From the Yahoo main page, under "In The News":
Bush Attempts Hard Sell on Iraq Progress
AP - Wed Nov 30, 1:57 PM ET
WASHINGTON - President Bush's depiction of Iraqi security forces as "helping to turn the tide" is difficult to square with persistent setbacks in handing control of the country back to its own people. His suggestion that Americans are solidly behind the mission also understates opposition at home, and his hard sell on the rising quality of Iraqi forces overlooks complexities on the ground.
Nope, no editorializing here. Just the news.
The new Llamabutcher merchandise is is not doing so well across the pond:
On the other hand, this picture speaks for itself:
The 23rd Carnival of Music has a host! Starling Hunter at The Business of America is Business will be hosting our next edition of the Carnival, next Monday (December 5).
Please submit posts here.
Also, we REALLY need some more hosts for future editions of the Carnival. This is more than a link-whoring traffic-generator for the participants involved. It has so far been a remarkably diverse celebration of all kinds of music, from the highbrow to the low, the player's perspective to the listerner's, the composer's to the critic's. Please help make this Carnival a lasting success and volunteer here.
Spread the word!
Thanks!
Sorry for the sparse posting schedule of late. Here's what I've been doing in lieu of blogging:
I'm hoping to get some more stuff up soon. I will be updating the Carnival of Music page to reflect our latest volunteer to host the next edition.
Check back soon, and thanks for your patience through this latest round of writers' block/burnout.
Sorry for the belated posting. Please check out Brian Sacawa's Thanksgiving edition of the Carnival, posted two days ago at Brian's Sounds Like Now.
We'll be on temporary hiatus next Monday, but I hope to have a host lined up by the first Monday in December.
As always, go to the Carnival's home page to peruse earlier editions and for more information about hosting or submitting posts for the Carnival.
Thanks, and have a happy Thanksgiving!
I am reveling in the glorious addiction that is Civilization, namely Civ IV.
So far I've won pretty decisively via the Space Race (with the Americans) and diplomatically (as the English) on the second-easiest difficulty, but am having trouble with more advanced difficulty settings.
I was quite unimpressed with Civ III, especially in contrast to Civ II, which I had played on and off for several years. The addictive nature of these games (apart from getting to play god on an epic scale) derives from their turn-based nature. Each turn usually lasts about 1-3 minutes. Not much time, eh?
But for some reason you find yourself staring at the screen at 1:30 in the morning thinking: "Just one more turn? Sure." And you abandon other non-mandatory pursuits (such as music, blogging, reading, etc.)
I'm hoping to post some more pieces this week, as I'm taking the week of Thanksgiving off from work. No promises, but please check back.
The Music Carnival turned 21 yesterday at Owlish's place. I like how he visited the blogs of past hosts to find some additional linkable material. Check it out.
The 22nd Carnival will be held at Brian Sacawa: Sounds Like Now next Monday.
Please volunteer to host future carnivals and submit your posts for next week's carnival here.
I've been in a bit of a dry spell. I have writer's block, extending even to contracts, which have been painfully difficult for me to draft recently.
So, I'll just point you to some good reading elsewhere:
First, as an antidote to recently-dyspeptic Peggy Noonan, I heartily recommend some optimistic Frank Martin. (Reminds me a bit of the upbeat 1993 report out of the Dallas Federal Reserve Bank, entitled These Are the Good Old Days).
Second, check out Stephen Green's musings on the current state of the war on fundamentalist Islamic fascism.
Finally, until I can get a new SF Babe poll up, check out what had to be last week's most-linked site featuring many pics of the ultra-hot French news anchor Melissa Theuriau (videos here).
This is for my Texas readers. I'm post-dating it to stay at the top of my blog until after Tuesday's elections. Texans are heading to the polls on Tuesday, November 8, to vote on nine proposed amendments to the Texas Constitution.
Proposition 2 would amend the Texas Constitution with the following text (from HJR 6):
BE IT RESOLVED BY THE LEGISLATURE OF THE STATE OF TEXAS:
SECTION 1. Article I, Texas Constitution, is amended by adding Section 32 to read as follows:
Sec. 32. (a) Marriage in this state shall consist only of the union of one man and one woman.
(b) This state or a political subdivision of this state may not create or recognize any legal status identical or similar to marriage.
SECTION 2. This state recognizes that through the designation of guardians, the appointment of agents, and the use of private contracts, persons may adequately and properly appoint guardians and arrange rights relating to hospital visitation, property, and the entitlement to proceeds of life insurance policies without the existence of any legal status identical or similar to marriage.
SECTION 3. This proposed constitutional amendment shall be submitted to the voters at an election to be held November 8, 2005. The ballot shall be printed to permit voting for or against the proposition: "The constitutional amendment providing that marriage in this state consists only of the union of one man and one woman and prohibiting this state or a political subdivision of this state from creating or recognizing any legal status identical or similar to marriage."
Before we get into the actual black-letter meaning of the amendment, let's look at the intent. This is designed to keep any sort of gay marriage or similar legal arrangement such as civil unions, from being accorded any legal status in Texas.
While I hope that gays may someday legally marry, adopt and otherwise enjoy the equal protection of the laws and the same privileges and immunities as heterosexual couples, there are two very good reasons for all Texans -- including those opposed to gay marriage -- to vote AGAINST this amendment:
First, Texas already forbids same-sex marriages by statute.
Second, the plain text of the amendment lends itself to a construction outlawing all marriage. Read clause (a) closely. It defines marriage as only a "union" between a man and a woman. What kind of union? Physical? Are straight couples only married when in fact they are engaged in sexual congress? OK, maybe that's a silly argument. But look at clause (b). Neither Texas nor any political subdivision of Texas may "create or recognize any legal status identical or similar to marriage."
What does "identical" mean? Exactly the same as? Isn't the only thing identical to marriage, marriage itself?
Could Texans really be about to abolish the legal institution of marriage altogether? I know some libertarians -- not me -- who would be delighted at that prospect.
Certainly section 2 of the House joint resolution could be used by a creative lawyer to argue that the Legislature knew that it was incumbent on couples (of whatever kind) to get their affairs in order as to guardianship, survivorship, etc., as they were about to obliterate all the legal privileges appurtenant to marriage.
I know the right wingers will say this isn't what they meant. But they should have been more careful drafting the amendment's text.
One very real potential casualty of this amendment could be common-law marriages. Like most Western states, Texas has a fairly short statute of limitations for the formation of a common-law marriage. But since common-law marriages are not formalized by a license, I would read this amendment to forbid any family or probate courts from recognizing the entitlement of the common law spouse to their share of the community property.
This is just a needless, largely symbolic, and ugly mess. One driven by bigotry and closed-mindedness. I hope (without much optimism) that my fellow citizens will keep this abomination from becoming part of the Texas constitution.
If you are registered to vote, PLEASE VOTE. And vote AGAINST Proposition 2.
Update: Be sure to check out the discussion in my comments. Here's my explanation of the legal futility of the proposed amendment to prevent "activist judges" from imposing gay marriage:
Third, this is all a red herring, because the status quo under both Texas and federal law is that gay marriage is and remains illegal and need not be given full faith and credit, even if permitted in other states. This is the case NOW. Prop. 2 will do NOTHING to change this, and in fact may undermine long-customary common law marriages (to the detriment of the abandoned common--law-wife, typically). You may call that FUD, but have you read the plain text of the amendment? It is sloppy and unforgivably vague. Which means everything will end up in court, which is what the amendment is supposed to prevent.
Fourth, speaking of court... the same federal constitutional challenge that would lead to a change in the status quo (see 3) would also lead to an invalidation of the proposed marriage amendment. The supremacy clause of the US Constitution would bind Texas, if activists manage to win an extension of marriage rights as a basic liberty under the 9th, 10th, and 14th amendments. Think of all the dead-letter miscegenation laws that were on the books in the South after Loving v. Virginia.
I think Virginia Postrel sums it up much more elegantly:
Since Texas already defines marriage by statute as the union of one man and one woman, Prop 2 is nothing more than a gratuitous attempt to build Gov. Rick Perry's social-conservative voting base by attacking gays. Supporters say an amendment is necessary to control "activist judges." But the only judges the amendment would bind are Texas state judges. Texas state judges, including the state's Supreme Court, are elected by Texas voters. Texas state judges are quite conservative. They are, to put it mildly, highly unlikely to find a right to same-sex marriage in the state constitution.
(Voting guide for all nine amendments beyond the jump):
Prop. 1 - AGAINST (don't give the state the power to create another agency)
Prop. 2 - AGAINST (see above)
Prop. 3 - AGAINST (make it harder for the state to spend money)
Prop. 4 - FOR (make it easier to keep bail-jumpers in jail when they're caught again)
Prop. 5 - FOR (allow the legislature to grant more freedom for commercial lenders to charge interest exmpt from usury limits)
Prop. 6 - FOR (technical change to expand State Judicial Commission by 2 members)
Prop. 7 - FOR (gives certain borrowers more freedom)
Prop. 8 - FOR (state relinquishing title to certain public lands)
Prop. 9 - FOR (technical amendment to stagger 6 year terms of certain board members)
Ray Kurzweil offers this nice eulogy of one of the twentieth century's most influential inventors.
(Via Mixolydian Don).
Have you ever listened to Neil Diamond's Tap Root Manuscript? Do yourself a favor and get a copy.
I have been listening to it as long as I can remember (it was released when I was in my terrible two's), and I have long associated it with fun family road trips to Colorado, other parts of the Southwest and Rocky Mountain states, and Canada. (Yes, Canada. We drove 3 days from Texas to visit family in Ontario at Wasaga Beach on the Georgian Bay of Lake Huron).
Putting aside nostalgia, and acknowledging that this marks me as tragically unhip, this album by Neil Diamond is one of my top-25. The high point of the album is the African Trilogy (actually 7 discrete songs), which I would cover in an instant, were I a progressive metal band. The instrumental Madrigal could certainly stand up to some re-arrangement for performance by a group like Yes or Rush.
(Yes, I am procrastinating on the novel).
Please be sure to visit Elisa Camahort's Personal Weblog to review this week's edition of the Carnival of Music.
She has put together a nice arrangement of diverse themes, including a couple of posts from yours truly.
Next week the Carnival returns to Owlish Mutterings for an encore performance.
As always, check out the archive page for previous editions and to submit posts or volunteer to host.
I have stalled. I feel like the story sucks (despite positive feedback!) and am sabotaging myself. Trying to get back on track, I have flung another 350 words of monkey poo at this insane venture, now in its second chapter.
(More below).
Chapter Two
The Surprise
Jake ran down the corridor. His dad, never a man of many words, had rarely spoken more than a sentence or two in a day since the accident. For him to mention a surprise, and not just leave it out where Jake could find it, meant it was probably a big deal.
But what could it be?
As he headed around the last corner before he got to his dad’s quarters, Jake saw his dad. He had always seemed like a mountain to the younger, pre-accident, Jake. Like Olympus M., which could easily be seen above the northern horizon. But the last six months had taken their toll on Paul Robinson. Just as Jake had grown in strength and independence, out of necessity, his father had shrunk. Still strong, but weathered. More like a valley carved through rock, now. Defined by what was missing.
But when Paul turned around to face him, Jake saw something he hadn’t seen in more than a hundred sols. A smile.
“What’s up, dad?” asked Jake.
“Like I said, son. A surprise.”
Paul continued: “Do you know about the big race up in Burroughs next month?”
“The 100-klick cross country?” said Jake, a hint of nervous excitement in his voice. “The Olympus foothills circuit? It’s only the biggest foot race on Mars, dad!”
Paul paused for a long beat then said, “I entered you in it, Jake.”
“But dad!” Jake spluttered.
And thought to himself, without saying: There’s no way we can afford that entry fee! We have ten spiders out of warranty that need replacing or repairing. One of our groundwater heaters is pulling too much current. More than 60% of our habitat is unused and wasting resources. And the price of water is falling as more farmers are getting on line.
What came out was: “Dad… that’s great.”
I am now up to 1789 words. Which means I am basically two days behind the pace.
I think I have completed my first chapter. I went through and added some text to what I had already written, so I am just posting the whole thing in the extended entry.
Glad to hear any feedback, positive or negative.
Chapter One
Home Under the Range
Jake Robinson ran.
At the age of seven mears, his paces already stretched at least five meters each when in a full run. Of course “run” is not quite the right word. Instead, he loped in the graceful awkwardness that all children of Earth display when moving quickly in the one-third Martian gravity.
Even when, as with Jake and his parents, the children of Earth were born on Mars.
Jake’s running boots echoed in a slap-back patter off the cavernous walls of basalt, as he retraced the billion-year old journey of a Martian lava flow. The path of this particular lava tube wound through a twenty-kilometer circuit, most of which his father had sealed and pressurized over the past ten mears.
Embedded in the Martian bedrock below and behind these walls was an ancient aquifer. An aquifer whose waters rained on the Martian surface when the oceans of Earth were just bringing forth their first complex organisms.
A little bit further, he thought.
Recently pressurized, the air in this part of the lava tube was cool, dry, and odorless, except for a faint hint of ozone. Jake coughed - his throat and mouth were dry and sticky. The omnipresent fines that found their way into everything on Mars always caught up with him halfway through his morning run.
He gulped a few swallows of water from his belt bottle and glanced at his wrist comp.
07:27
Twenty-seven minutes out. This was the point furthest from the elevator lobby that led back up to his family settlement, Prometheus station.
If I can just keep up the pace, this might be my best time yet, he thought.
Heading back toward his home, Jake began to remember the accident. His mom and sister. The anger came back. The guilt.
Just push it. Harder.
His loping pace increased by at least another meter per step. His jaw clenched.
Focus on the time.
As Jake ran up to the elevator door that led from this gigantic basement to his family’s settlement just on and under the Martian hill country, he took another glance at the wrist comp:
07:52.
Best time yet. Twenty klicks in 52 minutes. Not bad for a kid.
He stepped into the elevator, punched the “M” button, and drained the remainder of the water from his bottle.
He considered the last few drops in the bottle. Water was his family’s business.
Well, water and the heat needed to extract it through the Martian permafrost.
And electricity. Where you had water and heat, you had electricity.
Jake rode the elevator the hundred meters or so up to the main level of the Prometheus complex. He stepped out into the main airlock that joined the five spokes of the gigantic underground wheel he called home.
“Jake, is that you?” asked his dad.
Who else would it be, he thought. “Yes, dad.”
Paul Robinson walked into the airlock. “What was your time today?”
“Fifty-two minutes, dad.”
“That’s fantastic, son! I hope you’re still planning to enter the race over in the Burroughs Burrow next month. Are you?”
Jake paused. “I don’t know dad.”
His dad’s face clouded over slightly.
“I’m just not sure I’m ready to do it.”
“That’s OK, son. Whenever you’re ready.”
Paul said, “And speaking of ready, you need to get ready to go out and check out the panels. For some reason our main heater is pulling some extra amps. Until we can get it diagnosed, we need to get every last bit of power from the panels to keep from dipping into our reserves.”
“Right, dad.”
Jake headed down the eastern spoke to his quarters for a quick shower and breakfast snack before he suited up to head outside.
Ever since the accident, Jake and his dad had maintained separate spaces in the facility. Except for the occasional meeting in the central hub, like what had just happened, and except for mealtimes in the galley, Jake rarely saw his dad in person.
They each had their jobs to do to keep the farm running and to keep themselves alive. And that left little time to spend together like a normal family, even if their family had still been “normal.”
The door to Jake’s room was decorated with some old-Earth-style yellow and black police tape: DO NOT CROSS – CRIME SCENE – DO NOT CROSS – CRIME SCENE. He pushed into his space and began his morning grooming routine.
Jake’s room looked like most any early teen’s on Earth would: a large ‘net monitor with keyboard and game controllers nearby, pictures of ‘net and game celebs, an unmade bed, and walls bedecked with NFL pennants (there was a Martian league that played American football, but there were only six cities on the planet with large enough enclosed spaces to accommodate the low-grav version of the game).
His room also contained some priceless artifacts from old Earth, heirlooms brought by his grandparents intentionally to keep as tangible reminders of the original home planet: a bureau, desk, and matching headboard all made of solid oak wood. It had cost his grandparents a tremendous sum of money to get them into Earth orbit, but Jake appreciated their solid presence. A reminder of his pioneer heritage.
An hour later, freshly clean and recently fed, Jake stepped out into the Martian morning. The sun shone weakly in a clear salmon sky. Jake walked along the geometric trails along the valley floor that traced the circle-and-spoke outline of the Prometheus farm. His boots crunched the frosty ground, occasionally stirring small puffs of powdery fines.
Another typical morning on Mars, he thought.
Jake was inspecting each of the kilometer-long arms of the sprawling solar farm. He keyed his in-helmet phone: “Dad? We need to let the spiders out. The panels on axis C are looking a bit dusty this morning.”
“Will do, son,” came the reply from his dad. “Thanks for telling me. When you’re done with the rest of your walk-around, get back in here pronto. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“’Right, dad. I’ll be back inside in about an hour.”
A, B, and C axes done, he thought. Only D, E, and F to go.
As Jake continued around and began to inspect the fourth arm of the massive hybrid-thermal-electric solar collector, he glanced over at the C axis, noting the small army of spider-shaped robotic cleaners already dusting off the panels.
Most farmers have their bots do this automatically, he thought, with a hint of resentment that his dad made him physically walk around. Not only that, but they monitored the status of the panels remotely.
His dad had explained that spiders were not cheap, and that the less they were used, the longer they would last. If Jake didn’t like that, he could always consider dusting the panels manually.
His dad also didn’t trust the remote monitors to get it right, and wanted a real person to investigate them personally. Despite (or perhaps because of) his utter dependence on technology to keep him alive, Jake’s dad seemed to distrust it.
His mom used to inspect the panels, and she would sometimes bring Jake and his little sister along. But that was before the accident…
Don’t go there, he thought angrily.
The thought of dusting more than 18,000 square meters by hand kept Jake from complaining too much about his dad’s odd choice of chores. In fact, Jake normally looked forward to the chance to walk around his family’s station early in the morning. It gave him time to think about things.
As Jake moved around the end of the D axis and examined the E axis, he noted some more buildup along the panels, the likely result of the dust devils that frequented this valley.
“Dad, if you’ve got some spare spiders, send them down the E arm, too. Or retask the C-axis spiders to tackle this as soon as they’re done over there,” said Jake over his helmet comm.
“OK, son. Thanks,” replied Paul.
Each spider measured about 10 centimeters in diameter. The robots skittered on six legs (shouldn’t they be called beetles? thought Jake) across the solar panels. Each spider used what was essentially a fine whisk broom to sweep the rusty dust accumulation from the panels.
Jake thought hopefully that the cleaning would account for the missing amps his dad had mentioned earlier in the day. However, based on his experience with these panels, Jake strongly suspected that the power draw came from the heater end, not from obscured solar panels. That likely meant a trip into town to get some parts. And a trip into town would be a great break from the daily routine.
Jake hiked the final kilometer of the F axis back towards the main airlock. As he moved along, he continued to scrutinize the solar panels that gave the farm electricity and heated the abundant groundwater locked beneath the surface of the valley.
With so much area absorbing and reflecting the sun, Prometheus station also radiated some heat back into the surrounding valley. Similar installations all across the face of Mars were doing their small part to create global warming on the red planet, hoping eventually to make it minimally Earthlike.
The grand entrance to the family homestead was just a little ways ahead now.
Jake looked forward to his seventh birthday next month. On Earth, he would have just turned 13, and instead of walking around in a softsuit in sub-freezing temperatures, he would likely be riding his bike in a green neighborhood. It was hard not to think about Earth. Most of the programming that played on his phone and the family vid-wall came from Earth.
Jake punched the security code to enter the main airlock, set back beneath a classical Greek portico. His granddad had joked that the life savings he would have kept in a bank were tied up in the farm, so he wanted the front door of his farm to look like a bank.
Inside the airlock, a fan blew the bulk of the fines from Jake’s softsuit out the front door. Once the door was sealed and the lock pressurized, a brief but high-pressure shower of water issued from the ceiling and removed any remaining fines, washing them into a floor drain. Jake proceeded to the adjoining suit locker room, and got back into his basic indoor work clothes.
He pulled out his vid phone to check for any new messages from his ‘net pals. One new message from Al had arrived, but nothing more. He saved it for later, and headed off in search of his dad “pronto” to find out what his big surprise was.
Chapter Two
The Surprise
Ouch. Only 354 words tonight. I'll need to do some major typing in the next couple of days to get back on pace. Chapter One (started yesterday) continues below the fold:
As Jake moved around the end of the D axis and examined the E axis, he noted some buildup along the panels, the likely result of the dust devils that frequented this valley.
“Dad, if you’ve got some spare spiders, send them down the F arm, too. Or retask the C-axis spiders to tackle this as soon as they’re done over there,” said Jake over his helmet comm.
“OK, son. Thanks,” replied Paul.
Each spider measured about 10 centimeters in diameter. The robots skittered on six legs (shouldn’t they be called beetles? thought Jake) across the solar panels. Each spider used what was essentially a fine whisk broom to sweep the rusty dust accumulation from the panels.
Jake thought hopefully that the cleaning would account for the missing amps his dad had mentioned earlier in the day. However, based on his experience with these panels, Jake strongly suspected that the power draw came from the heater end, not from obscured solar panels. That likely meant a trip into town to get some parts. And a trip into town would be a great break from the daily routine.
Jake trudged along the final kilometer of the F axis back towards the main airlock. As he went, he continued to scrutinize the solar panels that gave the farm electricity and heated the abundant groundwater locked beneath the surface of the valley.
With so much area absorbing and reflecting the sun, Prometheus station also radiated some heat back into the surrounding valley. Similar installations all across the face of Mars were doing their small part to create global warming on the red planet, hoping eventually to make it minimally Earthlike.
The grand entrance to the family homestead was just a little ways ahead now.
Jake looked forward to his seventh birthday next month. On Earth, he would have just turned 13, and instead of walking around in a softsuit in sub-freezing temperatures, he would likely be riding his bike in a green neighborhood. It was hard not to think about Earth. Most of the programming that played on his phone and the family vid-wall came from Earth.
NaNoWriMo, or the National Novel Writing Month, has started.
For some insane reason, I thought I would give it a go this year. Fifty thousand words in thirty days? Ha! Piece of pie. Easy as cake. (ed. - avoid cliches, especially getting them wrong).
Actually, I have had a juvenile science fiction novel bouncing around inside my brain for a few months. It will definitely show influences of Heinlein and Kim Stanley Robinson, though I hope it has some of my voice, too. I've sketched out a few (three) main character treatments, and written a very rough plot outline, so I'm hoping the thing will write itself. (Ha!)
I posted a dialogue exercise from the pre-novel here a while ago. I probably won't be able to use that, as the "rules" require new prose. I may have to bend the rules a bit, though, since that conversation never went anywhere and I never wrote more than a couple of hundred words.
Even though the goal is a 50,000 word novel(la) by the end of the month, I may write more or less. I'm just trying to write every day, though.
If you want, you can check out the first 982 words of the next great American juvenile science fiction novel below the fold. I will accept constructive criticism, and look forward to suggestions about naming the thing (Jake's first name is based on my dog's name, and the last name pays tribute to the Swiss Family Robinson, Robinson Caruso, and the author of one of the best Martian SF trilogies ever written, Kim Stanley Robinson).
Chapter One
Home Under the Range
Jake Robinson ran.
At the age of seven mears, his paces already stretched at least five meters each when in a full run. Of course “run” is not quite the right word. Instead, he loped in the graceful awkwardness that all children of Earth display when moving quickly in the one-third Martian gravity.
Even when, as with Jake and his parents, the children of Earth were born on Mars.
Jake’s running boots echoed in a slap-back patter off the cavernous walls of basalt, as he retraced the billion-year old journey of a Martian lava flow. The path of this particular lava tube wound through a twenty-kilometer circuit, most of which his father had sealed and pressurized over the past ten mears.
Embedded in the Martian bedrock below and behind these walls was an ancient aquifer. An aquifer whose waters rained on the Martian surface when the oceans of Earth were just bringing forth their first complex organisms.
A little bit further, he thought.
Recently pressurized, the air in this part of the lava tube was cool, dry, and odorless, except for a faint hint of ozone. Jake coughed - his throat and mouth were dry and sticky. The omnipresent fines that found their way into everything on Mars always caught up with him halfway through his morning run.
He gulped a few swallows of water from his belt bottle and glanced at his wrist comp.
07:27
Twenty-seven minutes out. This was the point furthest from the elevator lobby that led back up to his family settlement, Prometheus station.
If I can just keep up the pace, this might be my best time yet, he thought.
Heading back toward his home, Jake began to remember the accident. His mom and sister. The anger came back. The guilt.
Just push it. Harder.
His loping pace increased by at least another meter per step. His jaw clenched.
Focus on the time.
As Jake ran up to the elevator door that led from this gigantic basement to his family’s settlement just on and under the Martian hill country, he took another glance at the wrist comp:
07:52.
Best time yet. Twenty klicks in 52 minutes. Not bad for a kid.
He stepped into the elevator, punched the “M” button, and drained the remainder of the water from his bottle.
He considered the last few drops in the bottle. Water was his family’s business.
Well, water and the heat needed to extract it through the Martian permafrost.
And electricity. Where you had water and heat, you had electricity.
Jake rode the elevator the hundred meters or so up to the main level of the Prometheus complex. He stepped out into the main airlock that joined the five spokes of the gigantic underground wheel he called home.
“Jake, is that you?” asked his dad.
Who else would it be, he thought. “Yes, dad.”
Paul Robinson walked into the airlock. “What was your time today?”
“Fifty-two minutes, dad.”
“That’s fantastic, son! I hope you’re still planning to enter the race over in the Burroughs Burrow next month. Are you?”
Jake paused. “I don’t know dad.”
His dad’s face clouded over slightly.
“I’m just not sure I’m ready to do it.”
“That’s OK, son. Whenever you’re ready.”
Paul said, “And speaking of ready, you need to get ready to go out and check out the panels. For some reason our main heater is pulling some extra amps. Until we can get it diagnosed, we need to get every last bit of power from the panels to keep from dipping into our reserves.”
“Right, dad.”
Jake headed down the eastern spoke to his quarters for a quick shower and breakfast snack before he suited up to head outside.
An hour later, Jake stepped out into the Martian morning. The morning sun shone weakly in a clear salmon sky. Jake walked along the geometric trails along the valley floor that traced the circle-and-spoke outline of the Prometheus farm. His boots crunched the frosty ground, occasionally stirring small puffs of dust.
Another typical morning on Mars, he thought.
Jake was inspecting each of the kilometer-long arms of the sprawling solar farm. He keyed his in-helmet phone: “Dad? We need to let the spiders out. The panels on axis C are looking a bit dusty this morning.”
“Will do, son,” came the reply from his dad. “Thanks for telling me. When you’re done with the rest of your walk-around, get back in here pronto. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“’Right, dad. I’ll be back inside in about an hour.”
A, B, and C axes done, he thought. Only E, F, and G to go.
As Jake continued around and began to inspect the fourth arm of the massive hybrid-thermal-electric solar collector, he glanced over at the C axis, noting the small army of spider-shaped robotic cleaners already dusting off the panels.
Most farmers have their bots do this automatically, he thought, with a hint of resentment that his dad made him physically walk around. Not only that, but they monitored the status of the panels remotely.
His dad had explained that spiders were not cheap, and that the less they were used, the longer they would last. If Jake didn’t like that, he could always consider dusting the panels manually. His dad didn’t trust the remote monitors, either, and wanted a real person to investigate them personally.
His mom used to do it, and she would sometimes bring Jake and his little sister along. But that was before the accident…
Don’t go there, he thought angrily.
The thought of dusting more than 18,000 square meters by hand kept Jake from complaining too much about his dad’s odd choice of chores. In fact, Jake normally looked forward to the chance to walk around his family’s station early in the morning. It gave him time to think about things.
Early rising is a vice ... it'll stunt your growth and shorten your days.
- Lazarus Long in Time Enough for Love.
I just wish the rest of the world agreed.
