twinkling lights above them.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"What's the united states of America?"
Hire shook his head. "I don't know, Whispers, and I guess it doesn't really matter."
Together they stood on that hilltop on a cool Agian night and looked up into the stars, overwhelmed with the knowledge that they were truly, completely, alone.

Contact: Part II

"And you're sure it's not one of ours?"

"Hire, no human has ever made anything like this. I've never seen anything even close to this. I guarantee it's not one of ours."

Hire frowned. Something seemed odd, he just couldn't figure out what.

He rocked slightly with the motion of the transporter as it moved over uneven ground. His commute to the office was shorter than most, but still took more time than he would like. Today, of course, he had something to occupy his mind. His excitement had soured into distrust. It wouldn't do to believe in something so impossible as contact with extraterrestrials. He didn't want to be disappointed.

Molds Flame, the head of contact branch was on the communicator with Data Carver and Hides-With-Dye, the project engineers. They were both brilliant young men who could speak the languages of math, electronics, and hardware, but they made up for this efficiency with a severe deficiency in social interaction. They were the right men for the job, however, and their social abilities didn't matter.

They had been catching him up on the morning's events during his ride. Halfway through the sleep cycle the night before, one of their deep-space probes had picked up information on a non-natural object. These probes were designed to recognize when something they encountered was composed of more than two minerals, indicating a likelihood of being crafted by an intelligent being. The probe had hooked this object and jumped back to Agia, arriving near the end of the sleep cycle. The engineers had taken one look at it, and called Hire right away. According to their description, the thing was definitely crafted, but he couldn't understand how they were describing it, and would have to wait until he could see it for himself.

Flame continued on in his ear. "The strangest thing is that it comes apart. It's like whoever crafted this intended for it to be disassembled. Can you imagine building an interstellar craft with detachable parts? I'd think it would have fallen apart by now." That was interesting, Hire thought. No human had built a spacecraft such as this, as far as he could remember. He hadn't spent years studying human history, but he couldn't remember anything like this coming to the surface. The first spacecraft that he knew of were built thousands of years ago by humans on Utopia and Ryhona, both now gone.

"I'm almost at the office, Flame. I'll be in in a few minutes to look at it."

"Carver's been poking around it's insides for hours now. He hasn't left it since it came."

"I'm not surprised. Flame, I'm going to go, I'm almost there. I'll see you in person in a few minutes."

  

"I think he's found some operational components. He says if he just takes the time to study it..."

Flame droned on. Her communicator was struggling to keep up with her fast pace while still making her sound confident and sure, as communicators were designed to do. Hire sighed and half-listened as the transporter pulled up outside the offices of the Galactic Outreach Program. He stepped off into the bright morning, and the transporter whirred away softly.

He made his way past the initial entry, and scanned his identification at reception. The automated greeter chimed him a merry greeting, then unlocked and opened the door leading to the labs.

"I need to go to my office," he told the greeter, indicating another door. "I need to deposit my things."

"Molds Flame requested that you make your way directly to the labs."

"I'll bet she did," muttered Hire, listening to Flame still talking in his ear. He made his way through the lab entrance and walked down the hall to the main lab.

The main lab was designed like a theater-in-the-round, with a large open examining area in the middle surrounded by raised platforms carrying seats, tables, coolers, and other examination equipment. The place was buzzing with activity. Technicians were bustling around the raised platforms, discussing things in large groups. The main examination area was so crowded, Hire couldn't see through to the object itself, with the exception of the top quarter of the thing, which poked out above the heads. He could see Flame standing in the middle, her green hair standing out from the crowd. He made his way to her, edging his way past the throngs of technicians.

He could hear Flame's voice echoed as he came to stand beside her. "Flame, I'm here."

She looked up quickly at him. "Oh." She disconnected her communicator with a flick of her wrist

.  

Hire Looked at the object and drew in a breath. Flame was right, no human had constructed this.

The main body of the craft was golden in color, and geometric in shape. It appeared to be covered in some sort of foil. On one side of the main body was a large white section of what looked like what had once been a parabolic dish of some kind. It looked as though at one point there had been several arms protruding from the thing, but the jagged edges indicated that most of them had since been torn off. Carver, the lead engineer, was currently elbow deep in the main body.

"Tell me what you've found, Carver."

"It's incredible," He replied, not looking up from what he was doing. "We found several internal components that not only could come apart, I think they were designed to come apart. They were stored in this main body here in a little chamber down in the center. I sent Hides off to examine them more, he should be around somewhere."

Hire glanced up to one of the platforms, where he saw Hides' back bent over one of the examining tables. "Is there anything on the top?" The entire craft stood just taller than Hire himself.

Flame jumped in. "You wouldn't believe it. There were markings along the top. We took these visual records." Her communicator jumped to life, hearing the implications in her voice, and projected several images into the air in front of her. Hire's eyes widened in disbelief. On one side, there was what appeared to be a small, simple geometric painting. Surrounding this painting were several plain markings, consisting of straight and curved lines.

"Do you know what those markings are?"

"We haven't thought too much about it. They could be simple drawings, depicting life forms on the planet where this originated."

"I suppose they could be. What about this painting?" He indicated the small but colorful diagram.

"Well, you see this section here?" Flame pointed to a small portion of the painting. "I think these could represent stars. This whole piece could be a visual representation of where their planet lies in space."

"Incredible. If this really is from an non-human life form, the implications are astonishing."

"I know. This would mean they have eyes similar to our own. They see and work in geometric shapes and patterns. They must see a similar color spectrum as us. You see the reds here? The gold? And, if this diagram does represent their place in the universe, it means that they have sent something to space, to understand that they sit in its vast emptiness. What if they are interstellar travellers? What if we..."

"Don't get too excited," Hire cautioned. "We don't know what we're dealing with yet."

Flame nodded. She was about to say something more when she was called away.

Hire looked over at Hides, and began to pick his way through the confusion to where Hides sat.

"What are you working on?" Hire asked him.

Hides looked up, startling Hire by the size of his eyes. Hides lowered to magnification lenses he was wearing and pointed triumphantly at what was lying on the table.

"These were inside the main craft. Can you believe it?"

Hire looked at the objects on the table, surprised by their simplicity. On one side was a small golden disc, no bigger than a serving platter, and next to it was a box no bigger than the disc.

"Do you know what they do?" Hire asked.

"No, but see how this box has a circular indentation on this side, I think these are two pieces of a whole. I think they're meant to go together." Hides gingerly picked up the disc and laid it flat on the box. "See? It's a perfect fit. The disc settles right into this groove. Now the disc itself, we think, is some sort of...tablet. Like the ancient Utopians used to use? We think the non-humans here may communicate by drawing pictures on tablets like this." He showed the disc to Hire, who realized for the first time that there were indeed small pictures on the disk. They were obviously extremely worn with time, but he could make out an exploding star, several squares, and some circles.

"Are these scratches?" He asked, indicating a series of jagged marks.

"I don't think so. They follow a strange pattern. I think they're part of the design."

Hire nodded. "Keep at it." He laid his hand on Hides' shoulder and moved back to the main area. "Flame, I'm going to my office. Notify me of any dramatic changes."

She nodded. "You don't want to be here in case we discover something?"

  

"I'll be just down the hall."

"Keep your communicator open."

He smiled, and moved out the door into the quiet hallway.

His office was cold and clean, the way he liked it. He needed this space to think. The events of the day were disturbing. He wasn't sure what to think. The first recorded human history came from twin planets Utopia and Ryhona. They had long since burned away in a supernova, but their location was marked on every stellar map. The distance was too far to travel for the average human, but some made the pilgrimage. They had been part of a small system of six inhabitable planets, all of which were colonized before their sun went nova. Since human habitation had been recorded on both prior to either gaining the ability to travel in space, it was theorized that humans were in fact much older than either planet, and must have colonized both Utopia and Ryhona around the same time. But no physical records existed of any prior habitation, and so it was nothing more than a theory. Regardless, Utopia, the first to travel through space, made her first crafts out of solid pieces of material. Humanity had followed this pattern since, and that had been thousands of years previous. As far as he knew, no human had ever made a craft even close to resembling the one that lay down the hall. Real contact with non-human entities. The thought sent a thrill down his spine.

Contact

Hire 624 sat up abruptly, confused and irritated. The dream he'd been having slowly faded into the past, and he realized what had woken him. His communicator was buzzing angrily in the alcove next to him. He flopped over in his bed, digging into the thick sheets, hoping whoever it was would give up if he didn't answer. His hopes were dashed as the communicator fell silent, then immediately started buzzing again. He moaned to himself and reached slowly towards the alcove. The communicator, recognizing his intentions, stood on its spindly legs and climbed onto the back of his hand, wrapping itself around his fingers and wrist until it was as much a part of him as his skin was.

"Hello," Hire muttered.

The communicator, sensing and decoding the vibrations this mumble caused in Hire's body, translated it using Hire's stored voice pattern into a solid, stately "Hello."

"Hire. It's Flame. You need to get into the office right away."

"It's my day off. I requested it specifically. It's my daughter's birthday."

"I know that. Kiss her on the forehead and then get in here. We've...found something."

Hire sat bolt upright. "What did you find? When?"

"Get in here. We'll brief you on the way."

Flame's communicator made her sound confident and sure, but Hire knew her voice was trembling with excitement. He felt almost sick with it himself. "I'm on my way."

Hire nearly flew out of his bed to the recycling antechamber that branched off his sleeping room. He was in the cleaning pod before his clothes were all the way off, and he had to pry the pod door open to discard them on the floor. He fumbled with the cleaning pod's control pad, selecting the wrong cleaning cycle in his haste. Correcting his mistake, he tapped impatiently on the door handle waiting for the cleansing chemicals to flood over his body, removing the sweat and grease from the day before.

They found something. He couldn't believe it. Making contact with extraterrestrial life forms had been the first reason listed on the referendum to create the Galactic Outreach Program when the idea was presented to the credit board nearly eight years ago, but that had merely been a formality. The people of Agian 7 wanted to find extraterrestrials, and making that the "primary" goal was thought to give the Program the most chance of successfully passing the notoriously stringent credit board. The real reasons, of course, were economic, but ironically the credit board wasn't known for voting for highest profit margins. They were the voice of the people, and the people wanted to make friends with galactic aliens, so that was the road the Galactic Outreach Program traveled.

Hire, of course, thought such ideas were nonsense. After all, humans had been traversing the galaxies for thousands of years, and no one had ever received so much as a hint that any other being was out there. It stood to logic to assume that humans were alone in their existence. Most civilizations had stopped looking. Agian 7, however, had always been known for its artistic persuasion, and so its inhabitants dreamed of such impossible things.

The cleaning cycle completed, and Hire moved swiftly across the room to the same uniform he wore everyday, hanging from the ceiling. He clipped its collar around his neck, and the garment wrapped itself slowly around his slim frame, adjusting swiftly to match his body temperature. He found the uniform's shades of grey on grey to be dismally boring, but the design was required by law, marking him as a board member. The star and arrow insignia on his left breast was the only feature that set him apart from other board members, indicating his status as Chairman of the Galactic Outreach Program.

Frugal by nature, Hire was a trader, and a damn good one at that. He had been raised in the Burulian trade markets of Agian 4, the fourth largest (and first richest) of Agia's twelve continents. His father, also a trader, taught him the nature of economy, and the art of haggle. By the time Hire was twelve, it was widely believed that a better trader wouldn't be found in the rest of Agian 4's sixth generation, and Hire, among the first of his generation as 24th born, agreed. It was even said that he would be as good as Teran 21260, a legend among traders. The second generation of Agian 4's inhabitants, to which Teran had belonged, had lived almost 400 life cycles previous, and Hire believed most of the stories about Teran were made up, but he was flattered nonetheless.

Being such a successful trader, Hire knew instinctively that the real profits were to be made selling art on Agian 7, and so, on his 21st birthday, he found himself in the ultra-colorful trading districts of the 7th largest, and second richest, continent on Agia. It was here that the idea for the Galactic Outreach Program spawned in Hire's mind. Hire had heard that dozens of planets just within traveling distance of Agia had started interplanetary trade routes, and the lucrative business was making many men and women very wealthy. He naturally wanted to be part of it, and so began making connections within the trade route. Interest was sparked for the legendary art of Agian 7, and the rest was history. Agian 7's credit board had been an easy sell, once the main purpose had been established as contacting extraterrestrials. Hire respected this by creating a branch of the Galactic Outreach Program to focus on this contact, and immediately moved on to establish an art trade with the other nearby planets.

But he never in million life cycles would have believed that the contact branch would ever find anything. Flame, the head of contact branch, was dedicated and talented, but Hire couldn't believe her task was anything more than a waste of time. Regardless, he knew that Flame wouldn't call him in unless they had actually found something.

His preparations complete, Hire moved softly to his daughter's sleeping room. He waved his hand at the door, indicating that he intended to enter, and it slid up without a sound. He was surprised to see his daughter awake, sitting in front of her reflective display, combing her long hair with a silver brush.

"Good morning, Whispers. Happy birthday."

"Daddy!" Hire smiled seeing his daughter's face light up. She jumped up to greet him.

"How'd you sleep, my beautiful?" Hire asked, wrapping her in his arms.

"I slept fine, daddy. I dreamed about the music again."

"Did you? Did you write another song?"

"No. I couldn't remember the notes when I woke up, but I remember it was a really happy song."

"That's good." Whispers, whose full name was Sings-with-Whispers, had been born on Agian 7, and had therefore been named after the fashion of the other inhabitants of Agian 7, who were mostly named after some sort of art, whether one they loved or one they were good at creating. Whispers was a musical prodigy, and she always sang her songs in a whisper.

"Are you excited for your birthday?" Hire asked. "I got you something extra special."

"You did?" She beamed at him. "What is it?"

"Well, you know how at work daddy is sometimes trying to talk to people from other planets? People that aren't human?"

"Yes, extra...tel..estibles." She struggled with the word.

"Extraterrestrials. Well, I might get to talk to one today."

"Really?!"

"Well, maybe. People at my work found something. I don't know what it is yet, but it could be something from an extraterrestrial."

"Oh daddy, can I talk to them? Please?"

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "If they talk, I'll let you talk to them. But I have to go, which means I'm going to miss your birthday."

Whispers was crestfallen, but she said "I really want to talk to someone from somewhere else. Hurry home, okay?"

"I will." Hire gave his daughter one last squeeze, then made his way into the brightening dawn.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Sturm und Drang

Boy, that's a weird title, right? What does that even mean?

Well, Sturm und Drang is a proto-Romantic movement in German literature and music that took place some 200 years ago, named after a play written by some German guy probably. It translates to "Storm and Stress" roughly.

But that's not the weird part. Yesterday I finished a book, wherein one of the main characters is named Sturm. Today, I started reading a new book that I literally just randomly pick off the shelf of the ISU library, and almost immediately I see the phrase "sturm und drang" used in this book. I think to myself, "huh, that's weird that I would see the word 'sturm' used in two different contexts in two days."

Not two hours after seeing that phrase written in this book that I literally just plucked off the shelf at random, I'm watching a show on Netflix, and someone says "Oh, spare us the sturm and drang."

SERIOUSLY?! This is a sign! God wanted me to know that phrase! I've never heard this phrase before in my life. I've never even heard any of the words before. WHAT ARE THE ODDS I WOULD SEE IT TWICE IN ONE DAY???

Okay, that's all. If any of you have any theories as to why God saw fit to insert this random phrase into my life, I'd love to hear it.

BEST THING EVER and Bruce Willis

So the best thing in the history of ever happened today. I've been working on a 7-10 page paper for my English 1102 course For a few days now. I had a short(ish) version written out, single spaced, with a good introduction and conclusion, and all my sources incorporated, but I only reached 4.5 pages. I sat for at least two hours yesterday trying to figure out how to fill in another three pages. I had written everything I wanted to write, I had written everything I could think to write, and I was three pages short. That means that after everything I could think to write, I was only half way done. This beast is due on Wednesday, and I have a ton of things to do today and tomorrow, so I can't really work any more on it. I was seriously considering taking a D and moving on.

Well, today was peer review day. I took my sad little 4 page paper in, wanting nothing more than to throw the stupid thing into a furnace. I sat down at my place, glanced at my neighbor's paper, and felt a small flicker of hope that I dared not let grow. I turned to him in growing shock and asked: "We're allowed to double space?"

"Yeah," he said. "We're supposed to double space."

I nearly exploded with the awesomeness. Went to the computer lab. Highlight all. Double space. Print. Done.

End of part 1

Part two is a joke I came up with that I am quite proud of.
Did you hear that the working title for the next Die Hard movie has been leaked? They're calling it "Old Habits Die Hard". The plot will mostly involve Bruce Willis trying not to blow everything up.

I give you permission to share that one around the water cooler.

Disassembling my beloved Mossy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KcJ5p4Tit94&feature=youtu.be

NEW FORMAT!!!

...sort of. Just so everyone knows, I will be updating my blog here with something at least once a week, probably either Thursdays or Sundays. MAYBE BOTH!! WHO KNOWS?!

But seriously, probably just one or the other.

This is incredible!

Hello everyone!

The following is a piece I wrote for my English class, entitled "The Working Class of Academia". I thought I would share because I am quite proud of this piece. It was fun to write, and I took some artistic liberties with the language, which is always entertaining.

Enjoy!

The Working Class of Academia

            My fellow students-of-higher-education and I belong to many diverse groups. We can be divided by such broad categories as race, gender, religion, or age. We could be divided by class standing. We could be divided by academic achievements, social works, or cars we drive. We could be ordered alphabetically by last name, or from tallest to shortest. I find myself in several of, if not several tens of, these groups.

But of all the classifications, divisions, groups, subgroups, delineations, demarcations, accumulations, congregations, and combinations of students to which I belong, I find one held on a more special pedestal in my heart, reserved a more plush velvet bolster, and guarded by emotional trip-lasers, protected, even, by a glass case of mental construction, like my own personal Hope Diamond. I call the members of this classification The Workers.

            The Workers are locked in the academic marathon so often run by pursuers of a brighter future; namely, college. However, as I mentioned above, there are hundreds of groups that those of academic pursuits can be defined by and clustered into, and many more subgroups for further refinition. What sets the Workers apart? First, Workers are defined as students who care enough about school to apply themselves the necessary amount to pass with at least B's. But to further define Workers, you must analyze the amount of work they must put in to maintain said eighty-plus GPA, and the resultant amount of social pursuit they are allowed or choose to take as a result.

            We find, as a result of the natural spread of human talent and charisma, a rather dramatic spectrum demonstrating the internal compartments within the Workers. At the top of this spectrum, like the mighty eagle soaring on warm and easy updrafts, we find the Breezers. These beautiful and enigmatic individuals stroll through the hurdles of study as if floating lazily down a clear-shining stream in a faded-white canoe with a dainty pink parasol of the finest silk twirling merrily on their shoulder, and, as is so often the case in such Victorian scenes, they are accompanied by a finely-dressed suitor serenading them tenderly with the airy and romantic tunes of love, for the Breezers are also the masters of the social scene. They number their friends in the dozens.

They are intelligent and quick-witted, and therefore their studies are, predictably, a breeze. They have a certain knack for scholastic work. The amount they are required to apply themselves to reach the B is minimal, and they can spend hours every day chasing fauns, playing pan flutes, and drinking from clear mountain streams.

            Continuing on in our rainbow spectrum of Workers, we find ourselves now examining the every-man group of the Workers, namely, the Center-Fielders. Like the dedicated baseball players that serve as their namesake, the Center-Fielders are not the All-Stars. They’re not the Home-Run Hitters, the Grand-Slammers, or the $10,000 Baseball Card-ers. But they’re also not the Strikers-Out, or the Bunters. These easy-going and talented individuals work hard and have a consistent batting average.  They often find their early afternoons dedicated to the absorption of intellectual material assigned by their oh-so-sapient professors. Their evenings, however, upon completion of the aforementioned osmosis, are usually open to the pursuits of more minor flights of fancy, such as Mario Kart or Beer Pong.  The Applicators find collegiate speed bumps to be more along the lines of a hike up an awesome and aromatic mountain side; moderately challenging, but enjoyable.

            The third group in which Workers fall is the Home-Schoolers. These quiet Athenas are on intellectual par with none, for none can match their mental tenacity. Often these individuals were schooled under the shielding roof of their family’s abode, and as a natural result, experienced less of the rough-and-tumble sink-or-swim fall-or-fly fit-in-or-fall-out aspects of the public schooling system. They achieve their status of intellectual isolationist superiority by complete and total devotion to the art of study. They choose to sacrifice the lighter affairs of courtship and other such social frivolities to gain entrance into this elite group.

            The Home-Schoolers (important note: the name “Home-Schooler” does not necessarily mean that an individual within this group was home schooled, merely that the group of working and dedicated collegiate students who fall in this group share many aspects with those who were) are closely related academically to the Breezers, in that the amount they must apply themselves to maintain a high grade point average is actually very little. They are, however, the opposite of the Breezers socially. They usually have never been natural social butterflies, and if they have been, they have since completely given up fraternization in the pursuit of academic perfection. While the technical definition for a Worker outlined above states that in order to be a Worker a student must maintain at least a B grade average, to do so is akin to failure in the eyes of a Home-Schooler. They will happily settle for nothing short of the glimmering four-point-oh.

            Finally, at the end of our dissective vivisection we find the stragglers of the Working world. This group serves as the anti-thesis to the Breezers, for whom life comes so easily. This group is known as the Fighters. These poor gentlefolk are running the wrong way down a greased-up ten-mile-per-hour automatic walkway filled with angry and burly pedestrians and their over-stuffed Diane Von Furstenberg matching luggage sets from the day they enroll to the day they turn their tassels. They are not lazy; on the contrary, they are the hardest working of the Workers. Despite their hard work, or perhaps because of it, they barely manage to scrape their B grades from the gutters of self-sacrifice, and only after they have given everything they have, everything they are, everything they ever have been and everything they ever will be to the collegiate machine. They have not the choice to partake in social endeavors, for to lose one hour of potential study would spell disaster. Whatever instinct drives these mighty salmon to swim upstream is more of a motivation than non-Fighters will ever know.

            That is our spectrum of Workers in its entirety. From the Breezers to the Fighters, and all that’s in between, we have effectively encapsulated the academic Working class. However, it should be mentioned that not all the Workers will fall neatly into one of these categories. There will always be unique individuals who are indefinable, who fall somewhere in between. For example, perhaps there is a student who finds academia to be a breeze, and yet suffers socially, despite many hours spent in clubs and on dates. These members of society lack the natural social skills of a Breezer. The academic standing of a Home-Schooler is beyond their reach. They are more fluent in their studies than a Center-Fielder, and far more fluent than a Fighter. This person falls through the cracks into the all-collective basket I call Workers-Other, where he or she is piled onto his or her co-Working-but-not-further-definable-than-that peers.

            It is important to make a point at this point. Workers, by definition, are dedicated to their perspective fields. A Breezer is a Breezer, a Fighter is a Fighter, and cetera. They would not usually change their method of study, for that represents their particular signature on the vast parchment of student methods, and it defines who they are and why they do what they do.

            That being said, should a Worker decide to change his or her methods, he or she could easily move from one group to another. If a Home-Schooler slowed his learning pace and balanced life’s scale with more social activities, he could become a Center-Fielder, or a Breezer. Should a Center-Fielder abandon the social side and dedicate herself to study, she could become a Home-Schooler. And should a Fighter abandon his struggle, he would be carried mercilessly by the relentless tide to another classification, somewhere in the dark and bitter reaches beyond the boundaries of the Workers.

            My own self-diagnostic soul search places me firmly among the Center-Fielders, where I happily form a balance between hearty swings and healthy bench-sits with my teammates. But beyond my own group, I am part of the whole, and I feel at one with the Breezers, the Fighters, and the Home-Schoolers, for we are all united in the dedicated pursuit of our academic futures. In the end, of all the possible student classifications in which I could be placed, this is the classification to which I belong to which I feel I truly belong. I am proud to be a Worker, and together, with my fellow Center-Fielders, the Breezers, the Fighters, and the Home-Schoolers, we shall continue to fight on in the pursuit of the brighter future that hangs glittering for us past the finish line. We will run the good race, and fight the good fight, for that, by definition, is what a Worker does.

SUMMER CLASSES!!

Hello everyone!

Summer classes have officially begun, and I am off to a good start. I started on Tuesday taking Math 0015, Arithmetic, and English 0090, Basic Writing. The idea was to start at the very beginning and build up from there, but both classes turned out to be painful. I Compass tested out of English 0090, and enrolled in English 1101, Critical Reading and Writing, the first class of which is today. I decided, however, to stay in Arithmetic, because if nothing else I get 3 credits and a little background practice in math, which I have not taken for over 6 years.
Today we learned how to add zero.


Good times.

In my defense...

Hello everyone!

I don't like that I feel like I have to defend something that I love to anybody, let alone everybody, but people will always angst against video games. Don't ask me why, that's just part of the banana smoothie we live in.

Anyways, here's an essay I wrote in my spare time detailing my thoughts on how and why video games are productive and useful.

Enjoy!


I would like to now discuss something about which I am very passionate: the art (yes, the art) of electronic entertainment, specifically video games. I don't think one post will cover all my thoughts, so I've decided to discuss specifically some of the arguments people have against video games and why I believe them to be unfair and unfounded. I will end by sharing my thoughts on why I believe video games to be a constructive and healthy pastime.

The argument I hear the most is that video games are unproductive and are a waste of time. Now I can't conclusively say that video games are never a waste of time. I can't say that video games are productive. However, I also cannot say that about any of the thousands of ways people choose to spend their spare time. Painting, reading, writing, building, driving, shopping, spelunking, blogging, surfing Youtube...Whatever your hobby or favorite pastime may be, who's to say it's productive? Who's to say it's a good use of time? Why is the man who spends hours of day and thousands of dollars a year rebuilding a car any better the the gamer (one who plays video games)? Or the man who spends more time watching football in a day than he does sleeping?

My point is not to tear down the hobbies of others. I respect the way everyone spends their free time as much as I would like them to respect the way I do. However, I don't think anyone can be an accurate judge of productivity and "worthwhile expenditures".  If we all spent our free time doing what someone else thought was a good use of our time, how miserable would we be? What if everyone was forced to watch golf tournaments on the weekend, or forced to spend hours watching soap operas, or forming clay models, or designing office space?

Some will say that some hobbies are productive because they have a positive or inspirational impact on society. Take painting for example. A person could spend hours on a painting that may someday hang in a gallery. That's spectacular, and I'm truly happy that that person is successful in their hobby. But what good does it do? Does it solve any problem? Has poverty been reduced, the hungry fed, the homeless housed, or the naked clothed? Has war been eradicated?

Or take professional sports, for another example. While this does not apply to the many to whom sports are a means of income and not a hobby, there are many thousands who spend an almost unfathomable amount of time and money merely watching and learning about sports. What good does it do? What good comes from hours spent watching others achieve greatness, from spending hundreds of dollars to support the already super-rich players, from millions of dollars being spent to build stadiums instead of hospitals, mansions instead of communities, and demi-gods instead of role models? I humbly suggest that this, although socially accepted, is no less time wasting than playing video games.

Another common argument I hear is that video games can be addictive. News flash: anything on God's green earth can be addictive. I once knew a man whose funeral was postponed so as to not interfere with an OU game. I saw a story on Discovery Health about a man addicted to jogging. Lost his home, job, girlfriend, health. I even knew a girl whose father read the Bible so much that he lost his job. Seriously.

Dictionary.com defines addiction as being "the condition of being abnormally dependent on some habit"(http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/addiction?s=t). To be abnormally dependent on some habit. I'm sure every reader of this essay could think of ten people off the top of their heads who are abnormally dependent on some habit or other. The thing to remember is that you need to maintain a balance among all aspects of your life. Yes, video games can be addictive, but don't use that as an argument against them, or I'll use the same excuse to explain why I don't go jogging on a regular basis.

The third most common argument I hear is that video games cause a disconnection with reality, that the gamer loses a sense of what's real. We've all heard stories of people who say their murderous rampage started with a violent video game. Let me clear on something here: violent video games are only a factor, not the only factor in cases such as these. Murderers are born with abuse, neglect, loss, insanity, and many other external factors. A normal, healthy person will not kill someone because the saw it done in a video game. It will just never happen. Have you ever watched a violent movie and immediately believed it would be okay to go out and kill someone? No, of course not. The same "fourth wall" that helps you distinguish Hollywood from reality helps gamers distinguish video games from actuality.

In fact, it is my personal belief that video games provide a healthy outlet to anger and stress, like a more interactive form of punching your pillow. Why not let out all our harsh feelings and emotions in a world that doesn't exist? Better then letting it out in the workplace or at home.

I will now end by sharing my positive views on video games. In an over-stimulated world where dramatic expressions of violence and anger have obtained household commonality, where no one ever has to meet in person to be friends, where the mind numbing dredge of television has become the favorite pastime of millions, I'm grateful for the art and grace of video games.

Video games provide a portal to new worlds. Not scripted worlds where you can only experience what the director wants you to, but vibrant, living worlds filled with the beauty of life. Worlds that you choose how to experience on your own terms. Worlds where you can interact with people around the world in a vivid forum of opinion exchange and social networking. I once had the opportunity to stand on a cliff overlooking a vast and beautiful alien desert while a stunning meteor shower took place in the sky above me, and discuss the inspiration of it all with a man from Australia, standing on the cliff next to me.

Most video games provide ample mental stimulation, some in the form of puzzles, others in the formation of on-the-spot strategies in real time against intelligent and often lethal opponents. Some of the hardest times my brain has worked was when trying to figure out how to open the next room in Prince of Persia, or how to defeat the relentless Romans in Rise of Nations.

Video games have taken me to ancient civilizations and far-away galaxies. I have run the streets of Venice, scaled the walls of Jerusalem, raced through the jungles of Africa, and sailed the skies over Peru. I have base jumped off a skyscraper in Tokyo, fought off hordes of ruthless aliens, defended a prison on mars, and rescued a princess in danger. And most important of all, I have done it alongside my brother and my friends. For years to come, we will have a drink together, laugh at old times, and say "Remember on TimeSplitters when..."

For those moments, and for the many moments still to come, I give my thanks to video games.

Dr. Paul on Jay Leno

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=ga4cu7LAMl8

Mormons for Ron Paul

www.mormonsforronpaul.com

"Television isn't truth! It's a circus!"

http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=2be_1328434775

The Revolution

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7X8WJdlq1k&feature=share

Truth through the decades

http://current.com/community/93649946_why-hasnt-this-video-gone-viral.htm

What if?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m64_UAVUPe4&feature=related

Trust

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=3dl1y-zBAFg

An open letter to Mormons regarding Ron Paul

http://www.lewrockwell.com/orig8/higgins1.html

Hierarchy of Law

What does Ron Paul stand for?

www.ronpaul2012.com

The True Conservative

http://lewrockwell.com/wenzel/wenzel158.html

Conservative views...in EVERY category

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wX8CFUvKTSg

I don't like to think of him as a conservative...
He believes in the Constitution. Inasmuch as the Constitution is conservative, Ron Paul is conservative.

Do you believe in the founding fathers? Believe in Ron Paul.

Media Bias

The first thing you need to know about Ron Paul is that the media hates him. No one knows why "for sure". But I'll give you my ideas.

We're going to have to establish a foundation of knowledge here. The first thing you need to know is that the world around you is not what it seems. The average American doesn't understand reality. For the most part, this is because the average American doesn't want to know the truth. They are afraid of the truth. The truth makes them uncomfortable. They want nothing more than to go to work every day so they can save their money and buy the next toy. That's the American dream, and cunning men have taken advantage of that to gain unimaginable power.
I'm not a conspiracy theorist by nature. I don't believe in most conspiracies. I believe in logic. Cold, hard, facts. Logic won't lie, it won't deceive.
I ask you now to put aside your laziness. Set aside the comfort, and look at the facts I will present to you. Weigh them, and decide for yourself.

After the Stock Market crash of 1929, an organization was founded to protect investors from future fraud. Called the Securities and Exchange Commission, it required (by law, according to the Securities Act of 1933 and the Securities Exchange Act of 1934) all American companies to file every tidbit of financial information, then to be made public. In 1984, the SEC created EDGAR, the Electronic Data Gathering Analysis and Retrieval program, which required all companies to file their financial (and other) information into an electronic database.
EDGAR provides every document detailing the operation of every US company in existence. It's actually quite easy to use; simply go to www.sec.gov/edgar.shtml. Click on the "Filings and Forms" link on the left of the webpage, then click on "Search for Filings". Here you can punch in any keyword, or any name of a company, or their ticker symbol, and bring up every document they filed in the last fiscal year. Dig a little deeper and you can find all the financial documents they have ever filed, including scans of forms older than 1984.
Now for some homework. In fact, consider this a dare. I dare you to find any information on the financial actions of CNN, Fox News, or MSNBC. If you do, please tell me how you found it. The only result you'll find is "No matching companies". Google anything about "CNN finances", or "Where does CNN get it's money?". I guarantee there will be no results.
The only promising lead is from www.quora.com. It starts: "Last year [Total CNN] made $500 million profit. Some more details here:" followed by a link. Clicking on the link brings up this message: "This site has been archived or suspended."
Scary? Horrifying. What this means is that laws don't apply to people with money. Never forget that. Any entity can buy their way past laws.

Now back to Ron Paul, and the media's bias against him. The question is, where does the media get its money? Advertising, sure. But it could be, and I personally believe, that multiple third parties are investing substantial amounts of money to these media outlets, in exchange for "doctoring" the information they deliver.

In what way would this result in a bias against Ron Paul? The answer is simple, and terrifying. The single wealthiest entity in America, in fact the same private entity that controls 100% of America's wealth, The Federal Reserve, is under attack by none other than Ron Paul. And I mean none other. He is the only candidate who is even talking about bringing down this monster. One or two other candidates are timidly suggesting auditing the Fed, but when they provide the funding for the potential presidents, and could, in theory, buy their way out of making the audit results public, what good would an "audit" do? The only way to make a difference would be to literally bring the Fed down. Take America back to the vision that the founding fathers had, and give the wealth back to America's people. And Ron Paul is the only one willing to do that.
So, consider for a moment the possibility that the Federal Reserve funds the mass media outlets. Consider for a moment that the Federal Reserve does not want a man in the White House who says NO to corruption, who COULD NOT be bought out, and who would do everything in his power to DESTROY the Fed. Now consider the possibility that the Fed is paying the Media to ignore Paul, in effect blacking him out from the public's eye. If he doesn't exist, he can't be president.
Do you think I'm being paranoid? Watch this. Explain it to me using logical deduction.

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=dZDoLTb41bo

Please. Don't let the media shape your opinions for you. In fact, avoid the media at all costs. Ask questions, look for answers from the source. Think things through. Use your God-given logic.

Open your eyes.