Sandbagging

How to maximise the local resources?

That question dogged us for many years as we planned our electromech construction crew that would “set up house” on Mars before we got there.

The mechs were fully capable of building adobe houses on Earth.

Water, though, was a key missing factor.

That encouraged us to find liquifying alternatives because we wanted to minimise the material we sent with the mechs.

We could have sent tonnes of sandbags and had the mechs build dry adobe huts under which our habitation modules would fit, providing extra protection in the Martian atmosphere, like parking an RV or caravan in a garage.

We challenged ourselves to create a solution that was both energy-efficient and easy to build.

Then, one day, after we had received the list of common chemical elements in Martian soil samples tested by the first wave of mech probes sent in the early 21st century to find suitable colonisation sites and entered it into our lab network, our semi-autonomous 3D printer on a mobile robot base started constructing an extruded Martian home.

Watching the 3D printbot create its own construction scaffolding was fun as it built a two-story structure that hinged and opened up to accept our current working version at the time of the habitation module that also served as transportation ship and landing craft.

Our Test and Evaluation department set to work calculating the wear-and-tear on the 3D printbot, estimating how many spare parts would be needed as the bot coordinated with the mechs to excavate Martian surface for the right ingredients, processing the Martian soil and then feeding the bot or its future equivalent the “right stuff” for habitation module protective shells.

To verify their theories, they drove the printbot and several prototype mechs out into the high desert, skipping a Martian landing simulation in order to focus on the printbot/mech adobe house construction techniques.

One of our lab personnel proposed commercialising the process, which later helped fund many of our side projects that we encouraged in case a crazy idea panned out and led to better procedures and/or understanding of settling Mars — whole desert communities were 3D-printed, followed by sustainable neighbourhoods in temperate zones around the world.

Guest post facto: Ashleigh’s new stint

Sept. 4, 2013

STENTSATIONAL NEWS
Dear Friends,
I had hardly finished writing to you (on August 26) about the oldest piece of hardware in my body ­- a dental bridge which has been in place since 1967 ­- when suddenly and quite unexpectedly I found myself getting a brand-new piece, of a very different kind ­- one which, whether I come to love it or not, is already quite literally very close to my heart ­- a tiny platinum mesh cylinder called a STENT, which serves to keep blocked arteries open.

As a non-smoker, non-drinker, active exerciser, and fairly careful eater, and with no family history of any such trouble, I had little reason to consider myself a good cardiac candidate. And when a few weeks ago I began to experience feelings of weakness, and some internal tightness, e.g. when bicycling uphill, I thought the most likely cause must be something easily treatable like anemia, which I had had before (and was fixed then simply by taking Iron tablets). But there was one factor which, three months short of my 80th birthday, I had failed to consider: the simple fact of AGE. And when I finally told my doctor, Michael B. Fisher M.D., about this current trouble, he immediately arranged for me to see a Cardiologist (Dr. Thomas Watson) who in one session, after several tests (including a treadmill) told me he was convinced that I had some serious blockage, which must be acted on at once. And the very next morning, (Friday, August 30) almost before I could fully comprehend this new situation, there I was, at Santa Barbara’s Cottage Hospital, being operated on.

It was a “non-invasive” kind of procedure, with no cutting, and not even any anesthesia ­- just some “sedation,” — so I was conscious the whole time. And somehow with the aid of computers and “balloons,” that little stent was maneuvered into position, where it is now supposedly making itself at home in my left coronary artery. (Fortunately I apparently had no other blockages.) And after only one (albeit endless-seeming) night in the hospital, I was sent home.

Isn’t it amazing that a job so delicate and intricate can now be done in so little time!

But when it comes to my collection of medical hardware, let us not forget that since being hit by a car in January 2011, I have already been carrying around a much larger piece of metal, a “plate” which was supposed to help repair my broken left leg. Strangely, however, that device itself soon “broke,” and became useless. And although the leg eventually healed anyway, the plate is apparently fated to remain there permanently. My Orthopedist (Dr. William Dunbar), dismisses the contrivance as now mere “jewelry.”

Of course I know there are other people with far more artificial parts than I have, and I’ve no desire to engage in any kind of competition. Many of you could no doubt put my own bionic record to shame. Nor do I mean to make light of this very serious and scientifically marvelous matter of changing and replacing body parts. It’s just that when your own body becomes the matter at issue, it all somehow acquires a different perspective.

And here’s another thing that happened in the course of these events to give me a different view of myself: — While I was being processed at Dr. Watson’s office, I was asked for my weight and height. I knew my weight exactly, because I check it very frequently, completely naked, on a good scale. (The latest reading was 132 1/8 lb). But I hadn’t had my height taken in many years — so I took this opportunity to ask to have it measured. Whenever I’d been asked before, I had always said “5 ft. 9 ½ inches,” but that reading was so old that I couldn’t even remember just what point in my life it dated from.

So they did measure me, and to my great surprise, I was told I am now only 5 ft. 7inches! How could this be? I know that people sometimes get shorter as they age ­- But have I really lost 2 ½ inches? This is genuinely alarming, and conjures up uncomfortable images of “The Incredible Shrinking Man.”

So in various ways, from artificial additions to natural shrinkage, it seems there is now less of the original “me” than there used to be. But yes, I know this is only the beginning of a process which our whole species is apparently embarked upon. And for the answers as to just where (if ever) it will end we currently have no better guide than the writers of Science Fiction.

In any case, as my body recovers from its latest metallic insertion, this message comes with greetings which I hope you can appreciate are unusually HEARTY.

All the best,
Ashleigh Brilliant

ASHLEIGH BRILLIANT, 117 W. Valerio St. Santa Barbara CA 93101 USA. Phone (805) 682-0531 Orders:(800) 952-3879, Code #77. Creator of POT-SHOTS, syndicated author of I MAY NOT BE TOTALLY PERFECT, BUT PARTS OF ME ARE EXCELLENT. 10,000 copyrighted BRILLIANT THOUGHTS available as cards, books etc.World’s highest-paid writer (per word). Most-quoted author (per Reader’s Digest.) Free daily Pot-Shot cartoon: www.ashleighbrilliant.com CATALOGS:[h&m included]. Starter $2. Complete Printed version: $25 Electronic Text-Only (emailed $25, on CD $30). Electronic Illustrated Catalog/Database (CD only) $105 (includes shipping anywhere). Details: www.ashleighbrilliant.com/IllustratedCatalog.html

Sacrifices

My wife and I sat down and looked at our finances this afternoon.  I have done what I’ve always wanted to do — I put the desire for dancing above my need for hearing aids — I’d rather be deaf and move my body to the sound of music than be a cyborg with enhanced auditory functionality.

Again, the happiness of overcoming physical fears is almost impossible to describe, like I changed bodies last week and am a new man.

Time for this new old man to get off of his cloud and sleep!

The greatest emotion…

…is sometimes expressed most quietly.

To Jenn, from whom I have accepted the renewed gift of storytelling, I thank you for allowing me to draw a character loosely based on your biographical details.

The real person’s qualities outshine the fictional one and is so much more fun to share a dance without purpose, design or pretext.

May your friends and family forgive me if I draw them in poor lighting or exaggerated grotesquely.

The future never happens the way we imagine

Looking back at this 2045 conference in 2045 is about as entertaining a picosecond as it gets in the futurists’ party lounge these days.

In other words, would you say that your email and texts are as unable to interpret and respond to emotional social context as a person on the autism spectrum?  In what situation are they identical and thus the avatar of one is the same as the other?

Plate of shrimp, the prequel

What are the chances that two nights ago I tripped over my copy of “The Saga of the Sour Toe” by Capt. Dick Stevenson, edited by Dieter Reinmuth, and then today this story pops up in the news?

All I can say is thank goodness the universe was exists purely to create me and entertain me.

Otherwise, I’d go mad (no, don’t tell me I’m mad — let it be your secret you can keep from me!).