A new character enters the picture

Eoj was hired by the Mars Tourist Bureau to train travelers who would spend a few weeks in a space capsule, their bodies confined to not much more than a water closet there-and-back on their Moon-to-Mars holiday.

Eoj, half-Greek, half-Egyptian, had survived wars and skirmishes his whole childhood and jumped at the chance to serve aboard the ISS Dionysius, the flagship vessel that traveled from the Moon to Mars, packed full of tourists and their supplies needed to feed and care for them during their whole time traveling through space, in acclimation facilities orbiting Mars and on the Red Planet itself.

During the offseason, when Earth and Mars alignment made the trip prohibitively expensive, Eoj took martial arts and dance lessons which he in turn was able to share with tourists during their spaceflight, using a small corridor between their living quarters to exercise tourists in small groups of two or three.

Before his Mars Tourist Bureau job, Eoj had met Guin at an Earth dance studio when Guin was first brought in for physical therapy.  They had become dance partners because they shared the love of dance over many of their other hobbies and interests.

As Guin was finishing her PhD in rocket propulsion, she accepted the assignment to become an integral part of the ISSA Net, allowing her body to be monitored in realtime, accelerating her physical conditioning, with a bonus network interface that gave her the ability to simply think her thoughts to members of the ISSA Net without talking or using archaic input devices like phones or computers.

Eoj had opted not to accept full ISSA Net interfacing, believing that a “real” man kept himself in reserve.

Eoj and Guin excelled in their dance training and soon become part-time instructors at the studio, each taking on a small number of students, sometimes passing one student to the other when their regular work schedules conflicted with the students’ availability for lessons.

From this perspective, Eoj was able to observe more about Guin.

Eoj saw that he was not the only one who wanted to dance with her.

He had taken on Lee and Lee’s wife, Karen, as dance students early in Eoj’s dance instructor days so the three of them were guinea pigs for the dance studio owner, Disdry, a veteran of the World Peasant War, a set of military skirmishes that spread around Earth, wiping out whole sections of the peasant population desperate for food and a meaning for their miserable existence, including jobs or positive views of them in the mainstream press.

Thus, Disdry, although a smooth dancer, was a stern taskmaster with his instructors, a little rough around the edges.

Vulnerable during their first few months on the job, Eoj trying to get back on his feet after a tough job loss and Guin during the mental recovery associated with her physical therapy, Eoj and Guin gave Disdry more leeway to control them than had they been stronger socioeconomically.

Eoj worked with Lee and Karen under Disdry’s watchful eye.  Sometimes, after a particular tough time getting Lee or Karen to learn what should have been a simple dance move, Eoj would sigh and plop down in Disdry’s office.  Disdry would frequently offer constructive criticism but sometimes he would lash out, using cold, cruel humour to knock Eoj’s ego to the ground, which didn’t help Eoj at all for the next lesson with Lee and Karen, conditioned to expect verbal abuse from Disdry if Eoj was unable to show progress with a couple who sometimes just didn’t get it, regardless of Eoj’s instructing ability.

One day, Eoj was out of town and asked Guin to teach Lee and Karen.

Although Lee and Guin already knew each other, they walked into the dance lesson as newbies.

Guin had her own problems with Disdry’s treatment of her but had not yet received beratement in relation to training Lee and Karen so she was able to look at them without fear or trepidation.

Guin spent most of the lesson showing Lee the leader part of the waltz and foxtrot moves he had learned the week before, the two of them moving more easily as one than Lee had been dancing with his wife.  Karen spent most of the lesson watching and feeling ignored, not wanting another lesson with Guin because she felt that all Guin had done was teach Lee had to dance with her rather than with his wife.

The next week, Eoj noticed a change in Karen, sensing that she was more interested in him as an instructor and devoted his time to teaching them, getting more progress in that lesson than in the previous two months, even showing them a few fun moves that were not part of their official curriculum.  Although they had fun, Eoj was scolded by Disdry for going outside of the syllabus, dampening any enthusiasm Eoj had for seeing Lee and Karen the next week.

Because of this up-and-down treatment at the studio, Eoj built up expectations for the weekly social dance on Fridays when the students had the opportunity to try out their newly-learned moves in an actual social setting, the instructors available for advice and social dancing.  Eoj anticipated dancing with Guin and she with him, so they could practice moves they wanted to perfect for other venues.

As much as Eoj liked dancing with Guin, and noticed she did, too, he also observed that he was not the only one.

There seemed to be a virtual line of guys waiting to dance with Guin, including single and married men willing to leave their women alone in order to get a dance with Guin.

Added to that, Disdry informed Eoj that one of the students, a single women in her early 40s named Eternia, desired to dance with Eoj but Eoj always seemed to dance with Guin just when Eternia got up the nerve to ask Eoj to dance with her, or just felt outright ignored by him altogether, complaining that Eoj and Guin spent the whole Friday night dancing with each other rather than with their students.

Eoj accepted his “punishment” and reduced his dancing time with Guin, asking students, both his and those taught by Guin or Disdry, for individual dances.

Guin followed Eoj’s example and danced with students, including her boyfriend, Kirby, who showed up occasionally but had a problem with large crowds so he tended to avoid coming unless he had to.  Guin found herself dancing more often with Jersey, a shy man who had started social dancing lessons in order to look and feel more comfortable when he ventured out to nightclubs.

Guin was an encouraging instructor and boosted Jersey’s confidence, taking him with her to a dance competition in New Orleans.  Even though they didn’t win, it gave Jersey the impetus he needed to try other things, such as volunteering at the local youth symphony and competing in mountain bike races, eventually leaving Guin without a competitive dance partner once again.

When, with guidance from her new friend, Bai, Guin got the assignment to go to Mars, Eoj began questioning why he was stuck at the dance studio “alone” with Disdry.  Guin wanted to help Bai so she convinced him to get a job working with Kirby transporting blood products to hospitals and clinics in the area.

Eoj enjoyed his transportation job as the “Blood Man,” every now and then running into a former student or someone who knew who he had to be because of his unique rugged look as a GrecoEgyptian, shorter than average but built like a football player — broad shoulders, large chest and muscular arms — able to lift and throw a woman like Guin, several inches taller than him, with ease and grace.

A member of the board of directors for the Mars Tourist Bureau, Minten Kyun, badly injured in a helicopter crash and in critical need of blood transfusions, later heard, during excruciating recovery, that the well-thought-out, timely-but-safe driving by Eoj of blood from one hospital to the one where Minten was being pieced together, saved Minten’s life.

As soon as he could, Minten sent the word to Eoj to see him.

Eoj had never heard of the Mars Tourist Bureau so he was surprised that a complete stranger would offer him a job in such a specialised field as space travel.

“Welcome, Eoj Cappernopolus.  I’m Minten Kyun.  Please have a seat.”

Eoj plopped down into a plush red leather chair beside Minten, whose eyes flicked back-and-forth every now and then, a sign that he was communicating over the ISSA Net using the visual neurons of his brain.

“Thanks for asking me here.  So, your voicemail said you want to hire me for the Mars Tourist Bureau?  You know I don’t have any astronaut training, I assume.”

“Yes, Eoj, I do.  But not every job at the MTB requires a specialised pilot’s license.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you knew nothing else about the job, would you take it?”

“Umm…”

“I mean, how would you describe what you think about a job like this?”

“Well, that’s the thing.  I don’t know what the job is.”

“Good point.  What have you heard about the MTB?”

“Not much, frankly.  I’m sure I’ve heard of it in the news but I haven’t been focused on it, if you know what I mean, my financial situation not geared toward exotic space travel.”

“Of course.  So you’re not a fanboy of space exploration?  You don’t fantasize about a life on the Moon or Mars?”

“Not really.  Does that mean you aren’t interested in me, then?”

“Quite the contrary!  I want someone for this job who wants a challenge but doesn’t go into it with starry eyes wearing rose-coloured glasses, or who holds high hopes for a job and makes a mistake because he was so disappointed by reality he lost focus.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s the other thing about you.  You follow orders from others without letting your questioning authority get in the way of the whole organisation achieving its goals.  Do you know how hard it is to get someone who thinks independently outside the box but knows there are larger issues at stake?  I believe you are the man for this job.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t you want to know when you’re going to start?”

“Haha.  Isn’t there paperwork I’m supposed to fill out, a personality profile and physical fitness test I’m supposed to take or something?”

“Yeah, yeah.  We’ll put you through the formal wringer but I’m assured you’ve already passed.”

“So, when do I start?”

“That’s what I wanted to hear!  You start right now.  Welcome aboard, Eoj!”

“Thank you, Mister?  Misses?”

“Ah, I appreciate you not assuming anything about me.  Just call me Minten.  If you don’t mind, I’m going to hand you over to my assistant, Naad, who will get you started on a career that only two other people have been offered and accepted.  Eoj, you are an exclusive club member now.  I hope you know that.”

“Thanks.  I’m sure if you say it’s as good as it sounds, it probably is, being who you are and all that, a megabillionaire they say.”

“Don’t let money fool you, Eoj.  Wealth does not make you wise.  I hope I’m richer in wisdom than the rest.  But let’s get you on the road to your own riches, shall we?  Once you’re part of the MTB, you get shares in the corporation just like me and everyone else.  Here’s Naad.  Best wishes, my friend.  I’ll see you soon, perhaps on a trip to the Moon or Mars, if not sooner!”

Months passed before Eoj saw Guin again, his training schedule filling his days, simulating the space trip several times in a row so that Eoj was fully capable of handling both calculated emergencies and unanticipated calamities as well as integrating his personality traits into the ISSA Net for processing and compatibility training for the other crew members as they were hired and put through the simulator training.

Entering the simulator phase of the MTB “boot camp,” Eoj had resisted being wholly integrated into the ISSA Net so his trainers had offered him a track of gradual sensory input connectivity enhancements, showing him how his body became more alive and alert with the aid of ISSA Net body monitoring, holding off on full mental connectivity until Eoj convinced himself it was for not just the betterment of society but also his personal gain.

Dragging the people along for a ride

Ever looked at our planet?

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Lots of blue with some greens, browns and whites thrown in for contrast, is’nt it?

What about the pyramids of little creatures who tend to bond into tribes?

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Imaginary pyramids that intersect, a few so much larger than the others that they dominate many, many pyramids all at once (freely use your imagination here).

They blend, in other words.

The people at the top of the pyramid are constantly communicating pyramid-to-pyramid by the blended actions and opinions of their minions mixed into multiple pyramid intersections.

We may say that Obama, Hollande, Cameron and Putin are not talking to each other but there’s plenty of communication between their organisations, officially outside the public view.

That is why Mars decided to eliminate the pyramids and implement a peer-to-peer network, a meshing of independent nodes having full access to competitive data to reduce communication issues.

We’ll get back to that history lesson later.  Let’s show you what used to happen on the old home planet, via a demonstration.  Case in point: the proposed international military action in the geographical region of Earth called Syria.

Decisions were made months in advance at lower echelon levels of the pyramids but official announcements are designed to make it look like decisions are made in realtime news.

Watch and learn!

New rules

A new subgenre of videogames forces you to be aware of the mental needs of your fellow gamers, with depression, PTSD and other mental conditions affecting a player’s ability to fully participate in MMORG programs.  Some players spend their whole time in therapy or in the hospital recovering from injuries in previous game sessions.  Some players actively participate as mental health professionals, family members and other support group members.

The subgenre has increased game sales tremendously.

New gamers are so heavily involved they can’t distinguish the games from real life.

The games aren’t different than real life, except that real life has now been fully monetised to look like games, every person on Earth having been incorporated and their points/lives/likes/views/clickthroughs providing them enough income they can afford to work in part-time jobs.

Long live the commerce revolution!

Scrum with rum on the run in the rain

Tonight I will sleep.

How much can two (or more) people synchronise their states of energy?

Bai floated across the room, feeling ill, tired from her travels across the planet’s surface, to-and-from the Orbiter Entertainment Conference Centre circling Mars.

An ancient, well-preserved copy of the Oxford Multilingual Dictionary suspended in a stationary position above Lee’s desk.

“Are you okay?”

Bai shrugged.  “I didn’t sleep well last night, got maybe 2 marshours’ sleep, same the night before.”

“Do you want to practice our dance?”

Bai attempted a weak smile.  “That’s why I’m here.  Let’s do it.”

As they stepped through the first 40 marsecs of their routine repeatedly, they stopped occasionally for a break.

Bai stopped and looked Lee in the eyes.  “Look at this.”

In his thoughts, Lee watched a conversation between Bai and a man whose identity was left blank.

The man walked up to Bai in the conference centre bar.  “I know everything about you.”

“You do.”

“Yeah.  You got that tattoo within the last few weeks, didn’t you?”

“Nope.  Had it for over two years.”

“No you didn’t.  I said I know you.  You just got it.”

“Sorry, but you’re wrong.”

“I missed you.  Where have you been the last two weeks?”

“I was out of town.”

“What were you doing?”

“I was working.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I thought you knew everything about me.”

[The sound of crickets chirping had been inserted from Bai’s longterm memory.]

Bai stopped showing her memory to Lee.  “What do you think of that?”

“That guy…he…”

“He’s the chief of police, that’s who he is.  Thinks his orbiter privileges give him some sort of special abilities.”

“Did you give him that look of yours?”

Bai made a face that said ‘Are you talking to me?’

Lee smiled.  He responded to everyone differently, some making him laugh uncontrollably.  Bai gave him a warm feeling inside just by being herself, cracking her jokes that were so funny to Lee he was embarrassed to let himself let his boyish guffaw snort out loud.  “Did that turn him off?”

“I wish.  He even said he had a special friendship with my boyfriend, said that my boyfriend, being military, was going to leave me.  I told his he was wrong.  My boyfriend is French — French boyfriends have to go on to the next woman — it’s in their DNA.”

Bai sat down, exhausted.  She took a few sips of energy water and a few drops of baby food formula.  “This is the best stuff, no matter what they say.”

Lee nodded.

After their dance showcase practice, they worked on a few moves from a historic dance form called Lindy Hop.

Bai described the best she could how the dance moves should appear in engineering terms, which Lee quickly absorbed.

They cut their practice short because Bai was feeling too weak to go on.

Later that day, Guin met Lee for more dance practice.  They reviewed their previous dance lesson stored on the ISSA Net, seeing where they needed improvement and went from there.

Lee’s empathetic neuron net was extra sensitive to people who triggered his proximity sensor array, most notably Bai and Guin in the last few days.  His brain circuitry surged with pulsating neurochemical signals, flooding his thoughts with old, broken memories, incomplete images and uncategorised emotions, all at the same time.

After the lesson review, Lee allowed his thoughts to relax, leaving unanswered questions from earlier in the week to fade into the background.

However, as they warmed up, Guin sensed Lee’s tense shoulders and arms.  She told him to relax, let their arms connected to their hands form a smiley face.

Lee’s conscious thoughts understood the word “relax” but after a terrible car smashup on Earth when he was a teenager, Lee had forgotten how to translate the word into action for the nerves, muscles, ligaments and tendons of his left arm and shoulder.

He did not have the knowledge to ask Guin what “relax” meant.  He wanted to learn but his thoughts were still disconnected from the past few days of rewiring habitual pathways.

Guin kept working on the dance steps with Lee, slowly working with him to forget what he was doing, no longer thinking but dancing the steps, closing the gap between them and fading Lee’s personal space into nothingness.

Lee could have let the ISSA Net get rid of the annoying brain-muscle connection problems but he was “old skoowuhl” as Shadowgrass called him and liked the challenge of the personal struggle of his current self forming around and against the previous versions of himself left in deadends and byways of his central nervous system.

They knocked out the steps.

Next on Lee’s list was working through the unexplored feelings he had for Guin and Bai, decades old, just as Bai could recall an old man named Marcus she remembered training when the man was a teenager.

There was so much more to learn about them and their shared connections.

But what’s a lifetime for if one can’t return to Earth in one’s thoughts and go wakeboarding every now and then?

Guin and Lee checked in on Shadowgrass to see how his homework was coming along.  Shadowgrass was studying the history of the extinct social system called politics, trying to understand the need for hierarchical bureaucratic layers of society once called government.  “Dad, did we really used to waste so much energy on superfluous levels of managing our species’ resource needs?”

“Yes, son, we did.  That’s why Earth’s climate changed so drastically over a short period of time.  Mismanaged priorities.”

“I’m glad we’re not like that.”

Me, too, son.  Me, too.”

Guin turned to go.  “Sorry, guys, but I’ve got a rover’s load of work to do at the lab.  Lee, please practice the apache move we went over.  I want you to have it down to a science when I get back next sol.”

“Sure thing.  Don’t work too hard.”

“‘Work’?  You mean, don’t have too much fun!”

The three of them laughed at Lee’s slip.  ‘Work’ had almost completely left the common language of Mars, replaced by Martian society’s ability to shift colonisation needs according to the abilities and desires of the nonrobotic inhabitants such as humans.

As Lee rolled into bed alone, he found himself crying, a memory of his father passing through his thoughts.  He still loved his father after all these years, having forgiven his father for unknowingly mistreating his son in his attempt to raise his son the best way he knew how in the moment and based on his personality shaped by his own father’s mistreatment of him.

Living longer didn’t make old memories go away, just more memories to choose from, the earliest ones gaining or fading in strength as memories accumulated and cross-referenced themselves.

His mother didn’t raise a fool, just watched him often make a fool of himself as he grew up.

Kickstarter Update #1

Hey, you fans out there!  Guess what?

This is the first major update on my official Kickstarter campaign.

I am totally excited because this project, which I’ll detail in a later update, is a sure winner.

I know you’ll love it.

But, before I launch the Kickstarter project, I want you to join me as I walk the path of a soon-to-be successful entrepreneur.

Success requires planning.

LOTS and LOTS of planning.

And research.

So, without further ado, let’s dive into some research.

Before we get started, let’s create a folder on our Internet-connected notebook PC and call the folder something fun.

How about “Kickstarter Project Xceed Xpectations“?:

New folder

A good place to store our research.
Easiest next step, conduct an Internet search for Kickstarter business plans:

Kickstarter business plan google search

 

Probably the most important point about launching a project on Kickstarter is actually knowing what kind of projects you can launch on Kickstarter.  Not exactly rocket science here but it pays to be attentive!

Let’s jump over to Kickstarter and read some of their basic requirements:

Kickstarter guidelines

 

Well, good news so far.  We can fit our Project Xceed Xpectations easily into one of the categories.

But what about a good Kickstarter-based crowdfunding business plan?

By now, the Internet is well-noded with suggestions about a successful business plan but let’s just stick to two videos:

The second one first, which can be boiled down to two important details.  Yes, two again.

  • First, 90% of crowdfunded projects have met/exceeded their goals after reaching 30% of funding.
  • Second, a quick list of important tips:
    • Have a pitch video
    • Offer three or more perks
    • Update your backers and followers every few days, preferably every day
    • Post media to our gallery frequently
    • Link to your other social media pages
    • Keep the campaign less than two months old

Okay, that’s enough for today’s Kickstarter update number one.  I’ll conduct some more research and come back to you with my business plan.

I might, just might, give you a hint about the project itself.  Who knows?!

Machine fun fodder

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Saw this Ford work truck at the home show yesterday.  A young man walked up to me and said it would make the perfect gangster/drug cartel “enforcement” vehicle — just mount a few machine guns and grenade launchers in place of storage boxes and you could mow down whole neighbourhoods in a fast driveby.  Maybe he’s has a heavy dose of Grand Theft Auto and Jason Statham films in his life?

Recap

The young man, aged 23, sat on a log by the campfire, his left arm wrapped around the back of the 36-year old woman beside him, his right hand held close to her stomach under a wool coat, her fingers intertwined with his.

He felt a sense of déjà vu.  How often had he been here before, repeating this same steps, the same words, the same outcome?

She looked up at him, her chapped lips curled outward, her deep brown eyes focused only on him.

“I cannot believe I’m here with you, alone.  I’m practically throwing myself at you, cuddled up to you as close as I can get, shivering, when, if you weren’t such a gentleman, we could…”

His memories of what his father taught him in a situation like this replayed over and over — never take advantage of a drunk woman… unless… — but he couldn’t remember the last part.

“Unless” what?

He was almost twice as old as he was when he earned his Eagle Scout Award at 13.  At 23, he was, for all intents and purposes, still a virgin.

She was a married woman with kids, a supportive if somewhat misogynistic husband, 250-lbs heavy, 6 ft, 8 in tall, and constantly demonstrating that as husband and head of household, he owned his own construction company, able to toss 100-lb bags of dry concrete like a 5-lb sleeping bag.

Speaking of sleeping bags…

Sleeping bags weren’t that far away.  The young man leaned in and looked more closely at her eyes in the dim light, his thoughts spinning with the cold air in the fireside party that had lasted from dusk until this wee hour of the morning, and brushed his lips over one of her eyebrows.

She kissed his Adam’s apple, giggling at the sensation of his day-old beard tickling her lips.

Out of nowhere, an image flashed into his thoughts, an article called “Breeding Minnows” by Dr. Robert J. Goldstein:

Most minnows do well in single-species groups in 20-gallon tanks with canister or trickling filtration, water changes, powerheads for current, a pebble substrate with rocks.  They do well on a diet of flakes, bloodworms, brine shrimp, white worms, grindal worms, blackworms, and/or Daphnia.  Most cannot tolerate heat, and some require a chiller.

He heard the babbling water of a creek that flowed in a J-shape around the campsite.  He thought about the aquariums at home, who was feeding his fish while he was gone for the weekend.  Had he forgotten to set the timed feeders?

She whispered in his ear, “I am getting really cold.  And I’m not as drunk as you think I am.  It’s probably just the altitude and lack of food.”

He realised he had turned his head away from her to look for the creek in the dark.

He returned to her intoxicating eyes.

Their lips touched.

Neither moved.

She held his gaze, as if waiting for him to make the next move.

A professor they both admired had brought them here to this moment, a philosophy teacher who was instructing her in a History of Philosophy class this term and had taught him in a Logics class the previous school term.

The philosophy professor was passed out in a tent nearby, separated from the fire by another tent, empty, unused, quiet, warmed somewhat by the fire.

He pressed his lips more tightly against hers but he didn’t kiss her.

Instead, their eyes made love to each other, exploring the pupils and irises, noticing the tiny creases at the edge of eyelids, the leftover mascara, the bloodshot veins, writing history like a magician conjuring a lovebird out of thin air only to disappear just as quickly in a puff of white smoke, unwritten yet remembered forever by the audience.

Out of habit, she licked her chapped lips, passing her rough tongue across his dry but unchapped lips.

They both smiled and pulled apart, tickled simultaneously, breaking the bond they played with, testing the future without thinking about consequences.

Another thought passed through him: “Has anyone ever written a parody of The Charge of the Light Brigade, substituting the terrorist group called the Red Brigade for the main ‘character’ of the poem?”

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Alfred, Lord Tennyson


1.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
“Charge for the guns!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

2.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Someone had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

4.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

5.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

6.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

Copied from Poems of Alfred Tennyson,
J. E. Tilton and Company, Boston, 1870

And what, or who, determined the definition of a terrorist group?  If, as his philosophy teacher had oft repeated, human labeling systems are meaningless in the grand scheme of the universe, what divided a terrorist group from a government that used threats such as random tax audits and accidental home raids to keep its people in line?

She pressed her lips back against his, mumbling, “Sorry, but I’m cold.”

They slipped off the log and broke out into nervous laughter, instantly shushing themselves like giddy children.

He helped her stand up.

She squeezed him as tight as she could.  He hugged her back.

Her whole body shuddered.  “If this is it, then I think we better find a tent.  If this isn’t it, I think we better find a tent.  Either way, I’m cold!!”

He nodded, leaned down and pressed a cold ear against hers.

“That feels good.”

He nodded.

“What are we waiting for?”

He let go of her and looked at the fire.  A few embers glowed orange and red.  “Well, I better put out the fire.”

“What fire?”

His heightened senses made the few embers look like a giant furnace.  He picked up a water bottle and slowly emptied its contents over the embers, watching each one sizzle and turn to grayish-black.  With the last ember extinguished, he kicked the ashes around, feeling the leftover heat through his leather boots but seeing no glow or flame.

He put his arm around her and led her to the empty tent.

There were times when his father’s advice was not available for reference, unable to answer the questions that arose in moments his father had never experienced or at least never described to his son.

In that moment, the son was creating a memory that would last a lifetime, shared by two.

The snoring chorus of their fellow campers sang to them from the other tent, a serenade that doesn’t play well in romance novels or Hallmark Channel movie soundtracks.

Perhaps, instead, a rom-com or an avant-garde film filled with arbitrary flashbacks.

To try breeding [minnows] in an aquarium, separate the sexes, and feed them live foods while keeping them cool and on an 8 to 10 hour light cycle for a month.  Then place them together in a larger tank with large gravel or pebbles.  Raise the temperature 5 degrees, and increase the light cycle to 12 to 16 hours.  Spawning starts in a few days with flashing undulations by the males, fin erection, operculum flaring, and color intensification.  Non-adhesive eggs are scattered above the gravel or in thick bushy plants.  After spawning, remove the adults.  The eggs hatch within five days, and the fry need rotifers, ciliates, or other infusoria as a first food.