Hi.
This is an announcement that, barring intermittent availability, future entries are on hiatus as I now need to take time for work on my tax form software development for 2013.
I hope to resume writing more entries soon.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Monday, November 11, 2013
19270522 20:46:44
19270522 20:46:44
HN-S-4040
"There's one thing that I haven't mentioned to you yet, and the man reminded me to do so earlier today." Western paused his address by picking up his cigar and twirling the tip of it in his fingers as he exhaled a stream of smoke. "This hasn't had to come up in a while since you're the only freshness that we've had in a spell, so we don't know of any other attempts she's made in the same span. I doubt there's been any. Anyway, you're aware that T has a few relations, right?"
"Right, uh, one of each I think, right?"
"Yep."
Ridgeland was about to prod the conversation on by asking what point there was to bring them up, but he knew Western would get to it eventually.
"So the main thing you need to know about her -" Western let a gap of breath sit in the air before and after the pronoun, which could have been interpreted as him considering her with a layer of contempt, then continued to say, "is that she's not with us. And the problem with that is she's not dumb, and she understands things around her, and she's had some, uh, unfortunate situations come around in her life, so the combination of that with some folks always telling her 'no' to some things means that she tries to dance her way around the tape, you know? One consequence of this is that unlike you and me, she doesn't have the same tool at her disposal which we do. So this means that there may come a time where she might introduce herself to you and be all friendly and nice and such, and being so isn't a farce, as she is proper and respectful and all, but. But. She may have a motive in tow. And that motive may be for you to help her have a tool of her own, like we have."
"Really? And that's forbidden?" Ridgeland drummed the fingers of his right hand against the bar top to contemplate the situation. He didn't need to think about it long to reach the general logic and inherent conflict, but still felt compelled to give his own interpretation of how it should ultimately be resolved. "I think that as long as it's clear that she would only possess it for her own self defense, then it should be allowed. She would have what she wants and there would be no secrets kept between her and everyone else."
"But doesn't that constitute an indictment upon our ability to handle our business?" Western said this more to echo the explanation given to him rather than his own beliefs, and as a way to gauge his reaction.
"Well, no, I don't think so. Accidents happen, and there's only so much any of us can do. And if she has truly has had some unfortunate accidents, as you have said, then perhaps that is the best direction forward."
"Fair enough, but these are orders here so don't forget it. Got it?"
"I got it, yeah."
Ridgeland cradled his beer mug into both of his hands and tilted it to his lips slowly so that he could draw out the process of taking the liquid in and drinking it down. In the silence of the moment, he wondered how many attempts were made for this order to be disobeyed.
HN-S-4040
"There's one thing that I haven't mentioned to you yet, and the man reminded me to do so earlier today." Western paused his address by picking up his cigar and twirling the tip of it in his fingers as he exhaled a stream of smoke. "This hasn't had to come up in a while since you're the only freshness that we've had in a spell, so we don't know of any other attempts she's made in the same span. I doubt there's been any. Anyway, you're aware that T has a few relations, right?"
"Right, uh, one of each I think, right?"
"Yep."
Ridgeland was about to prod the conversation on by asking what point there was to bring them up, but he knew Western would get to it eventually.
"So the main thing you need to know about her -" Western let a gap of breath sit in the air before and after the pronoun, which could have been interpreted as him considering her with a layer of contempt, then continued to say, "is that she's not with us. And the problem with that is she's not dumb, and she understands things around her, and she's had some, uh, unfortunate situations come around in her life, so the combination of that with some folks always telling her 'no' to some things means that she tries to dance her way around the tape, you know? One consequence of this is that unlike you and me, she doesn't have the same tool at her disposal which we do. So this means that there may come a time where she might introduce herself to you and be all friendly and nice and such, and being so isn't a farce, as she is proper and respectful and all, but. But. She may have a motive in tow. And that motive may be for you to help her have a tool of her own, like we have."
"Really? And that's forbidden?" Ridgeland drummed the fingers of his right hand against the bar top to contemplate the situation. He didn't need to think about it long to reach the general logic and inherent conflict, but still felt compelled to give his own interpretation of how it should ultimately be resolved. "I think that as long as it's clear that she would only possess it for her own self defense, then it should be allowed. She would have what she wants and there would be no secrets kept between her and everyone else."
"But doesn't that constitute an indictment upon our ability to handle our business?" Western said this more to echo the explanation given to him rather than his own beliefs, and as a way to gauge his reaction.
"Well, no, I don't think so. Accidents happen, and there's only so much any of us can do. And if she has truly has had some unfortunate accidents, as you have said, then perhaps that is the best direction forward."
"Fair enough, but these are orders here so don't forget it. Got it?"
"I got it, yeah."
Ridgeland cradled his beer mug into both of his hands and tilted it to his lips slowly so that he could draw out the process of taking the liquid in and drinking it down. In the silence of the moment, he wondered how many attempts were made for this order to be disobeyed.
Friday, November 8, 2013
18370706 21:34:05
18370706 21:34:05
Daron heard the footsteps approach the other side of the barn and felt his teeth grind together as he anticipated having to correct him on procedure yet again, but thankfully that didn't happen now. Three knocks came against the wooden wall instead; two quick taps, followed by a pause before the third.
"Doc."
"Yes, sir." Despite the answer coming in a whisper, the inflection and pace that came with the words confirmed Doctor Kufo's identify to Daron.
"So I need to know - what is happening with your crop production? I've been wondering how you've done, both for quantity and how folks like the taste. I've been waiting for months. I see you gather all of that corn, all of the vegetables. You have it out there. But I don't see nobody taking it besides me. I have people looking out, I've been asking around, and everyone tells me they're getting it from Tarro's pal instead. So what's this about?"
"That's the thing. We are selling it, we are moving it, but not in the open. People are coming to us in the middle of the night or on the side. They are keeping their transactions with us a secret."
"What? You have been selling? Really?"
"Yes sir! We are indeed bringing out new product as our old crop gets bought."
Daron turned his head away from the wall and looked blankly forward into the darkness of the barn. The people were buying their crops, but in secret. In secret. An underground market had actually formed for their goods. Was the Reverend's power really that great, if not that of the church which he represented? Since when did the common type of person living on this farm have such a seeming concern about the judgement of others? What mattered to Daron more, though, was knowing that this all likely came about because of that public display which was held earlier in the year. The Reverend's interpretation of that as a confrontation appeared to have created this kind of effect after all. He then knew that a different course needed to be taken in the future, but what kind of communication and relationship should these doctors have with himself or the rest of the community at large?
"Sir?" Doctor Kufo was beginning to wonder why the conversation came to a sudden and prolonged stop.
"Doc, we need to set new rules. This is all my fault, and it shouldn't have been like this."
"New rules? What about?"
"Well, one thing's for sure; as long as Tarro's here, you guys can't make a public spectacle of your work like you've done before. At best, it'll make a shadow market like you got here, and at worse, it'll ruin your work. I can't have that."
"Sir, as long as we're able to put our product to use and sale, one way or another, we can handle-"
"No, no, no! Not like that, no. This is my farm, this is my property, and he came here to live on my property, and I will not have him assume a higher authority than me on my own fucking property, do you understand? You and the rest of us here, we're a family here, and I will not have someone from the outside come into my family and lay law in it. No."
"Uh, I uh, understand then, yes. What are we going to do, then?"
"We'll have to think about it. But above all, we'll have to keep quiet. Even more so now." After saying this, Daron turned on his heels and quickly stepped out of the barn, and returned to his house while wondering how he wasn't able to tell that the black market had arisen right under his nose.
Daron heard the footsteps approach the other side of the barn and felt his teeth grind together as he anticipated having to correct him on procedure yet again, but thankfully that didn't happen now. Three knocks came against the wooden wall instead; two quick taps, followed by a pause before the third.
"Doc."
"Yes, sir." Despite the answer coming in a whisper, the inflection and pace that came with the words confirmed Doctor Kufo's identify to Daron.
"So I need to know - what is happening with your crop production? I've been wondering how you've done, both for quantity and how folks like the taste. I've been waiting for months. I see you gather all of that corn, all of the vegetables. You have it out there. But I don't see nobody taking it besides me. I have people looking out, I've been asking around, and everyone tells me they're getting it from Tarro's pal instead. So what's this about?"
"That's the thing. We are selling it, we are moving it, but not in the open. People are coming to us in the middle of the night or on the side. They are keeping their transactions with us a secret."
"What? You have been selling? Really?"
"Yes sir! We are indeed bringing out new product as our old crop gets bought."
Daron turned his head away from the wall and looked blankly forward into the darkness of the barn. The people were buying their crops, but in secret. In secret. An underground market had actually formed for their goods. Was the Reverend's power really that great, if not that of the church which he represented? Since when did the common type of person living on this farm have such a seeming concern about the judgement of others? What mattered to Daron more, though, was knowing that this all likely came about because of that public display which was held earlier in the year. The Reverend's interpretation of that as a confrontation appeared to have created this kind of effect after all. He then knew that a different course needed to be taken in the future, but what kind of communication and relationship should these doctors have with himself or the rest of the community at large?
"Sir?" Doctor Kufo was beginning to wonder why the conversation came to a sudden and prolonged stop.
"Doc, we need to set new rules. This is all my fault, and it shouldn't have been like this."
"New rules? What about?"
"Well, one thing's for sure; as long as Tarro's here, you guys can't make a public spectacle of your work like you've done before. At best, it'll make a shadow market like you got here, and at worse, it'll ruin your work. I can't have that."
"Sir, as long as we're able to put our product to use and sale, one way or another, we can handle-"
"No, no, no! Not like that, no. This is my farm, this is my property, and he came here to live on my property, and I will not have him assume a higher authority than me on my own fucking property, do you understand? You and the rest of us here, we're a family here, and I will not have someone from the outside come into my family and lay law in it. No."
"Uh, I uh, understand then, yes. What are we going to do, then?"
"We'll have to think about it. But above all, we'll have to keep quiet. Even more so now." After saying this, Daron turned on his heels and quickly stepped out of the barn, and returned to his house while wondering how he wasn't able to tell that the black market had arisen right under his nose.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
18370409 11:43:06
18370409 11:43:06
(Note: Date and previous header of "18370410 12:06:19" has been revised to "18370409 11:18:19")
The amount of force that he put into his steps as he paced back and forth in the room was great enough to cause the floor to visibly bend. This spectacle combined with the audible yet indecipherable mumbling that came from the Reverend's mouth was enough to make his wife hesitate to speak up, despite her growing increasingly concerned for her husband's well being. After several minutes of watching the man pace from one wall to the other, she couldn't help herself to stay quiet any longer and felt forced to interject.
"Love, what was so terrible about what had happened there? Didn't they-"
"What was so terrible?" Reverend Tarro spun on his heels and leaned his body in to shout the counter question with such force that it caused her to reflexively raise her arms upward in defense. "What! How about everything! Everything was terrible about that! They made a damned fool out of me there, did you not see that? Did you not hear that? Those infernal men, they think they're so righteous and enlightened, those fools, those damned hell bound fools! Damn them! May the Lord damn them and strike them down!"
"A- Alan! Alan! Please, must you be so emotional?"
"Darling, they, th-" He stammered in place and pointed a finger behind him, towards the door to the shack, straining to find the right words to convey his anger without merely screaming out. He finally managed to compose himself and lower his voice before speaking again. "They made a fool out of me out there. That's the main thing that they did. Both of them, and I bet Daron too, I bet you he was in on it. I bet he could have even suggested that display to them! That would make sense, yes, that would explain it all. All of them being snakes like that, yes, yes, I could see it now. Making arrangements out of sight to put me down. But did you hear that man, that Doctor Garr? How he said that to me - about how someone who is a leader should make a choice about that dirt sample or whatever pageantry he did there? Did you hear that? Did you see the look in his face as he asked me that? Oh that snake, that dog, that blasted snake - that smug grin on his face. Did you hear that come from him?"
"No, not like that." In truth, though, she did, but she knew that in times like this it was better to remain as tacit and pliant as she possibly could be and let him roll all the steam and bluster out of him as he can. The high intensity anger seemed to be subsiding, which meant that the brooding and scheming would come from him next.
"Well, one thing's for sure," He paused mid-sentence to turn to her side and let himself fall into the loveseat next to her. He puffed out a long breath as he stretched his feet out over the floor. "I will not ever try to act in confidence with that Daron anymore, absolutely not! Now I know that man cannot be trusted. Never, never. As for those other men, though. Those scientists there. I don't what I can do to deflate them some."
"All you can do is preach the Lord's love and forgiveness, and his will to judge the wicked."
The Reverend nodded silently in initial response, though the nodding motion was undertaken by his entire torso, which effectively made him rock back and forth in his seat. "Well, y'know what darling, you are right about that one too, yes. Here we are on the Sabbath and they made a demonstration about work. That's as clear cut of a violation of God's law as there ever has been. That is it. And everyone witnessed it too. No hearsay there. No room for misinterpretation. Hopefully, all I need to do is point that out to get people to see it the right way."
"Just keep it level, love."
"Keep it- of course! What do you take me for! Pah!" He turned his head away with a wave of his hand. "I'll do it the right way, just you watch. Just remind them that for all their brains, for all their sacred enlightenment, that it wast he Lord who inspired them to begin with. All things through Him. All things. They just need to be gently reminded, in case they got swept up and forgot."
"You'll right their course, love." She turned to kiss him on the forehead with a smile, then promptly sat up to exit to the kitchen and let him brood. She was happy to make the escape.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
18360122 06:57:28
18360122 06:57:28
"So hello hello! You are Daron Hoobler then, yes yes? Your friend Frederic sent me here! I am glad to be here at last! It was a trial getting through that trail with a quickness over the mud and cold, it sure was. The name's Joe!" He shot his hand out with a stiff stretch and held it out in the air. Daron stood dumbly still for a moment before he blinked to attention and reciprocated the gesture. In Joe's grasp and shake, his hand felt like a limp noodle.
"Yes, I'm Daron, it's nice to meet you Mister Joe, uh - is that, uh, how you want to be addressed? I mean, do you have a last-"
"Yeah that's fine Daron! Yes. No I haven't really taken a last name, like a proper one. Some folk called me Joe the Mime or Joe Mime sometimes, but that was only a few of them." Joe's eyes trailed off to the side as he made mention of that fact, and quickly snapped back to look up to Daron after a brief pause. "But anyways we got a lot to talk about and I don't think yall wanna do it out here, do yas? No no, not here, no."
"Uh, right, yes. I can have the boy tend to your horse, then." Daron turned to walk over to the doorway of the cabin and leaned his body inside the room.
"The boy? What boy's that?"
"Jesse, c'mon and take the guest's ride up. We got some things to talk. Some things. And yeah, take them too. You all best bundle up." With the last sentences, he waved his arm to point at the two Poole children.
Joe politely stood in place and waited with Daron for the children to leave to enter the cabin.
"That there's Jesse, Saul, and Marian. None of them are my own."
"I was just gonna ask, ha ha! Nice to meet you, children! I'm Joe! Glad to be here." Jesse turned to wave and say hello as he walked over to the horse and proceeded to lead it by the reins to the barn. The two Poole children walked past Joe without any kind of response and quietly followed Jesse as he took the horse away. Daron waved an arm in a circle to invite Joe to follow him inside the cabin. Daron poured more coffee into the tin cup which he had previously used and placed it in front of Joe as he stretched his legs out under the table with an exasperated sigh of relief.
"Whew! Good lord I'm just not a rider, my ass gets all tensed up and my legs get all stiffed up just doin that for a day, I could never be a soldier I tell you, yes yes."
Daron pulled his chair back and leaned his body forward over the table upon his forearms as he sat down across from Joe. His weak smile was quickly dropped and the tone of his voice was now sharply hurried and reduced in volume.
"Joe, forgive my lack of manners but I don't want to keep those children waiting out there forever, and I'm hoping that we have some rather serious business to discuss first."
"Yes, Daron, yes. Frederic told me about your situation and what you needed, and told me to expect you and the children here, and it's just as he said. I have this document prepared for you." Joe pulled a long white envelope out from the inside of his coat and placed it on the table. A red insignia of wax sealed the opening. "It's a Certificate of Death for one Whitney Poole, having died on December 27 1835 and the signatures of the Baltimore Morgue Director and Baltimore City Clerk. A copy of this document is in their records and it can be found on their files on demand. We set that in place. And as I hope you can assume from my name - these documents are all genuine forgeries which are identical to the finest detail. The signatures they have and the forms written look exactly like other Death Certificates on file, and all we needed to do from there is give a tip to the Clerk's secretary to get it added to their records. The widow can open this to see it for herself, and if she demands to return to Baltimore yet again for more proof, she'll find it there. It's all done."
"Oh, what a relief, what an incredible relief." Daron wrung his hands coarsely over each other and felt as if a physical weight was lifted off of his shoulders. "I do not know how to thank you enough."
"Well, Daron, I think you can do so, though, yes. Yes, while I have indeed made something of a name for myself back in the city there, I had to keep my talents, uh, limited, you see? See, I know that if you give me a pen and a letter, I can copy it. But see, that means if you can give me a brush and a painting, I can copy it. I got that eye, and while all around me folks are buying up all kinds of art and using their paper money to buy all that art and everything else, nobody ever asked me to copy that kind of stuff before. They was all afraid, they was yes. They look at me and think I can't do it. Well, you give me a place to stay here with you, I can show you I can do it - and that'll help you out as much as anyone else here, wouldn't it? I think so, yes yes!"
"I suppose that is true, if you can indeed perform the task, Joe." Daron smiled outwardly but suddenly felt as if the weight that had just been lifted off of his shoulders was slowly sliding back onto his body. Everything he had here was thanks to stolen money, and now he faced a proposal to use counterfeit money as well. Was he doomed to forever use illegitimate means to sustain himself?
"So hello hello! You are Daron Hoobler then, yes yes? Your friend Frederic sent me here! I am glad to be here at last! It was a trial getting through that trail with a quickness over the mud and cold, it sure was. The name's Joe!" He shot his hand out with a stiff stretch and held it out in the air. Daron stood dumbly still for a moment before he blinked to attention and reciprocated the gesture. In Joe's grasp and shake, his hand felt like a limp noodle.
"Yes, I'm Daron, it's nice to meet you Mister Joe, uh - is that, uh, how you want to be addressed? I mean, do you have a last-"
"Yeah that's fine Daron! Yes. No I haven't really taken a last name, like a proper one. Some folk called me Joe the Mime or Joe Mime sometimes, but that was only a few of them." Joe's eyes trailed off to the side as he made mention of that fact, and quickly snapped back to look up to Daron after a brief pause. "But anyways we got a lot to talk about and I don't think yall wanna do it out here, do yas? No no, not here, no."
"Uh, right, yes. I can have the boy tend to your horse, then." Daron turned to walk over to the doorway of the cabin and leaned his body inside the room.
"The boy? What boy's that?"
"Jesse, c'mon and take the guest's ride up. We got some things to talk. Some things. And yeah, take them too. You all best bundle up." With the last sentences, he waved his arm to point at the two Poole children.
Joe politely stood in place and waited with Daron for the children to leave to enter the cabin.
"That there's Jesse, Saul, and Marian. None of them are my own."
"I was just gonna ask, ha ha! Nice to meet you, children! I'm Joe! Glad to be here." Jesse turned to wave and say hello as he walked over to the horse and proceeded to lead it by the reins to the barn. The two Poole children walked past Joe without any kind of response and quietly followed Jesse as he took the horse away. Daron waved an arm in a circle to invite Joe to follow him inside the cabin. Daron poured more coffee into the tin cup which he had previously used and placed it in front of Joe as he stretched his legs out under the table with an exasperated sigh of relief.
"Whew! Good lord I'm just not a rider, my ass gets all tensed up and my legs get all stiffed up just doin that for a day, I could never be a soldier I tell you, yes yes."
Daron pulled his chair back and leaned his body forward over the table upon his forearms as he sat down across from Joe. His weak smile was quickly dropped and the tone of his voice was now sharply hurried and reduced in volume.
"Joe, forgive my lack of manners but I don't want to keep those children waiting out there forever, and I'm hoping that we have some rather serious business to discuss first."
"Yes, Daron, yes. Frederic told me about your situation and what you needed, and told me to expect you and the children here, and it's just as he said. I have this document prepared for you." Joe pulled a long white envelope out from the inside of his coat and placed it on the table. A red insignia of wax sealed the opening. "It's a Certificate of Death for one Whitney Poole, having died on December 27 1835 and the signatures of the Baltimore Morgue Director and Baltimore City Clerk. A copy of this document is in their records and it can be found on their files on demand. We set that in place. And as I hope you can assume from my name - these documents are all genuine forgeries which are identical to the finest detail. The signatures they have and the forms written look exactly like other Death Certificates on file, and all we needed to do from there is give a tip to the Clerk's secretary to get it added to their records. The widow can open this to see it for herself, and if she demands to return to Baltimore yet again for more proof, she'll find it there. It's all done."
"Oh, what a relief, what an incredible relief." Daron wrung his hands coarsely over each other and felt as if a physical weight was lifted off of his shoulders. "I do not know how to thank you enough."
"Well, Daron, I think you can do so, though, yes. Yes, while I have indeed made something of a name for myself back in the city there, I had to keep my talents, uh, limited, you see? See, I know that if you give me a pen and a letter, I can copy it. But see, that means if you can give me a brush and a painting, I can copy it. I got that eye, and while all around me folks are buying up all kinds of art and using their paper money to buy all that art and everything else, nobody ever asked me to copy that kind of stuff before. They was all afraid, they was yes. They look at me and think I can't do it. Well, you give me a place to stay here with you, I can show you I can do it - and that'll help you out as much as anyone else here, wouldn't it? I think so, yes yes!"
"I suppose that is true, if you can indeed perform the task, Joe." Daron smiled outwardly but suddenly felt as if the weight that had just been lifted off of his shoulders was slowly sliding back onto his body. Everything he had here was thanks to stolen money, and now he faced a proposal to use counterfeit money as well. Was he doomed to forever use illegitimate means to sustain himself?
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
18370409 11:18:19
18370409 11:18:19
"Mister Reverend Tarro, would you care to choose a location for us to gather this sample? You may choose anywhere you like."
Doctor Garr Peterson extended his hand out to the Reverend as he made this offer, which compelled most of the other people in the crowd to turn to look at the preacher. The man winced with discomfort in response before speaking.
"I'm uh, I'm sure that my particular choice is not exactly required for your demonstration, and this may be something which is more suited to your expertise."
"To the contrary, Reverend, I ask you specifically to undertake this request as we stand in the shadow of your church and to demonstrate that our assertions are applicable everywhere within this fine town. Otherwise, if you insist on demurring, I can ask a person - a leader - like Mister Hoobler here to do select the location instead."
"Fine." The Reverend glared back at the Doctor, and kept his stare fixed. "Take the sample from where I presently stand. May it show that the Lord compelled me to stand there for this purpose."
"Excellent. Gentlemen, shall we?"
The two pairs of two men flanked at the Doctor's sides silently took up their stepstools and sledgehammers, and walked to form a circle around the spot where the Reverend had stood. Doctor Garr walked over with the metal pole and stood it up on end in the middle of the four men, and held it in position with his gloved hand. He now spoke louder so that he could be heard to the edge of the crowd around them.
"This painted stripe around this hollow pole here marks one yard. These men shall now drive this pole into the ground until this marking, and then pull it back out again."
With a nod from the Doctor as he held it steady, the men took to striking the top of the pole in sequence so that it could be driven down in rapid succession. The pole sunk into the ground to the desired length within a few minutes. The Doctor stepped away to allow the men to grasp the pole, and in half of the time it had taken to drive the pole into the earth, they had managed to twist and pull the pole out from the hole.
"Now, this sample shall be extracted by forcing it out from the bottom through the top."
The stepstools were situated to align in a row, and the pole was laid on top of them. A white sheet was placed on the ground at the top end in order to collect the soil. Two of the four men now followed their next instruction, as one held a solid metal rod at the plugged end of the pole while the other struck at it with the sledgehammer. After eight strikes, the soil was fully extracted from the pole and the soil fell out onto the sheet. While the two men did this, Doctor Garr pulled a cloth covered tray and laid it beside the sheet where the soil would land, then pulled the sheet away once it had fallen out. The sheet concealed another soil sample which had the same basic appearance as the one that was just extracted in front of the crowd.
"This is another sample that I had collected earlier, and you can see that the sample we have just obtained now is roughly the same. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the main limitation that is now imposed on your crop. This discoloration you can see and touch to feel at the bottom of both samples here is hardened soil and clay - materials in which no crops can take root to grow. Your current methods of tilling do not loosen this hard clay up enough to maximize your yields. When Doctor Kufo and myself realized this issue, we sought to create something which would remedy this situation, and what we have created I am happy to reveal to you all today." With a smile, Doctor Garr nodded to Doctor Kufo, and both men bent down to pick up opposite ends of the large white canvas tarp that covered their invention. The men pulled it down, and the device came into view. It stood about eight feet tall and had two large wooden triangle bases, with a circular axis that connected the bases at the top. In the middle of the axis, a long metal arm stretched out at an angle and held a very large metallic pick at its other end. A long length of rope was connected to the back of the pick's head, and other free lengths of rope were seen wrapped tightly around the bottom bases as well as coming from a hole within the center of the axis at the top. The crowd remained silent with the unveiling and looked upon the machine in curious apprehension.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what you see here is a device with which the soil can be tilled to the depth that will loosen that hardened soil and clay which is now deep under our feet. No till which is currently on the field or the market, no till which an ordinary man or team can use, will ever penetrate the earth deep enough to till this compressed and infertile soil. With this device, one team of men will be able to pull the blade down to dig up the earth at such depths, and another team uses the ropes found at the bases there to maintain stability and traction. These devices can be easily made and soon you will see dozens of these on your fields. This is the solution to your crop yields, right here!"
The tone among the crowd gradually became livelier, and Daron started to nod and applaud the two Doctors, which compelled others in the crowd to join in. Reverend Tarro stood with a grimace and his arms crossed.
"Mister Reverend Tarro, would you care to choose a location for us to gather this sample? You may choose anywhere you like."
Doctor Garr Peterson extended his hand out to the Reverend as he made this offer, which compelled most of the other people in the crowd to turn to look at the preacher. The man winced with discomfort in response before speaking.
"I'm uh, I'm sure that my particular choice is not exactly required for your demonstration, and this may be something which is more suited to your expertise."
"To the contrary, Reverend, I ask you specifically to undertake this request as we stand in the shadow of your church and to demonstrate that our assertions are applicable everywhere within this fine town. Otherwise, if you insist on demurring, I can ask a person - a leader - like Mister Hoobler here to do select the location instead."
"Fine." The Reverend glared back at the Doctor, and kept his stare fixed. "Take the sample from where I presently stand. May it show that the Lord compelled me to stand there for this purpose."
"Excellent. Gentlemen, shall we?"
The two pairs of two men flanked at the Doctor's sides silently took up their stepstools and sledgehammers, and walked to form a circle around the spot where the Reverend had stood. Doctor Garr walked over with the metal pole and stood it up on end in the middle of the four men, and held it in position with his gloved hand. He now spoke louder so that he could be heard to the edge of the crowd around them.
"This painted stripe around this hollow pole here marks one yard. These men shall now drive this pole into the ground until this marking, and then pull it back out again."
With a nod from the Doctor as he held it steady, the men took to striking the top of the pole in sequence so that it could be driven down in rapid succession. The pole sunk into the ground to the desired length within a few minutes. The Doctor stepped away to allow the men to grasp the pole, and in half of the time it had taken to drive the pole into the earth, they had managed to twist and pull the pole out from the hole.
"Now, this sample shall be extracted by forcing it out from the bottom through the top."
The stepstools were situated to align in a row, and the pole was laid on top of them. A white sheet was placed on the ground at the top end in order to collect the soil. Two of the four men now followed their next instruction, as one held a solid metal rod at the plugged end of the pole while the other struck at it with the sledgehammer. After eight strikes, the soil was fully extracted from the pole and the soil fell out onto the sheet. While the two men did this, Doctor Garr pulled a cloth covered tray and laid it beside the sheet where the soil would land, then pulled the sheet away once it had fallen out. The sheet concealed another soil sample which had the same basic appearance as the one that was just extracted in front of the crowd.
"This is another sample that I had collected earlier, and you can see that the sample we have just obtained now is roughly the same. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the main limitation that is now imposed on your crop. This discoloration you can see and touch to feel at the bottom of both samples here is hardened soil and clay - materials in which no crops can take root to grow. Your current methods of tilling do not loosen this hard clay up enough to maximize your yields. When Doctor Kufo and myself realized this issue, we sought to create something which would remedy this situation, and what we have created I am happy to reveal to you all today." With a smile, Doctor Garr nodded to Doctor Kufo, and both men bent down to pick up opposite ends of the large white canvas tarp that covered their invention. The men pulled it down, and the device came into view. It stood about eight feet tall and had two large wooden triangle bases, with a circular axis that connected the bases at the top. In the middle of the axis, a long metal arm stretched out at an angle and held a very large metallic pick at its other end. A long length of rope was connected to the back of the pick's head, and other free lengths of rope were seen wrapped tightly around the bottom bases as well as coming from a hole within the center of the axis at the top. The crowd remained silent with the unveiling and looked upon the machine in curious apprehension.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what you see here is a device with which the soil can be tilled to the depth that will loosen that hardened soil and clay which is now deep under our feet. No till which is currently on the field or the market, no till which an ordinary man or team can use, will ever penetrate the earth deep enough to till this compressed and infertile soil. With this device, one team of men will be able to pull the blade down to dig up the earth at such depths, and another team uses the ropes found at the bases there to maintain stability and traction. These devices can be easily made and soon you will see dozens of these on your fields. This is the solution to your crop yields, right here!"
The tone among the crowd gradually became livelier, and Daron started to nod and applaud the two Doctors, which compelled others in the crowd to join in. Reverend Tarro stood with a grimace and his arms crossed.
Monday, November 4, 2013
19180311 09:03:40
19180311 09:03:40
CQ-N-8257
William woke from sleep in feeling dull pain cover the right side of his face. He had somehow managed to sleep on that side of his body despite the bandages pressing into his head throughout his rest. With a sigh, he rolled his body upright and kept his eyes closed as he limply reached a hand up to gingerly touch the bandages, and confirmed that the wounds were still sensitive enough to that limited amount of pressure. His response to this realization was seething and annoyance; after succumbing to that attack, he was all the more resolved to improve his physical training and response time. Lounging in idle recovery would also give his mind a platform to brood over his defeat. To be forced to spend the next few days doing little other than being awake and eating was a dreadful prospect, and his mind raced to form a plan of what to do instead.
Two goals were instantly manifest. The first was to get out of the room and preferably out of the house, and to not lie or sit down while out of school. The second was to immediately start to learn how to use a weapon. The injury was proof enough to him - he didn't have the reflexes to dodge something as simple as a broken bottle being swung at his face, so relying on his own fists for the purpose of offense was something he now regarded as an assured failure. This immediately led to the next question of what weapon to use. At the present moment, his options were limited. Guns were outlawed. He wouldn't have access to any kind of bow or knife. The only item which he possessed that was a reasonable choice was a baseball bat. It would have to do. William sat up and pivoted his body to get out of bed, and walked over to the dresser to get some kind of clothing on so that he could go outside to the backyard. Once he was ready to go out, though, he knew that he would have to interact with his mother.
Mary looked over from her seat at the kitchen table to the hall as she heard the footsteps approach, and the soft smile on her face which she had upon seeing her son in front of her, healthy and alive, quickly changed to confusion as she realized that he was already dressed. She didn't like the implication.
"Hi Ma." William glanced at his mother briefly as he entered the room and turned her back to her as he faced the stove to get some coffee from the pot.
"What are you doing? You're not going anywhere."
"No, just outside." He pulled a kitchen chair away and sat at the table to face his mother with a mug of lukewarm black coffee in a plain white mug. "I can't just sit still in my room, or even in here. I'll go nuts. I'll need to keep myself busy."
"Well, maybe if anything you can help with doing some laundry washing and hanging, and pick up some-"
"Yeah, but I want to do some practice too."
"Practice with what?"
"A baseball bat."
"A ba- what? A bat? How?"
"Well, maybe, like, you'll throw rocks to me and I'll try to hit them."
"No way." Mary was as galled by the suggestion with how dryly her son made it. "You'll break a window in two seconds once you do that, if not one of my legs or my own head, Jesus. No, boy, the doctor said-"
"Ma, I can't just sit here. I can't. Don't you see that? I'll just think about it and keep thinking about it and it'll make me angrier and angrier."
"You'll look like a fool out there with gauze wrapped around your head and swinging a baseball bat at rocks that I throw at you. That is just ... weird."
"Fine, OK, I'll try to think of some way you can help. Or I'll try to do something by myself. Either way. And I'm only going to the backyard so it's not like most anyone will see me."
"Fine, fine." Mary let a heavy sigh come out as a half hearted groan as she folded the newspaper up and went to her room to put on some appropriate clothes. William tilted his head back to take in the remainder of the coffee in his mug in one gulp, then went back to the stove to pour another half cup and take that all in with a single swallow as well. Now he felt ready. After sitting down to tie his shoes, he went out of the house through the rear doorway and removed the baseball bat from the outdoor shed. William held the bat with both hands and extended it out in front of him as if he held a diving rod, then made a point to loosen and tighten the grip on the bat as a way to become acclimated to its weight in his hands. Then he brought the bat up to the baseball batter stance, holding the bat tightly and hovering over his shoulder, before squinting his eyes shut and swinging the bat with all of the power that he could channel into his arms. During the third such swing, he saw his mother step out of the house and stand still at the opposite side of the doorway as she watched William swing the bat.
"Good. I had an idea, then. What if I stand in front of you, and you toss some of those rocks there over my head, and I try to swing at those. That way you're not in front of it."
"All right, but just don't swing for the fences or something. Just try to hit this into the ground. Only thing worse than you breaking something of ours is to break something that isn't ours."
"Yes Ma, yes."
Mary sighed with more resignation than anger at this point, and bent over to pick up some of the light lava rocks which lined the rear wall of the house at the ground.
"All right, ready?"
"Yeah Ma. Go ahead."
She dipped her hand down and tossed a rock upwards in an easy underhanded lob. The rock went up in a high arc and came down inches in front of William's body, and he couldn't back away in time to get proper clearance to swing the bat.
"Go farther out."
Mary wound her hand back and threw the same as before, but releasing earlier to propel it more forward than upward. The arc was sufficiently large enough that William had enough time to take two steps forward and wind up before swinging. The attack connected, and the rock was drilled into the shed door with a loud strike.
CQ-N-8257
William woke from sleep in feeling dull pain cover the right side of his face. He had somehow managed to sleep on that side of his body despite the bandages pressing into his head throughout his rest. With a sigh, he rolled his body upright and kept his eyes closed as he limply reached a hand up to gingerly touch the bandages, and confirmed that the wounds were still sensitive enough to that limited amount of pressure. His response to this realization was seething and annoyance; after succumbing to that attack, he was all the more resolved to improve his physical training and response time. Lounging in idle recovery would also give his mind a platform to brood over his defeat. To be forced to spend the next few days doing little other than being awake and eating was a dreadful prospect, and his mind raced to form a plan of what to do instead.
Two goals were instantly manifest. The first was to get out of the room and preferably out of the house, and to not lie or sit down while out of school. The second was to immediately start to learn how to use a weapon. The injury was proof enough to him - he didn't have the reflexes to dodge something as simple as a broken bottle being swung at his face, so relying on his own fists for the purpose of offense was something he now regarded as an assured failure. This immediately led to the next question of what weapon to use. At the present moment, his options were limited. Guns were outlawed. He wouldn't have access to any kind of bow or knife. The only item which he possessed that was a reasonable choice was a baseball bat. It would have to do. William sat up and pivoted his body to get out of bed, and walked over to the dresser to get some kind of clothing on so that he could go outside to the backyard. Once he was ready to go out, though, he knew that he would have to interact with his mother.
Mary looked over from her seat at the kitchen table to the hall as she heard the footsteps approach, and the soft smile on her face which she had upon seeing her son in front of her, healthy and alive, quickly changed to confusion as she realized that he was already dressed. She didn't like the implication.
"Hi Ma." William glanced at his mother briefly as he entered the room and turned her back to her as he faced the stove to get some coffee from the pot.
"What are you doing? You're not going anywhere."
"No, just outside." He pulled a kitchen chair away and sat at the table to face his mother with a mug of lukewarm black coffee in a plain white mug. "I can't just sit still in my room, or even in here. I'll go nuts. I'll need to keep myself busy."
"Well, maybe if anything you can help with doing some laundry washing and hanging, and pick up some-"
"Yeah, but I want to do some practice too."
"Practice with what?"
"A baseball bat."
"A ba- what? A bat? How?"
"Well, maybe, like, you'll throw rocks to me and I'll try to hit them."
"No way." Mary was as galled by the suggestion with how dryly her son made it. "You'll break a window in two seconds once you do that, if not one of my legs or my own head, Jesus. No, boy, the doctor said-"
"Ma, I can't just sit here. I can't. Don't you see that? I'll just think about it and keep thinking about it and it'll make me angrier and angrier."
"You'll look like a fool out there with gauze wrapped around your head and swinging a baseball bat at rocks that I throw at you. That is just ... weird."
"Fine, OK, I'll try to think of some way you can help. Or I'll try to do something by myself. Either way. And I'm only going to the backyard so it's not like most anyone will see me."
"Fine, fine." Mary let a heavy sigh come out as a half hearted groan as she folded the newspaper up and went to her room to put on some appropriate clothes. William tilted his head back to take in the remainder of the coffee in his mug in one gulp, then went back to the stove to pour another half cup and take that all in with a single swallow as well. Now he felt ready. After sitting down to tie his shoes, he went out of the house through the rear doorway and removed the baseball bat from the outdoor shed. William held the bat with both hands and extended it out in front of him as if he held a diving rod, then made a point to loosen and tighten the grip on the bat as a way to become acclimated to its weight in his hands. Then he brought the bat up to the baseball batter stance, holding the bat tightly and hovering over his shoulder, before squinting his eyes shut and swinging the bat with all of the power that he could channel into his arms. During the third such swing, he saw his mother step out of the house and stand still at the opposite side of the doorway as she watched William swing the bat.
"Good. I had an idea, then. What if I stand in front of you, and you toss some of those rocks there over my head, and I try to swing at those. That way you're not in front of it."
"All right, but just don't swing for the fences or something. Just try to hit this into the ground. Only thing worse than you breaking something of ours is to break something that isn't ours."
"Yes Ma, yes."
Mary sighed with more resignation than anger at this point, and bent over to pick up some of the light lava rocks which lined the rear wall of the house at the ground.
"All right, ready?"
"Yeah Ma. Go ahead."
She dipped her hand down and tossed a rock upwards in an easy underhanded lob. The rock went up in a high arc and came down inches in front of William's body, and he couldn't back away in time to get proper clearance to swing the bat.
"Go farther out."
Mary wound her hand back and threw the same as before, but releasing earlier to propel it more forward than upward. The arc was sufficiently large enough that William had enough time to take two steps forward and wind up before swinging. The attack connected, and the rock was drilled into the shed door with a loud strike.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
19180309 11:44:20
19180309 11:44:20
DA-N-6000
The woman's yell was all that William Humeski needed to assess the situation, as it caused everything else around her to react in kind. He turned around to see a circle of space slowly form around the woman as she raised her hand to point at the door which was still open from the thief running through it. The gasps and staring by the surrounding people verified that the crime was committed. William had this kind of situation in his mind before, and he was waiting for it to come, hoping for it to come, so that he could prove his morals to others and himself. Time stood still long enough in his eyes to watch the static freeze of the onlookers and the yelling woman's mouth form each syllable of the words "Stop, thief!", and he knew that his time to act was right now.
He leaned his body forward to have his shoulder meet the glass pane of the doorway as he used his outstretched arms to push people out of the way for clearance. Once outside of the store, he quickly looked from side to side to see if he could find the runner, and the slowing walking pace of the pedestrians across the street and yelling by a few carriage and car drivers in the road gave him the guidance he sought. The thief was a small teenager who wore a black overcoat and matching hard shoes, and was running with enough speed and force to make his steps audibly cut through the dense shopping traffic. William decided to cut across the street at a diagonal and try to cut him off immediately. He rigidly held his hands as if to make them into two scalpels which pierced the air in front of his eyes as he exerted his maximum physical and mental effort to catch up to the runner. Each step was a dash off of the ball of his foot from the red worn bricks of the road, each breath came out of his mouth exactly as each alternate hand swept up to its apex. The gap between them was quickly closing, and spectators ahead of both of them were taking measures to be out of their way as they approached. The thief knew that he could make his way through an upcoming alley in a few feet, but was distracted by the sound of the approaching running coming from behind him, and in that realization, he made the mistake of turning to look behind himself. That moment of anxiety was enough for William to close in on the thief and make a lunge to wrap his arms around his waist. The tackle caused both of the boys to tumble and skid forward on the sidewalk and careen into a garbage can that was placed across the entrance to the adjacent grocery store. The thief released his grasp of the purse as the force of his collision against the can caused it to tip over and spill its contents onto the sidewalk as it tumbled and rolled. William positioned himself to roll the boy over and kneel on his body, then yelled out as he pulled his right arm back to strike at the thief's face. The thief reflexively responded by swinging his leg upward and kicking away at William's crotch. William's arms went limp and his yell was immediately muffled by the strike. This gave the thief enough time to look to his side and see an empty glass bottle on the ground, which he picked up after rolling upright upon his knees, then grasped at the neck to swing it at William's face. Some shattered fragments of glass glistened in the sunlight as they fell away from William's face, while others dug their edges into his flesh and tore bloody gashes into the side of his cheek and neck. William instinctively raised his left hand to press it against the cut flesh, but doing this caused some fine glass fragments to dig deeper into his face as well as his fingertips. William became dizzied and staggered in place as he attempted to regain focus in his attack, but the lapse in his offense was all the thief needed. Before William finished wiping his bloodied hand against the side of his body, the thief had already ran forward with his waist bent over so that he could knock William away and reach for the purse on the ground by his feet. The thief simply continued running forward with the purse in his hand and suddenly ran into a store at his right. William turned to see the thief go inside and began to move his legs forward to give chase, but his head reeled and the view of the street around him tilted to an angle and spun as he struggled to keep his eyes open and his body standing. He was soon forced to kneel upon the sidewalk as he held both of his hands up to his neck and felt warm liquid seep through his fingers. His breathing became more labored and his entire body soon started to tremble. A man from the nearby grocery store suddenly whipped the door open and stood to look at William as he knelt on the ground in pain, and only needed to take three steps forward to see the red liquid trickling from his bloodied hands. The man quickly went back inside and started to yell something, and the last thing that William remembered was trying to figure out what language the man was yelling.
The grocer, who yelled in Italian to his brother inside the store to call for police, soon returned to the sidewalk with a handful of white shirts and dashed over to William, who was now lying doubled over his knees with labored breath and was losing consciousness. The man reached knelt besides William and dropped the shirts at his side, then pulled William's hands away from his neck so that he could brush away the visible fragments of glass still embedded in the flesh. Then, he tied the white shirt around William's neck as tight as he felt he could make it to still allow him to breathe yet apply pressure to minimize the bleeding. He then gently helped reposition William so that he could lie prone upon his back on the sidewalk, and held his head up to cushion it with another shirt before releasing it from his hands. When he stood up and saw the several people who stood motionless and watching them nearby, he yelled "We called polizia!" out to them as he pointed four fingers to his own chest.
----
PS: Today marks the 100th entry into the Everstreets Draft blog. Thank you for reading.
DA-N-6000
The woman's yell was all that William Humeski needed to assess the situation, as it caused everything else around her to react in kind. He turned around to see a circle of space slowly form around the woman as she raised her hand to point at the door which was still open from the thief running through it. The gasps and staring by the surrounding people verified that the crime was committed. William had this kind of situation in his mind before, and he was waiting for it to come, hoping for it to come, so that he could prove his morals to others and himself. Time stood still long enough in his eyes to watch the static freeze of the onlookers and the yelling woman's mouth form each syllable of the words "Stop, thief!", and he knew that his time to act was right now.
He leaned his body forward to have his shoulder meet the glass pane of the doorway as he used his outstretched arms to push people out of the way for clearance. Once outside of the store, he quickly looked from side to side to see if he could find the runner, and the slowing walking pace of the pedestrians across the street and yelling by a few carriage and car drivers in the road gave him the guidance he sought. The thief was a small teenager who wore a black overcoat and matching hard shoes, and was running with enough speed and force to make his steps audibly cut through the dense shopping traffic. William decided to cut across the street at a diagonal and try to cut him off immediately. He rigidly held his hands as if to make them into two scalpels which pierced the air in front of his eyes as he exerted his maximum physical and mental effort to catch up to the runner. Each step was a dash off of the ball of his foot from the red worn bricks of the road, each breath came out of his mouth exactly as each alternate hand swept up to its apex. The gap between them was quickly closing, and spectators ahead of both of them were taking measures to be out of their way as they approached. The thief knew that he could make his way through an upcoming alley in a few feet, but was distracted by the sound of the approaching running coming from behind him, and in that realization, he made the mistake of turning to look behind himself. That moment of anxiety was enough for William to close in on the thief and make a lunge to wrap his arms around his waist. The tackle caused both of the boys to tumble and skid forward on the sidewalk and careen into a garbage can that was placed across the entrance to the adjacent grocery store. The thief released his grasp of the purse as the force of his collision against the can caused it to tip over and spill its contents onto the sidewalk as it tumbled and rolled. William positioned himself to roll the boy over and kneel on his body, then yelled out as he pulled his right arm back to strike at the thief's face. The thief reflexively responded by swinging his leg upward and kicking away at William's crotch. William's arms went limp and his yell was immediately muffled by the strike. This gave the thief enough time to look to his side and see an empty glass bottle on the ground, which he picked up after rolling upright upon his knees, then grasped at the neck to swing it at William's face. Some shattered fragments of glass glistened in the sunlight as they fell away from William's face, while others dug their edges into his flesh and tore bloody gashes into the side of his cheek and neck. William instinctively raised his left hand to press it against the cut flesh, but doing this caused some fine glass fragments to dig deeper into his face as well as his fingertips. William became dizzied and staggered in place as he attempted to regain focus in his attack, but the lapse in his offense was all the thief needed. Before William finished wiping his bloodied hand against the side of his body, the thief had already ran forward with his waist bent over so that he could knock William away and reach for the purse on the ground by his feet. The thief simply continued running forward with the purse in his hand and suddenly ran into a store at his right. William turned to see the thief go inside and began to move his legs forward to give chase, but his head reeled and the view of the street around him tilted to an angle and spun as he struggled to keep his eyes open and his body standing. He was soon forced to kneel upon the sidewalk as he held both of his hands up to his neck and felt warm liquid seep through his fingers. His breathing became more labored and his entire body soon started to tremble. A man from the nearby grocery store suddenly whipped the door open and stood to look at William as he knelt on the ground in pain, and only needed to take three steps forward to see the red liquid trickling from his bloodied hands. The man quickly went back inside and started to yell something, and the last thing that William remembered was trying to figure out what language the man was yelling.
The grocer, who yelled in Italian to his brother inside the store to call for police, soon returned to the sidewalk with a handful of white shirts and dashed over to William, who was now lying doubled over his knees with labored breath and was losing consciousness. The man reached knelt besides William and dropped the shirts at his side, then pulled William's hands away from his neck so that he could brush away the visible fragments of glass still embedded in the flesh. Then, he tied the white shirt around William's neck as tight as he felt he could make it to still allow him to breathe yet apply pressure to minimize the bleeding. He then gently helped reposition William so that he could lie prone upon his back on the sidewalk, and held his head up to cushion it with another shirt before releasing it from his hands. When he stood up and saw the several people who stood motionless and watching them nearby, he yelled "We called polizia!" out to them as he pointed four fingers to his own chest.
----
PS: Today marks the 100th entry into the Everstreets Draft blog. Thank you for reading.
Friday, November 1, 2013
19580218 10:00:00
19580218 10:00:00
HSF #101.0246
Doctor O12 reporting on initial completion of Consumer Project "EZ Cart".
Project completion has occurred three days before estimated time of completion and using five hundred bucks less than budgeted allocation. Special thanks is hereby made to Doctor W7 for his assistance in implementation of the signal detection of metal presence.
Dimension: The EZ Cart system is to be designed on a per model basis and is will not have an overall universal size; this is mostly due to the variance in trunk sizes among the various car models. Custom construction is also required for the retractable wheel legs, in order to ensure that the cart is at the proper height from the ground so that loading and removing the cart container requires no additional lifting by the user. Footprint for EZ Cart requires two boxed bases at the horizontal sides of the cart which may be up to four inches wide, but can be less. Additional space of three inches on the side of the cart compartment which is opposite of the lifting units is required for the retractable wheels.
Functionality: EZ Cart's supporting structure operates on a two button panel which is contained in a separately wired switch box and kept within the trunk. In the "off" state, the EZ Cart support arms are contained within the vehicle trunk and hold the cart in place. Switching to or from the "off" state will respectively contract or extend the EZ Cart arms. In removing the cart from the trunk, the EZ Cart arms will follow a predetermined path to first elevate the entire cart body to a certain height out of the trunk area (Z axis movement), then move the arms horizontally to position it out of the vehicle area (X axis movement). The arms will remain in this position until the switch is activated to return the EZ cart arms to the original "off" position, using a process which is the reverse of the procedure undertaken when the switch is activated "on". Folding latches on each arm will hold the cart in place as well as serve as one means with which the system will be able to detect that system operation is being conducted normally; in the "on" state, "off" cannot be activated until the latches are opened, and in the "off" state, "on" cannot be activated unless the latches are secured onto the cart.
Possibility for future improvements include ways for the arms to move other than one singular Z axis direction followed by one singular X axis direction. Telescoping retractable legs would also reduce effort required for use as well as ease construction costs for the necessity of making separate measurements on the basis of car model. An additional current limitation which either improvement could address is the present necessity for the vehicle to be on a level surface for ideal functionality.
Suggested marketing angles: Less wasted time compared to the manual unloading of items from a shopping cart to the trunk. Having a cart in hand ensured upon approach to the store. Having a cart which does not possibly have the contamination of other shoppers. Having a cart which the user can individually customize. Considering the potential limited market on the basis of required construction costs, these last two points may prove to be the most effective.
HSF #101.0246
Doctor O12 reporting on initial completion of Consumer Project "EZ Cart".
Project completion has occurred three days before estimated time of completion and using five hundred bucks less than budgeted allocation. Special thanks is hereby made to Doctor W7 for his assistance in implementation of the signal detection of metal presence.
Dimension: The EZ Cart system is to be designed on a per model basis and is will not have an overall universal size; this is mostly due to the variance in trunk sizes among the various car models. Custom construction is also required for the retractable wheel legs, in order to ensure that the cart is at the proper height from the ground so that loading and removing the cart container requires no additional lifting by the user. Footprint for EZ Cart requires two boxed bases at the horizontal sides of the cart which may be up to four inches wide, but can be less. Additional space of three inches on the side of the cart compartment which is opposite of the lifting units is required for the retractable wheels.
Functionality: EZ Cart's supporting structure operates on a two button panel which is contained in a separately wired switch box and kept within the trunk. In the "off" state, the EZ Cart support arms are contained within the vehicle trunk and hold the cart in place. Switching to or from the "off" state will respectively contract or extend the EZ Cart arms. In removing the cart from the trunk, the EZ Cart arms will follow a predetermined path to first elevate the entire cart body to a certain height out of the trunk area (Z axis movement), then move the arms horizontally to position it out of the vehicle area (X axis movement). The arms will remain in this position until the switch is activated to return the EZ cart arms to the original "off" position, using a process which is the reverse of the procedure undertaken when the switch is activated "on". Folding latches on each arm will hold the cart in place as well as serve as one means with which the system will be able to detect that system operation is being conducted normally; in the "on" state, "off" cannot be activated until the latches are opened, and in the "off" state, "on" cannot be activated unless the latches are secured onto the cart.
Possibility for future improvements include ways for the arms to move other than one singular Z axis direction followed by one singular X axis direction. Telescoping retractable legs would also reduce effort required for use as well as ease construction costs for the necessity of making separate measurements on the basis of car model. An additional current limitation which either improvement could address is the present necessity for the vehicle to be on a level surface for ideal functionality.
Suggested marketing angles: Less wasted time compared to the manual unloading of items from a shopping cart to the trunk. Having a cart in hand ensured upon approach to the store. Having a cart which does not possibly have the contamination of other shoppers. Having a cart which the user can individually customize. Considering the potential limited market on the basis of required construction costs, these last two points may prove to be the most effective.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
19380828 01:40:32
19380828 01:40:32
QH-N-5448
Her deliberation in opening the door and removing the key from the lock and her shoes from her feet was more for concern of her afflicted stability rather than ensuring that she didn't make too much noise. John was indeed audibly asleep, and his snores echoed from the upstairs bedroom down the stairwell with enough volume and contrast against the otherwise silent house to shock her senses into higher functionality. Other days, she would have become angry at having to endure such loudness, but today she merely softly laughed to herself as it reverberated in the foyer. Her ticket out of here had indeed arrived, though the date wasn't quite settled yet.
Helen walked over to the kitchen faucet in her bare feet and poured herself some water in a white coffee mug, then brought it to the table. She pinched the top of a seat with two fingers and lightly pulled it away so that she could finally sit down and stretch her legs out while finally being off of her feet.
This gave her time to recollect everything that had happened at the cast party.
Davenport. Carl Davenport was his name. The owner of Arcadia, where they were playing, and a few others. Did he say he had the new Aurora on O and 60th as well? She knew it to be a huge hall, and didn't recall anyone else's name being mentioned as the owner. Whatever. Carl was who got Peter Mullins into the business. Carl held these places because he had an eye for the talent - so why shouldn't he have taken notice of herself? There was a gold band on his right hand, but he rarely kept it out in the open and it was plain. So that means that he's probably had it a while - well, that or it's something that was handed down from a prior generation to him for his use. Hopefully the latter was the case, though taking care of the former probably wouldn't be too much of an issue. Especially with how he kept looking over to her when she broke off to take trips to the bathroom. He didn't seem to do that with anyone else there, not that she thought that there really was much of an arguable better choice. No, it seemed pretty clear that she'd be able to get him tamed if she wanted, but that would have to wait. She wasn't going to succumb to the will of some senior, even if he wasn't that bad looking, just to become an easy lay and yet another whore earmarked in his book for him to recall once in a blue moon. Carl owned property. Carl owned people. Now was no better chance for her to become not merely another item marked as owned on his list - it was time for her to become a co-owner. How soon? Well, probably some time after the play ends its first week or half-month run, hopefully enough profit is shown that she can catch him on his good graces. As long as that happens, all she'd have to do is play up how it was all possible thanks to him. It would be as simple as stroking the ego. Otherwise, she'd have to have a plan in place if things happen to go south with the production. Maybe she'll get someone fired on the pretense that it was that person's poor work which held it all down. She mused at the thought of using that lien of logic to be about to oust Elisa from the production.
After making that contemplation, she looked around the kitchen and noticed that she began to feel a bit of pity for John. As far as she could tell, he was as faithful to her as he was supportive, and he was able to maintain this small house on his own earnings before she moved in, so it's not like he was a complete bum. She could easily think of worse people to be with and places to be. But she had now considered that this station in her life had served its purpose and that it was time to move on. The thought of settling down with a daily laborer like John, someone who suffered in the daily grind only to wake up and come home and drink a few beers and repeat the next day, someone who really didn't have the eye or ear for the finer arts, someone who had no desire for or understanding of a night life; she felt that these were all fine things for a woman who was less than her. That's the kind of man who might be a halfway decent father to a few children, and that's the kind of man that she had no interest in remaining with for the rest of her life. If she had any doubt about it, all she had to do was close her eyes and listen to the snoring.
QH-N-5448
Her deliberation in opening the door and removing the key from the lock and her shoes from her feet was more for concern of her afflicted stability rather than ensuring that she didn't make too much noise. John was indeed audibly asleep, and his snores echoed from the upstairs bedroom down the stairwell with enough volume and contrast against the otherwise silent house to shock her senses into higher functionality. Other days, she would have become angry at having to endure such loudness, but today she merely softly laughed to herself as it reverberated in the foyer. Her ticket out of here had indeed arrived, though the date wasn't quite settled yet.
Helen walked over to the kitchen faucet in her bare feet and poured herself some water in a white coffee mug, then brought it to the table. She pinched the top of a seat with two fingers and lightly pulled it away so that she could finally sit down and stretch her legs out while finally being off of her feet.
This gave her time to recollect everything that had happened at the cast party.
Davenport. Carl Davenport was his name. The owner of Arcadia, where they were playing, and a few others. Did he say he had the new Aurora on O and 60th as well? She knew it to be a huge hall, and didn't recall anyone else's name being mentioned as the owner. Whatever. Carl was who got Peter Mullins into the business. Carl held these places because he had an eye for the talent - so why shouldn't he have taken notice of herself? There was a gold band on his right hand, but he rarely kept it out in the open and it was plain. So that means that he's probably had it a while - well, that or it's something that was handed down from a prior generation to him for his use. Hopefully the latter was the case, though taking care of the former probably wouldn't be too much of an issue. Especially with how he kept looking over to her when she broke off to take trips to the bathroom. He didn't seem to do that with anyone else there, not that she thought that there really was much of an arguable better choice. No, it seemed pretty clear that she'd be able to get him tamed if she wanted, but that would have to wait. She wasn't going to succumb to the will of some senior, even if he wasn't that bad looking, just to become an easy lay and yet another whore earmarked in his book for him to recall once in a blue moon. Carl owned property. Carl owned people. Now was no better chance for her to become not merely another item marked as owned on his list - it was time for her to become a co-owner. How soon? Well, probably some time after the play ends its first week or half-month run, hopefully enough profit is shown that she can catch him on his good graces. As long as that happens, all she'd have to do is play up how it was all possible thanks to him. It would be as simple as stroking the ego. Otherwise, she'd have to have a plan in place if things happen to go south with the production. Maybe she'll get someone fired on the pretense that it was that person's poor work which held it all down. She mused at the thought of using that lien of logic to be about to oust Elisa from the production.
After making that contemplation, she looked around the kitchen and noticed that she began to feel a bit of pity for John. As far as she could tell, he was as faithful to her as he was supportive, and he was able to maintain this small house on his own earnings before she moved in, so it's not like he was a complete bum. She could easily think of worse people to be with and places to be. But she had now considered that this station in her life had served its purpose and that it was time to move on. The thought of settling down with a daily laborer like John, someone who suffered in the daily grind only to wake up and come home and drink a few beers and repeat the next day, someone who really didn't have the eye or ear for the finer arts, someone who had no desire for or understanding of a night life; she felt that these were all fine things for a woman who was less than her. That's the kind of man who might be a halfway decent father to a few children, and that's the kind of man that she had no interest in remaining with for the rest of her life. If she had any doubt about it, all she had to do was close her eyes and listen to the snoring.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
18740512 22:02:33
(note - previous entry dated 18640512 06:44:19 has been revised to 18740512 06:44:19)
18740512 22:02:33
LA-N-0800
"Mister Isaac Garrey is requesting to see you now."
"Oh, now he shows up? All right then." Carbondale nodded to the waitress and flipped his hand upward and away from his body. She dutifully turned away and went to summon the gentleman to the table. "Keep en eye up. There was some pressure earlier today."
"Oh, this was the wagon?" Venedy positioned the hilt of his sheathed sword against the side of his lap after asking. Carbondale nodded silently in response.
Isaac Garrey walked over to the table in stiffly exaggerated steps and swings of his arms. His hat was still on his head, and his face formed a frown with enough strength to cast shadows over half of it under the dim light of the room. Carbondale extended a palm to motion to the open chair across from where he was seated, but Isaac remained standing as he spoke out.
"You had no right to do that. None!"
Carbondale tilted his head to his side and narrowed his eyes as he stabbed his opened hand to the chair twice more. Issac became agitated enough to contort his head from side to side as he murmured an angry mumble of words and pulled the chair back enough for him to sit at the table.
"Take your hat off and relax. Show some respect." Venedy kept his body otherwise motionless and his stare upon Isaac as he issued the command.
"You. You listen to me." Isaac curled his hat into his fist and threw it upon the side of the table in front of him. "That boy, he was a good kid. I just took him on a few months ago. I watched him grow up for the last ten years. His parents, that family. They were with me that long. The look on their faces as they asked me about their son."
"Look. Let's start from the beginning." Carbondale placed the cigar he held between his fingertips at the side of the ashtray in the middle of the table before continuing to speak. "You're talking about your delivery driver Matthew right? The eighteen year old man, right? Not a boy?"
"Yes, him, yes."
"OK. Now, what did his parents ask you about? What did they say about his son?"
"They. They asked me if I had heard the same thing that the police told them, that Matthew was missing."
"Missing, yes. That's what I thought. So maybe-"
"No, cut the bullshit. He ain't missing. He's gone. You know it, and I know it."
"I know it? Isaac - no, I don't know it. I don't know it at all. Do you know it?" Carbondale turned his head to his left to ask this of Venedy, and he silently shook his head in response. "What's your proof? Did you go to the morgue? Did you see a report of deceased persons for the day?"
"No, I didn't, but-"
"And the wagon you're missing. Did you see that at all? That might have some evidence of a kind of incident that you're implying. Did you see that at all?"
"No! But God damn it-"
"So this is what we have, here. You come to me saying that something has happened to someone - and that I was somehow responsible for this thing to have happened, and you have no proof at all that any such thing happened, nor that I caused it to happen. So now let me ask - what are you doing here?" Carbondale took the cigar from the ashtray and imbibed an amount of smoke large enough to coat the whole area of the table as he breathed out. "Why are you wasting my time with this shit?"
"This is rich, this is fucking rich." Isaac laughed out loud as he shook his head. "How can you look me in the face and just lie, lie, lie through your teeth like that?"
"Hm, y'know what? That's the same question I asked myself all these times when I asked for you to pay off your juice. The same fucking question."
"I told you! How many times did I tell you that I was good for-"
"No, how about this - you wanna know the answer to that question? How I'm able to lie to you? It's the same answer for how you were able to lie to those parents you just talked about, when they came to you. There's your answer."
"What? I was fully honest with them. They asked me if I knew their son to be missing and I said I didn't know."
"I'm sure you did, Isaac. But that's not what you told me as you sat down here. You told me that you did know what happened to him, didn't you."
"But, well, yeah, but I-"
"All right then. I'm glad we got that settled. Can we next get to settling your debt to me, then? When can we do that?"
18740512 22:02:33
LA-N-0800
"Mister Isaac Garrey is requesting to see you now."
"Oh, now he shows up? All right then." Carbondale nodded to the waitress and flipped his hand upward and away from his body. She dutifully turned away and went to summon the gentleman to the table. "Keep en eye up. There was some pressure earlier today."
"Oh, this was the wagon?" Venedy positioned the hilt of his sheathed sword against the side of his lap after asking. Carbondale nodded silently in response.
Isaac Garrey walked over to the table in stiffly exaggerated steps and swings of his arms. His hat was still on his head, and his face formed a frown with enough strength to cast shadows over half of it under the dim light of the room. Carbondale extended a palm to motion to the open chair across from where he was seated, but Isaac remained standing as he spoke out.
"You had no right to do that. None!"
Carbondale tilted his head to his side and narrowed his eyes as he stabbed his opened hand to the chair twice more. Issac became agitated enough to contort his head from side to side as he murmured an angry mumble of words and pulled the chair back enough for him to sit at the table.
"Take your hat off and relax. Show some respect." Venedy kept his body otherwise motionless and his stare upon Isaac as he issued the command.
"You. You listen to me." Isaac curled his hat into his fist and threw it upon the side of the table in front of him. "That boy, he was a good kid. I just took him on a few months ago. I watched him grow up for the last ten years. His parents, that family. They were with me that long. The look on their faces as they asked me about their son."
"Look. Let's start from the beginning." Carbondale placed the cigar he held between his fingertips at the side of the ashtray in the middle of the table before continuing to speak. "You're talking about your delivery driver Matthew right? The eighteen year old man, right? Not a boy?"
"Yes, him, yes."
"OK. Now, what did his parents ask you about? What did they say about his son?"
"They. They asked me if I had heard the same thing that the police told them, that Matthew was missing."
"Missing, yes. That's what I thought. So maybe-"
"No, cut the bullshit. He ain't missing. He's gone. You know it, and I know it."
"I know it? Isaac - no, I don't know it. I don't know it at all. Do you know it?" Carbondale turned his head to his left to ask this of Venedy, and he silently shook his head in response. "What's your proof? Did you go to the morgue? Did you see a report of deceased persons for the day?"
"No, I didn't, but-"
"And the wagon you're missing. Did you see that at all? That might have some evidence of a kind of incident that you're implying. Did you see that at all?"
"No! But God damn it-"
"So this is what we have, here. You come to me saying that something has happened to someone - and that I was somehow responsible for this thing to have happened, and you have no proof at all that any such thing happened, nor that I caused it to happen. So now let me ask - what are you doing here?" Carbondale took the cigar from the ashtray and imbibed an amount of smoke large enough to coat the whole area of the table as he breathed out. "Why are you wasting my time with this shit?"
"This is rich, this is fucking rich." Isaac laughed out loud as he shook his head. "How can you look me in the face and just lie, lie, lie through your teeth like that?"
"Hm, y'know what? That's the same question I asked myself all these times when I asked for you to pay off your juice. The same fucking question."
"I told you! How many times did I tell you that I was good for-"
"No, how about this - you wanna know the answer to that question? How I'm able to lie to you? It's the same answer for how you were able to lie to those parents you just talked about, when they came to you. There's your answer."
"What? I was fully honest with them. They asked me if I knew their son to be missing and I said I didn't know."
"I'm sure you did, Isaac. But that's not what you told me as you sat down here. You told me that you did know what happened to him, didn't you."
"But, well, yeah, but I-"
"All right then. I'm glad we got that settled. Can we next get to settling your debt to me, then? When can we do that?"
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
18740512 06:44:19
18740512 06:44:19
North 84th Street, Q block, eastbound
When he saw the freight wagon approaching, Exeter instinctively turned his back to the roadway and nodded his head downward as he went through the motions to tend to his horse. With that temporary glance, he was able to confirm that the rider was indeed a younger man, something of a teenager, and that he was taking his time in bringing the shipment to Garrey's Wholesale. Once it was close enough for him to hear it, the pace of the horse was a light trot which was no faster than a heartbeat, and the wagon's wheels creaked along in its wake. Once it had fully past him, Exeter looked around the street to see what kind of crowd he would have to keep in mind, and saw that there were few other people in the open at this point of the morning. He let a few more moments pass before he removed the horse's tether from the post and climbed into the saddle. A sharp click from his mouth compelled the horse to back up, and his hand on the girdle directed it to curve out and eventually face the freight wagon. He brought the horse to a pause, and took the moment of stasis to gather his wits. He would have one chance to get this to work, and that chance was better to do before he would be in the middle of the next intersection with QA street.
Exeter kicked the sides of his heels into the horse's body and smacked its hide with his sheathed sword. The horse sprang forward and dashed as quickly as its legs could muster. Exeter commanded the sword to appear and the sheathing folded around and curled into the blade. He held the sword against his body with the point facing to his left, and he approached the wagon from its left side. The distance between the quickly shrank, and Exeter flexed his grip around the sword as he approached the front of the wagon. Finally, he was within sight of the seat and looked to his right; in the brief moment that their eyes made contact, he saw the young man staring back at him. Exeter swung his right arm to his right. The sword cleanly cut through the man's neck and left a trail of blood specks on the blade which dripped onto the rear quarters of the horse as he finished the swing.
Both horses came to a sudden stop with a noisy protest coming from Exeter's ride as he snapped the reins back with his left hand and resheathed the sword with his right. He quickly dismounted, dashed to the saddlebag, and withdrew the two garment bags from within. He walked over to the stopped wagon and noticed that the man's head had managed to fall to the ground, and was laying near the footstep to the riding cab where his headless body was lying in a sunken heap towards the center of the compartment. Exeter gingerly picked the head up by a tuft of hair that he could grasp with his fingers and tossed it upwards towards the body before he climbed aboard. The head spun in the air which caused the hair to flail out before it landed on top of the body. Exeter wasted no time in placing the first garment bag at the feet of the fallen man and curled the opening of the sack around its feet so that he could make quick work of wrapping the bag around the body, and eventually managed to do so after taking some moments to pause and sharply pull at the opening of the bag to force the body to collect itself inside. Once the body and head were fully within the first bag, he opened the second bag to wrap around the top of it and stabbed his fingers around the body's weight to complete the concealment. Exeter looked to the bottom of the bag and saw no pool of blood dripping through the floor of the cab or collecting at the body's feet. He assumed that the towels that he had placed in bags beforehand were doing their job to contain the leaking blood, but he wasn't about to inspect his handiwork to confirm that suspicion. He stepped down from the cab and went over to his horse; after a pat on its head and a scratch behind the ears, which he did with the back of his hand rather than the blood soaked fingertips, he pointed to its rear and called out "Go!". The horse followed the command and went about to return from the post where they were at just earlier.
Exeter resumed his seat inside the cab of the freight wagon and looked around in front of him as he prepared to take control. He noticed two men who were visible in the open; one was directly in front of him at the same side of the road and in front of a store, and another was across the road to his left. Both of the men turned their heads away once they noticed that he was looking at them. Exeter also took a moment to inspect the windows of the upper floors of the buildings within sight and didn't notice anyone standing to spectate or any curtains which were out of position. He looked to his side and noticed a streak of blood had splattered on the front facing of the wagon; in response, he tugged at the top garment bag and wiped the blood around until it had smeared into a faint swirl that was not easily visible despite the white coat of paint lying underneath.
North 84th Street, Q block, eastbound
When he saw the freight wagon approaching, Exeter instinctively turned his back to the roadway and nodded his head downward as he went through the motions to tend to his horse. With that temporary glance, he was able to confirm that the rider was indeed a younger man, something of a teenager, and that he was taking his time in bringing the shipment to Garrey's Wholesale. Once it was close enough for him to hear it, the pace of the horse was a light trot which was no faster than a heartbeat, and the wagon's wheels creaked along in its wake. Once it had fully past him, Exeter looked around the street to see what kind of crowd he would have to keep in mind, and saw that there were few other people in the open at this point of the morning. He let a few more moments pass before he removed the horse's tether from the post and climbed into the saddle. A sharp click from his mouth compelled the horse to back up, and his hand on the girdle directed it to curve out and eventually face the freight wagon. He brought the horse to a pause, and took the moment of stasis to gather his wits. He would have one chance to get this to work, and that chance was better to do before he would be in the middle of the next intersection with QA street.
Exeter kicked the sides of his heels into the horse's body and smacked its hide with his sheathed sword. The horse sprang forward and dashed as quickly as its legs could muster. Exeter commanded the sword to appear and the sheathing folded around and curled into the blade. He held the sword against his body with the point facing to his left, and he approached the wagon from its left side. The distance between the quickly shrank, and Exeter flexed his grip around the sword as he approached the front of the wagon. Finally, he was within sight of the seat and looked to his right; in the brief moment that their eyes made contact, he saw the young man staring back at him. Exeter swung his right arm to his right. The sword cleanly cut through the man's neck and left a trail of blood specks on the blade which dripped onto the rear quarters of the horse as he finished the swing.
Both horses came to a sudden stop with a noisy protest coming from Exeter's ride as he snapped the reins back with his left hand and resheathed the sword with his right. He quickly dismounted, dashed to the saddlebag, and withdrew the two garment bags from within. He walked over to the stopped wagon and noticed that the man's head had managed to fall to the ground, and was laying near the footstep to the riding cab where his headless body was lying in a sunken heap towards the center of the compartment. Exeter gingerly picked the head up by a tuft of hair that he could grasp with his fingers and tossed it upwards towards the body before he climbed aboard. The head spun in the air which caused the hair to flail out before it landed on top of the body. Exeter wasted no time in placing the first garment bag at the feet of the fallen man and curled the opening of the sack around its feet so that he could make quick work of wrapping the bag around the body, and eventually managed to do so after taking some moments to pause and sharply pull at the opening of the bag to force the body to collect itself inside. Once the body and head were fully within the first bag, he opened the second bag to wrap around the top of it and stabbed his fingers around the body's weight to complete the concealment. Exeter looked to the bottom of the bag and saw no pool of blood dripping through the floor of the cab or collecting at the body's feet. He assumed that the towels that he had placed in bags beforehand were doing their job to contain the leaking blood, but he wasn't about to inspect his handiwork to confirm that suspicion. He stepped down from the cab and went over to his horse; after a pat on its head and a scratch behind the ears, which he did with the back of his hand rather than the blood soaked fingertips, he pointed to its rear and called out "Go!". The horse followed the command and went about to return from the post where they were at just earlier.
Exeter resumed his seat inside the cab of the freight wagon and looked around in front of him as he prepared to take control. He noticed two men who were visible in the open; one was directly in front of him at the same side of the road and in front of a store, and another was across the road to his left. Both of the men turned their heads away once they noticed that he was looking at them. Exeter also took a moment to inspect the windows of the upper floors of the buildings within sight and didn't notice anyone standing to spectate or any curtains which were out of position. He looked to his side and noticed a streak of blood had splattered on the front facing of the wagon; in response, he tugged at the top garment bag and wiped the blood around until it had smeared into a faint swirl that was not easily visible despite the white coat of paint lying underneath.
Monday, October 28, 2013
19200917 20:12:53
19200917 20:12:53
PV-S-7035
Thomas Naragansett watched the fire curl around the glowing logs in the pit and sighed in boredom. Around the fire, the mothers sat, some with infant children held close to their bodies, as they faced each other and spoke of their children's progress in school or news that they've heard about the horrific Wall Street Bombing. The other children seemed to be more captivated by the fire itself, and entertained themselves by holding sticks into the flame until they were glowing red so that they could swing it around in the air, or attempting to roast a marshmallow in the flames. All while this was happening, Thomas sat and silently spectated it all alone. He looked back towards the house, then turned away to look over to the garage and saw his father standing there with a few other men as they stood in a circle around a car within the interior. It was a 1920 Ford Model T Roadster. He figured that he had nothing better to do while he was there and decided to get up and approach the four men at the garage. When he was within a few feet of the car, his footstep landed upon a fallen tree branch which snapped under his weight; the sound caused one of the men to snap his head towards Thomas in surprise. The initial look of shock quickly changed to an earnest smile when he saw the child approaching and spoke out to him.
"Hey Tom, what's up? Fire too hot for ya?" The man who asked this was their next door neighbor, Chris Renault.
"Eh, too dull."
"Dull?" Chris blinked twice, then turned to call out to Thomas's father. "Stan, your kid thinks a fire pit is dull, you hear that? I ain't never heard a kid say that before. I didn't when I was his age."
"Yeah, maybe he just wants us to toss some gas on there or something, that'll light things up, right?"
The other men laughed in response, and Thomas grinned nervously and turned his gaze to the ground.
"Say, Stan, how about we put your theorem to the test, eh?"
"What's that, Chris?"
"What you said about the new locks on the Roadster here."
"Oh.. uh, hm. Yeah, y'know what, why not? C'mere, and take this." Stan gestured to his son to walk over to the side of the car while he walked to the front of the vehicle, where a metal tool was lying upon its side. Stan snapped the tool up into his hands and walked over to Thomas to hand it to him as they stood at the side of the car.
"All right, so here." Stan opened the door, reached inside to slide the lock down, then slammed the door shut. He pulled at the handle to ensure that the door was locked tightly closed. "Now, take that, and slide it down at the window there, side it down into the door, and reach for the lock handle. Once you feel it catch, you can pull up and open the door, just like that. Try it."
"Um, all right." Thomas cautiously guided the tool upwards with one hand grabbing under the other until just the tip of it hung beneath his dual handed grip. He felt the tension increase within his body as his father and the other men watched intently as he positioned the tool against the car door window. He placed the metallic edge against the side of the window and began to slide down, but had to correct himself a few times before the thin edge was wedged between the surface of the glass and the rubber liner which held the window in place. Thomas gently guided the tool to slide down into the car and then tried to pull upwards with it after sending it downward for a few lengths. When he pulled up, the sound of scraping came from an area above the handle.
"Just a bit more." Stan's words of assurance was coolly confident. "Get under the handle so that you can pull up on the mechanism. You'll feel it in your fingers when the tool has it in place."
Thomas silently nodded and resumed sending the tip of the tool further down into the inside of the car door, and felt resistance against his pushing within a few moments. He instinctively tilted the tool to compel the tip to slide further down at an angle, and straightened himself out once he had the freedom to continue the push for a few more inches. He slowly pulled up until he heard the tip click against something within the door. Thomas hesitated for a moment, then pulled the tool upward with a sharp draw. There was a different kind of click which came within the door as the tool traveled upward only a small distance. Stan reached over his son's shoulder to press the button on the door handle, and pulled at the door. It opened. Thomas smiled warmly as the other men cheered at his success.
PV-S-7035
Thomas Naragansett watched the fire curl around the glowing logs in the pit and sighed in boredom. Around the fire, the mothers sat, some with infant children held close to their bodies, as they faced each other and spoke of their children's progress in school or news that they've heard about the horrific Wall Street Bombing. The other children seemed to be more captivated by the fire itself, and entertained themselves by holding sticks into the flame until they were glowing red so that they could swing it around in the air, or attempting to roast a marshmallow in the flames. All while this was happening, Thomas sat and silently spectated it all alone. He looked back towards the house, then turned away to look over to the garage and saw his father standing there with a few other men as they stood in a circle around a car within the interior. It was a 1920 Ford Model T Roadster. He figured that he had nothing better to do while he was there and decided to get up and approach the four men at the garage. When he was within a few feet of the car, his footstep landed upon a fallen tree branch which snapped under his weight; the sound caused one of the men to snap his head towards Thomas in surprise. The initial look of shock quickly changed to an earnest smile when he saw the child approaching and spoke out to him.
"Hey Tom, what's up? Fire too hot for ya?" The man who asked this was their next door neighbor, Chris Renault.
"Eh, too dull."
"Dull?" Chris blinked twice, then turned to call out to Thomas's father. "Stan, your kid thinks a fire pit is dull, you hear that? I ain't never heard a kid say that before. I didn't when I was his age."
"Yeah, maybe he just wants us to toss some gas on there or something, that'll light things up, right?"
The other men laughed in response, and Thomas grinned nervously and turned his gaze to the ground.
"Say, Stan, how about we put your theorem to the test, eh?"
"What's that, Chris?"
"What you said about the new locks on the Roadster here."
"Oh.. uh, hm. Yeah, y'know what, why not? C'mere, and take this." Stan gestured to his son to walk over to the side of the car while he walked to the front of the vehicle, where a metal tool was lying upon its side. Stan snapped the tool up into his hands and walked over to Thomas to hand it to him as they stood at the side of the car.
"All right, so here." Stan opened the door, reached inside to slide the lock down, then slammed the door shut. He pulled at the handle to ensure that the door was locked tightly closed. "Now, take that, and slide it down at the window there, side it down into the door, and reach for the lock handle. Once you feel it catch, you can pull up and open the door, just like that. Try it."
"Um, all right." Thomas cautiously guided the tool upwards with one hand grabbing under the other until just the tip of it hung beneath his dual handed grip. He felt the tension increase within his body as his father and the other men watched intently as he positioned the tool against the car door window. He placed the metallic edge against the side of the window and began to slide down, but had to correct himself a few times before the thin edge was wedged between the surface of the glass and the rubber liner which held the window in place. Thomas gently guided the tool to slide down into the car and then tried to pull upwards with it after sending it downward for a few lengths. When he pulled up, the sound of scraping came from an area above the handle.
"Just a bit more." Stan's words of assurance was coolly confident. "Get under the handle so that you can pull up on the mechanism. You'll feel it in your fingers when the tool has it in place."
Thomas silently nodded and resumed sending the tip of the tool further down into the inside of the car door, and felt resistance against his pushing within a few moments. He instinctively tilted the tool to compel the tip to slide further down at an angle, and straightened himself out once he had the freedom to continue the push for a few more inches. He slowly pulled up until he heard the tip click against something within the door. Thomas hesitated for a moment, then pulled the tool upward with a sharp draw. There was a different kind of click which came within the door as the tool traveled upward only a small distance. Stan reached over his son's shoulder to press the button on the door handle, and pulled at the door. It opened. Thomas smiled warmly as the other men cheered at his success.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
18580301 10:00:00
18580301 10:00:00
HSF #1.0065
D1 reporting progress on weaponry request. A telescoping facsimile of the Starr carbine has been achieved, in respect only of contraction of the barrel - the fully extended length of 21 inches can now be contracted to a dimension of 2.5 inches with the activation of a trigger. The resultant net difference in weapon length is 37.5 inches unaltered, and 19 inches contracted. Trials of 100 rounds fired with the rifle with contraction and protraction activated after each shot has yielded acceptable results with no degradation of performance which is significantly different than the control unaltered Starr carbine.
While the target has been achieved within the projected time frame and the reduction of weapon length is significant, it is of our opinion that this device is not presently advantageous over the unaltered rifle. The firing mechanism still requires each shot to be individually loaded by hand with the paper cartridge system, which essentially nullifies the utility of this weapon beyond a single shot. The present weapon also retains its shoulder support in its original state, which also severely reduces its efficacy in being an object which can be concealed. P3 suggests a telescoping shoulder support to be developed if this weapon is to be requested for further development. Further research and design would be desirable to make the fully contracted rifle take an appearance of something which resembles another tangible item; the current most common suggestion, on the basis of the contracted rifle's physical dimension and property (both current and proposed), is to have the object take the form of a tin can, as is used for food preservation.
A similar telescoping mechanism was attempted with a prototyped Remington New Model, which was forged on the basis of leaked production information, but the reduction of barrel length was not as significant; its 8 inch barrel length could also only be reduced to 2.5 inches, which would result in the entire handgun having a length of 8 inches. In our opinion, this reduction is not a particularly significant reduction of weapon length.
HSF #1.0065
D1 reporting progress on weaponry request. A telescoping facsimile of the Starr carbine has been achieved, in respect only of contraction of the barrel - the fully extended length of 21 inches can now be contracted to a dimension of 2.5 inches with the activation of a trigger. The resultant net difference in weapon length is 37.5 inches unaltered, and 19 inches contracted. Trials of 100 rounds fired with the rifle with contraction and protraction activated after each shot has yielded acceptable results with no degradation of performance which is significantly different than the control unaltered Starr carbine.
While the target has been achieved within the projected time frame and the reduction of weapon length is significant, it is of our opinion that this device is not presently advantageous over the unaltered rifle. The firing mechanism still requires each shot to be individually loaded by hand with the paper cartridge system, which essentially nullifies the utility of this weapon beyond a single shot. The present weapon also retains its shoulder support in its original state, which also severely reduces its efficacy in being an object which can be concealed. P3 suggests a telescoping shoulder support to be developed if this weapon is to be requested for further development. Further research and design would be desirable to make the fully contracted rifle take an appearance of something which resembles another tangible item; the current most common suggestion, on the basis of the contracted rifle's physical dimension and property (both current and proposed), is to have the object take the form of a tin can, as is used for food preservation.
A similar telescoping mechanism was attempted with a prototyped Remington New Model, which was forged on the basis of leaked production information, but the reduction of barrel length was not as significant; its 8 inch barrel length could also only be reduced to 2.5 inches, which would result in the entire handgun having a length of 8 inches. In our opinion, this reduction is not a particularly significant reduction of weapon length.
Friday, October 25, 2013
18820109 13:44:19
18820109 13:44:19
XV-N-3540
Exeter entered the lobby and was gratified to see that the instructions were followed. The man sat with his back to the entrance and alone at the table with only a single newspaper on top of it, positioned as if it was for a person seated across from him. His brown and scraggly hair matched the hue of his dusty jacket. Exeter approached the bar while maintaining a distance from the point and making sure to not look over and make eye contact with the man beforehand. Once he stood at the bar, he held up two fingers to the bartender, and the silent request was obeyed. He hunched over and shuffled his hands invisibly under the surface of the bar until he held up both hands with one mug full of beer in each and brought them up to be served. Exeter left a silver buck coin face up on the bar before taking the mugs over to meet the man. He maintained his distant stare for a few seconds after Exeter sat down across from him, and physically jerked his head in surprise when he realized that the meeting was now underway.
"R, is it?"
"Uh, oh! Oh yes, yes it is, pleased to meet you. I am indeed as you say." He sat up out of his chair and extended an open hand across the table. "I am Roderick. Roderick M-"
"Sh! I got it!" With the quickness of a blink, Exeter grasped and released Roderick's hand.
"Um yes, then, yes, very good. Heh." Roderick sunk back into his seat with his chin nodded to his chest in nervous embarrassment.
"Relax, friend. Take a drink if it helps."
Roderick heard the word "friend" used, but the curt and gravely tone of his voice wasn't very reassuring. He felt obliged to follow through on the suggestion to drink and took the mug up to his lips with both hands and took a generous swig into his mouth. The beer was a heavy wheat with a flavor that strongly lingered.
"Good. Now, I know why you sought me out. Well, generally, that is. Rates vary on the mark."
"Oh, well, this is, this is in fact not that exact kind of request that I'm making, no. See, I came here with the desire for instruction on the act. I will be the actor."
"Oh, will now you? This seems to be a rather long way to go just for that kind of tutelage."
"Um, this city also happens to be on the way to my final destination. I intend to go to England."
"Really? Even more interesting. Heh, who are you looking to meet? Her Majesty?"
Roderick responded by quickly nodding twice.
"Seriously. Honestly?" Exeter took a moment to take a drink of his own to give time for further response to come, and it didn't. "Well then. I guess I can see why you want to get this right. Not that it's my business, but why her?"
"I. I labored for years over a series of stanzas, to commemorate her reign. I spent countless days pouring my soul into those words. When I felt I had given the best product which the Lord and Providence could inspire in me, I sent it away for her to read. She did, and she even sent me a response. But the response-", Roderick struggled to speak further as tears began to collect and stream from the corners of his eyes, "- the response, was so cruel and rude. It was an insult of the highest order and against all that I had done. I will never forgive-"
"Yeah, I understand, I got it, all right." Exeter compelled Roderick to cease his story with a wave of his hand. "So uh, anyway, how do you plan to get close enough?"
"Well, good sir, I have been practicing using a pistol from that moment, and I reckon my aim to be accurate at one hundred yards. If I can-"
"All right, look. First of all, I'm sorry to inform you that I actually don't use firearms. I have other tools that I use, yes. But in your case, you want to use the element of surprise to assuredly make your strike count. Now, you'll need to plan-"
"Excuse me, but you say you never use a gun? At all? Yet, I was assured of your reputation as-"
"That's something you'll have to trust me on, for now."
"Oh, this is most troubling. Most awful. I don't know if I can trust myself to keep a cool head if I were to attempt something physical in nature. I was intending to keep distance all along."
"All right, fine. Let me walk you through some steps which might help you out anyway."
"Very well."
Exeter spent the next hour going over points of stealth, surprise, mapping, and planning with Roderick, and gave an earnest effort to instill some of his wisdom; but he didn't expect any of it to take hold. The main paid him for his time so he didn't feel that it was particularly wasted in this instance, but he couldn't help but to feel annoyed at having to do all of this for someone who intended to kill an actual Queen because she insulted someone's poetry.
XV-N-3540
Exeter entered the lobby and was gratified to see that the instructions were followed. The man sat with his back to the entrance and alone at the table with only a single newspaper on top of it, positioned as if it was for a person seated across from him. His brown and scraggly hair matched the hue of his dusty jacket. Exeter approached the bar while maintaining a distance from the point and making sure to not look over and make eye contact with the man beforehand. Once he stood at the bar, he held up two fingers to the bartender, and the silent request was obeyed. He hunched over and shuffled his hands invisibly under the surface of the bar until he held up both hands with one mug full of beer in each and brought them up to be served. Exeter left a silver buck coin face up on the bar before taking the mugs over to meet the man. He maintained his distant stare for a few seconds after Exeter sat down across from him, and physically jerked his head in surprise when he realized that the meeting was now underway.
"R, is it?"
"Uh, oh! Oh yes, yes it is, pleased to meet you. I am indeed as you say." He sat up out of his chair and extended an open hand across the table. "I am Roderick. Roderick M-"
"Sh! I got it!" With the quickness of a blink, Exeter grasped and released Roderick's hand.
"Um yes, then, yes, very good. Heh." Roderick sunk back into his seat with his chin nodded to his chest in nervous embarrassment.
"Relax, friend. Take a drink if it helps."
Roderick heard the word "friend" used, but the curt and gravely tone of his voice wasn't very reassuring. He felt obliged to follow through on the suggestion to drink and took the mug up to his lips with both hands and took a generous swig into his mouth. The beer was a heavy wheat with a flavor that strongly lingered.
"Good. Now, I know why you sought me out. Well, generally, that is. Rates vary on the mark."
"Oh, well, this is, this is in fact not that exact kind of request that I'm making, no. See, I came here with the desire for instruction on the act. I will be the actor."
"Oh, will now you? This seems to be a rather long way to go just for that kind of tutelage."
"Um, this city also happens to be on the way to my final destination. I intend to go to England."
"Really? Even more interesting. Heh, who are you looking to meet? Her Majesty?"
Roderick responded by quickly nodding twice.
"Seriously. Honestly?" Exeter took a moment to take a drink of his own to give time for further response to come, and it didn't. "Well then. I guess I can see why you want to get this right. Not that it's my business, but why her?"
"I. I labored for years over a series of stanzas, to commemorate her reign. I spent countless days pouring my soul into those words. When I felt I had given the best product which the Lord and Providence could inspire in me, I sent it away for her to read. She did, and she even sent me a response. But the response-", Roderick struggled to speak further as tears began to collect and stream from the corners of his eyes, "- the response, was so cruel and rude. It was an insult of the highest order and against all that I had done. I will never forgive-"
"Yeah, I understand, I got it, all right." Exeter compelled Roderick to cease his story with a wave of his hand. "So uh, anyway, how do you plan to get close enough?"
"Well, good sir, I have been practicing using a pistol from that moment, and I reckon my aim to be accurate at one hundred yards. If I can-"
"All right, look. First of all, I'm sorry to inform you that I actually don't use firearms. I have other tools that I use, yes. But in your case, you want to use the element of surprise to assuredly make your strike count. Now, you'll need to plan-"
"Excuse me, but you say you never use a gun? At all? Yet, I was assured of your reputation as-"
"That's something you'll have to trust me on, for now."
"Oh, this is most troubling. Most awful. I don't know if I can trust myself to keep a cool head if I were to attempt something physical in nature. I was intending to keep distance all along."
"All right, fine. Let me walk you through some steps which might help you out anyway."
"Very well."
Exeter spent the next hour going over points of stealth, surprise, mapping, and planning with Roderick, and gave an earnest effort to instill some of his wisdom; but he didn't expect any of it to take hold. The main paid him for his time so he didn't feel that it was particularly wasted in this instance, but he couldn't help but to feel annoyed at having to do all of this for someone who intended to kill an actual Queen because she insulted someone's poetry.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
18820331 10:00:00
18820331 10:00:00
BA-S-9777
HSF #25.0273
Doctor V3 reporting on Solitary Unit Type 2.
Today marks completion of one full month (744 hours) of observation and care of test subjects within the cell, using a total temperature variance of ten degrees Fahrenheit. Results are favorable and show little amount of variance. Throughout the period we had no incidents of test subject non compliance or injury. Observers were physically present to monitor subjects every twelve hours or less, as verified in logs.
Common settings: 512 cubic foot room, one toilet, one bed (twin mattress size), one Bible, one bathroom scale, one plaster cast around patient's right arm, one pulse diode held underneath cast. 70% humidity. One gallon of food solution diffused in air.
All items were made of identical construction when possible.
Test Subject 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Air temperature 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99
Daily Readings
Pulse, BPM, high 98 91 88 105 101 103 99 92 115 119
Pulse, BPM, low 61 60 60 63 62 60 59 61 65 76
Pulse, BPM, average 83 85 78 89 84 82 77 81 92 98
Urine, quart, high 0.98 0.99 0.98 0.97 1.02 0.89 0.88 0.91 0.84 0.81
Urine, quart, low 0.78 0.77 0.78 0.75 0.72 0.71 0.68 0.64 0.61 0.58
Urine, quart, average 0.86 0.84 0.84 0.83 0.79 0.75 0.71 0.72 0.69 0.65
Sleep, hours, high 10.5 9.75 11.25 9.5 8.75 9.0 8.5 7.75 7.5 7.25
Sleep, hours, low 7.0 7.5 8.0 7.25 6.75 5.5 5.75 5.0 4.75 3.75
Sleep, hours, average 7.75 8.25 8.5 7.5 7.25 6.75 6.5 5.5 5.25 4.25
Weight, pounds, high 120 143 118 136 154 138 127 108 114 131
Weight, pounds, low 106 137 102 122 148 125 123 99 101 118
Weight, pounds, average 112 141 111 124 151 133 124 103 107 124
Based on these findings, continued study in temperatures exceeding 99 degrees is not recommended, as the trends appear to be consistently applicable, and there would be more risk of injury to the test patients if the temperature would be become exceedingly variable. My recommendation for future study and experimentation in this project is to place the final variance on the amount of food solution to be distributed across a control temperature.
BA-S-9777
HSF #25.0273
Doctor V3 reporting on Solitary Unit Type 2.
Today marks completion of one full month (744 hours) of observation and care of test subjects within the cell, using a total temperature variance of ten degrees Fahrenheit. Results are favorable and show little amount of variance. Throughout the period we had no incidents of test subject non compliance or injury. Observers were physically present to monitor subjects every twelve hours or less, as verified in logs.
Common settings: 512 cubic foot room, one toilet, one bed (twin mattress size), one Bible, one bathroom scale, one plaster cast around patient's right arm, one pulse diode held underneath cast. 70% humidity. One gallon of food solution diffused in air.
All items were made of identical construction when possible.
Test Subject 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Air temperature 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99
Daily Readings
Pulse, BPM, high 98 91 88 105 101 103 99 92 115 119
Pulse, BPM, low 61 60 60 63 62 60 59 61 65 76
Pulse, BPM, average 83 85 78 89 84 82 77 81 92 98
Urine, quart, high 0.98 0.99 0.98 0.97 1.02 0.89 0.88 0.91 0.84 0.81
Urine, quart, low 0.78 0.77 0.78 0.75 0.72 0.71 0.68 0.64 0.61 0.58
Urine, quart, average 0.86 0.84 0.84 0.83 0.79 0.75 0.71 0.72 0.69 0.65
Sleep, hours, high 10.5 9.75 11.25 9.5 8.75 9.0 8.5 7.75 7.5 7.25
Sleep, hours, low 7.0 7.5 8.0 7.25 6.75 5.5 5.75 5.0 4.75 3.75
Sleep, hours, average 7.75 8.25 8.5 7.5 7.25 6.75 6.5 5.5 5.25 4.25
Weight, pounds, high 120 143 118 136 154 138 127 108 114 131
Weight, pounds, low 106 137 102 122 148 125 123 99 101 118
Weight, pounds, average 112 141 111 124 151 133 124 103 107 124
Based on these findings, continued study in temperatures exceeding 99 degrees is not recommended, as the trends appear to be consistently applicable, and there would be more risk of injury to the test patients if the temperature would be become exceedingly variable. My recommendation for future study and experimentation in this project is to place the final variance on the amount of food solution to be distributed across a control temperature.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
18360114 16:48:06
18360114 16:48:06
"Jesse, keep an eye on the soup. Frederic, come with me."
"Yessir." Jesse acknowledged the command by saying this and pulling a chair up to the stove.
Daron tied the wool scarf tightly around his neck before standing at the side of the door to hold it open. He nodded to Frederic, who hurriedly stepped out into the snow while tightening the straps around his coat.
"Where are we going?"
"Out." Daron vigorously slammed the door to the cabin shut with the answer. He walked ahead of Frederic and led the way to the side of the barn where the two horses were idly standing, then leaned against the east facing wall to shield against the wind. He addressed Frederic once stood at his side.
"I'm sorry to ask this of you, Frederic, but this situation has come up all the sudden and the best way it can be over is with your help. I'm expecting your refusal."
"Mr. Hoobler, I already mentioned that I would help you a few hours ago, as I have before, surely that shows-"
"This is different. Those children in there that you haven't seen before, Saul and Marian, their mother is gone at the moment. She left from here in search of her husband. She won't find him because her husband was here, and I killed him."
"Oh! Oh my God! How could you have ever-"
"It was self defense, Frederic. He had a plan to kill us in the middle of the night. I woke to find him strangling Jesse. His plan was to kill us both. That's why he sent for his family to come now, to come later on. She didn't expect to find anyone but her husband here."
"Oh, that is dreadful! How terrible."
"It is, but what's worse is that I didn't know how to tell her that this had happened. I didn't even tell her that he died. I didn't think of a way to make a story about it that would hold up."
"So, what? You're asking me to concoct a story that would conceal the man's death?"
"Not quite, no. I'm not sure that's needed, really. What I am asking for, though, is a way to make it appear that the man's death was official and recorded. Something which I could show to her that she would see as official confirmation of his death."
"Very well, so you're asking me to obtain a forgery." Frederic exhaled derisively with stating that confirmation. "This is worse and more difficult to do, you realize."
"It is, yes, but I already gave a tale about him being injured and laid up at a hospital in Baltimore. All that needs to be gotten is a death certificate from somewhere in Baltimore, and that will be enough for me to work with."
"Ugh, that's terrible."
"Well what in the hell else could I do? I had to say something! I couldn't just say he vanished like a ghost!"
"You could have told the truth about what the man tried to do and-"
"And then what? Have her live with me for a few weeks being absolutely despondent and shacked up with the man who killed her husband? With her children there too? She's stuck here otherwise! We're all stuck here, at least until Spring. I didn't see me having any other choice! And look, can't you ask around to have someone do it? Of course I would supply the fee, and the only reason that I'm asking is because you're the only person who has the ability to do this."
"This... this is abominable! You're essentially asking me to be an accomplice to your murder!"
"Well." Daron shook his head and laughed before he continued to speak. "This is about what I expected. I had to ask, all the same."
"... I. I'll have to make a long deliberation on this, Daron. Nor can I guarantee that I can ultimately help even if I agree to assist you. I can at least appreciate the difficulty of your situation but what you're asking of me is certainly amoral in several dimensions." Frederic stated this with a tone of defeat and resignation.
"That's the most I can ask of you, Frederic."
"Jesse, keep an eye on the soup. Frederic, come with me."
"Yessir." Jesse acknowledged the command by saying this and pulling a chair up to the stove.
Daron tied the wool scarf tightly around his neck before standing at the side of the door to hold it open. He nodded to Frederic, who hurriedly stepped out into the snow while tightening the straps around his coat.
"Where are we going?"
"Out." Daron vigorously slammed the door to the cabin shut with the answer. He walked ahead of Frederic and led the way to the side of the barn where the two horses were idly standing, then leaned against the east facing wall to shield against the wind. He addressed Frederic once stood at his side.
"I'm sorry to ask this of you, Frederic, but this situation has come up all the sudden and the best way it can be over is with your help. I'm expecting your refusal."
"Mr. Hoobler, I already mentioned that I would help you a few hours ago, as I have before, surely that shows-"
"This is different. Those children in there that you haven't seen before, Saul and Marian, their mother is gone at the moment. She left from here in search of her husband. She won't find him because her husband was here, and I killed him."
"Oh! Oh my God! How could you have ever-"
"It was self defense, Frederic. He had a plan to kill us in the middle of the night. I woke to find him strangling Jesse. His plan was to kill us both. That's why he sent for his family to come now, to come later on. She didn't expect to find anyone but her husband here."
"Oh, that is dreadful! How terrible."
"It is, but what's worse is that I didn't know how to tell her that this had happened. I didn't even tell her that he died. I didn't think of a way to make a story about it that would hold up."
"So, what? You're asking me to concoct a story that would conceal the man's death?"
"Not quite, no. I'm not sure that's needed, really. What I am asking for, though, is a way to make it appear that the man's death was official and recorded. Something which I could show to her that she would see as official confirmation of his death."
"Very well, so you're asking me to obtain a forgery." Frederic exhaled derisively with stating that confirmation. "This is worse and more difficult to do, you realize."
"It is, yes, but I already gave a tale about him being injured and laid up at a hospital in Baltimore. All that needs to be gotten is a death certificate from somewhere in Baltimore, and that will be enough for me to work with."
"Ugh, that's terrible."
"Well what in the hell else could I do? I had to say something! I couldn't just say he vanished like a ghost!"
"You could have told the truth about what the man tried to do and-"
"And then what? Have her live with me for a few weeks being absolutely despondent and shacked up with the man who killed her husband? With her children there too? She's stuck here otherwise! We're all stuck here, at least until Spring. I didn't see me having any other choice! And look, can't you ask around to have someone do it? Of course I would supply the fee, and the only reason that I'm asking is because you're the only person who has the ability to do this."
"This... this is abominable! You're essentially asking me to be an accomplice to your murder!"
"Well." Daron shook his head and laughed before he continued to speak. "This is about what I expected. I had to ask, all the same."
"... I. I'll have to make a long deliberation on this, Daron. Nor can I guarantee that I can ultimately help even if I agree to assist you. I can at least appreciate the difficulty of your situation but what you're asking of me is certainly amoral in several dimensions." Frederic stated this with a tone of defeat and resignation.
"That's the most I can ask of you, Frederic."
Monday, October 21, 2013
19390722 16:38:05
19390722 16:38:05
IA-S-1600
Three innings were completed with the Baltimore Elite Giants leading the Daron Legion six runs to one. The former team's domination shown no sign of slowing down this afternoon. Torrence was not particularly pleased to see the game already in this condition.
"Shit, this keeps up, I'm gonna insist on plus three hundred for an opening line."
"Eh, I didn't even get a lot of action on my lines going up on two fifty today. You ought to be fine." Western gave his words a pronounced end with a swig from his beer cup.
"Yeah. You know what bothers me more right now? Did I tell you about Jeff?"
"That's your wife's friend's kid, right? The jerk? Yeah, what about him now?"
"Well see it was his birthday this week, and so Tricia takes it upon herself to bake a cake for him. Makes a real nice chocolate one, thick frosting and all. The day he's set to come over for the visit, he walks in the door, and we're all sittin there in the front room, me, Trish, and Mark, right? We're sitting there and he knocks and opens the door and walks right to Mark without so much as even saying hello to me or her, without even taking his shoes off at the door, and goes right to Mark to show off some god damned baseball card he just got."
"Yeah, that sounds like a jerk thing to do."
"Right, I'd say so. Later on, Trish calls them out from Mark's room to come to the table so that we can present the cake. We gather round and sing Happy Birthday to him and he just sorta nods towards the cake like he's trying to shut us all out, and afterwards he just walks off back to Mark's room without even saying 'excuse me' or thank you to my wife for the fucking cake. Completely oblivious. And now Trish, she doesn't say so out loud to her friend while she's there, but you can see it on her face that she's saddened by that. She put in all that time to do something nice, and for what? For what?"
"Lord. Doesn't he learn any manners from anywhere? His Mom? School? Anything?"
"Seems not. Of course, his Mom says it all sweet like 'Oh he was very happy to have the cake, I can tell' and buttering it all up, but I could smell the bullshit from her mouth as she spit it out. Oh, hah, on that note. I had to light a damn cigar every time that kid was near me after he shown up. I don't know how he bathes or whatever the fuck it is, but it isn't enough."
"Man, are you serious? I guess if you live with it you can't tell, but, heh, that's just scary to think about. That reminds me." Western took up a fresh cigar from the metallic holder inside his suit pocket and held a match under it for several seconds while he dragged the tobacco to life.
"Scarier to be around, trust me. And ain't it all fucked up. All the shit we deal with respect. If that kid was just someone on the street, I'd have reason to kick his ass just for being rude to me, much less making my wife feel like shit. Kid acts like that and can't even make eye contact with me when he speaks, and he walks around with his clothes all disheveled and looking like a fucking bum and basically smelling like a fucking bum, and because you're some kid who is a friend of the family, all I can do is bite my tongue and feel myself burn up inside."
"Why don't you at least call the kid out on his shit?"
"Sometimes I do, but I can't treat it like normal. I want to keep my wife's happiness in balance, and she insists that her and her friend talk about things on the side to try to address the really bad things. That's the whole basis behind all of this. It's more her problem than mine, technically. Sooner or later, though, that won't be the case, as long as he keeps coming around my place at least. Maybe sooner. I mean, shit, it wouldn't be an issue if whatever they talk about to fix the problems actually worked."
IA-S-1600
Three innings were completed with the Baltimore Elite Giants leading the Daron Legion six runs to one. The former team's domination shown no sign of slowing down this afternoon. Torrence was not particularly pleased to see the game already in this condition.
"Shit, this keeps up, I'm gonna insist on plus three hundred for an opening line."
"Eh, I didn't even get a lot of action on my lines going up on two fifty today. You ought to be fine." Western gave his words a pronounced end with a swig from his beer cup.
"Yeah. You know what bothers me more right now? Did I tell you about Jeff?"
"That's your wife's friend's kid, right? The jerk? Yeah, what about him now?"
"Well see it was his birthday this week, and so Tricia takes it upon herself to bake a cake for him. Makes a real nice chocolate one, thick frosting and all. The day he's set to come over for the visit, he walks in the door, and we're all sittin there in the front room, me, Trish, and Mark, right? We're sitting there and he knocks and opens the door and walks right to Mark without so much as even saying hello to me or her, without even taking his shoes off at the door, and goes right to Mark to show off some god damned baseball card he just got."
"Yeah, that sounds like a jerk thing to do."
"Right, I'd say so. Later on, Trish calls them out from Mark's room to come to the table so that we can present the cake. We gather round and sing Happy Birthday to him and he just sorta nods towards the cake like he's trying to shut us all out, and afterwards he just walks off back to Mark's room without even saying 'excuse me' or thank you to my wife for the fucking cake. Completely oblivious. And now Trish, she doesn't say so out loud to her friend while she's there, but you can see it on her face that she's saddened by that. She put in all that time to do something nice, and for what? For what?"
"Lord. Doesn't he learn any manners from anywhere? His Mom? School? Anything?"
"Seems not. Of course, his Mom says it all sweet like 'Oh he was very happy to have the cake, I can tell' and buttering it all up, but I could smell the bullshit from her mouth as she spit it out. Oh, hah, on that note. I had to light a damn cigar every time that kid was near me after he shown up. I don't know how he bathes or whatever the fuck it is, but it isn't enough."
"Man, are you serious? I guess if you live with it you can't tell, but, heh, that's just scary to think about. That reminds me." Western took up a fresh cigar from the metallic holder inside his suit pocket and held a match under it for several seconds while he dragged the tobacco to life.
"Scarier to be around, trust me. And ain't it all fucked up. All the shit we deal with respect. If that kid was just someone on the street, I'd have reason to kick his ass just for being rude to me, much less making my wife feel like shit. Kid acts like that and can't even make eye contact with me when he speaks, and he walks around with his clothes all disheveled and looking like a fucking bum and basically smelling like a fucking bum, and because you're some kid who is a friend of the family, all I can do is bite my tongue and feel myself burn up inside."
"Why don't you at least call the kid out on his shit?"
"Sometimes I do, but I can't treat it like normal. I want to keep my wife's happiness in balance, and she insists that her and her friend talk about things on the side to try to address the really bad things. That's the whole basis behind all of this. It's more her problem than mine, technically. Sooner or later, though, that won't be the case, as long as he keeps coming around my place at least. Maybe sooner. I mean, shit, it wouldn't be an issue if whatever they talk about to fix the problems actually worked."
Thursday, October 17, 2013
18370328 19:23:09
18370328 19:23:09
"Here! Come here!" Daron compelled him to come to the spot with a raspy whisper as he knocked against the wooden wall of the barn. He knocked again as he watched the outline of Doctor Adewa Kufo's body in the weak moonlight turn his head around from side to side. Finally, the man turned to face the wall from the other side and leaned his face against the wall in a failed attempt to confirm who was on the other side.
"Daron?"
"Hush! Turn your back to the wall and just answer the questions that I ask you."
"Understood." The Doctor did as instructed and leaned his body against the wall, causing a creak to emit from the aged planks. Daron sighed and shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure-"
"Yes, yes, fine, but no names. Ain't no secret if names are heard." Daron strained to keep his speech in a whisper and his words were delivered with enough rasp to compel him to cough.
"I suppose you're right." The Doctor was embarrassed to make that admission, and his voice reflected it.
"Just remember it. Anyways, reason I wanted you here is to tell you that some folks here got a story against you and your pal Garr. They want you out of here. I don't agree, but you need to make a reason that you should stay."
"Is it the Reverend?"
"Doesn't matter who. Bad enough you're not out there with the rest of us workin the crop. Folks think you just here to leech."
"That's unfortunate. Research takes time."
"Well one of em is sayin that you do experiments on dead babies, Doctor. This ain't just about how you spendin your time."
"Oh, what rubbish. It is the Reverend, then. They get one story about one person and-"
"Look, I just said it doesn't matter. What you gotta do is prove your worth here. What is your work now, then? What're you working on?"
"Well, Dr. Peterson and I were making experimental formulations for new feminine cosmetic products. We're trying to find better formulas for compounds which hydrate the flesh. We believe there to be a strong market for that."
"So, beauty products?"
"Yes, D-. Yes sir."
"All right. All right. I hear what you're sayin but you gotta change that now. Like right now. What's something you can do for something like our crops first, instead?"
"Uh, well, I uh... you must understand that neither Dr. Peterson or I are specialists in that kind of organic chemistry, and we just can't-"
"Hush, I don't care, I don't care. It don't matter. I'm trying to help you earn your stay here. You find a way to get our crops to stretch out, how to get us to grow more from the same plot, that'll shut them all up. You find a way to help feed all of us, ain't nobody gonna run you out. All right?"
"Um, yes, that would be true, yes, but, again, that will take some time to happen."
"Think beyond your job, Doctor. You gotta make your case and sell yourself like you got a new tonic. Make something up. I don't know what. New seed, new soil food, something, anything. Prove your worth. And do it as soon as possible. Do it and buy yourself some time, and earn your stay."
Doctor Kufo stood silent for a moment, with his gaze cast to the darkened ground in contemplation. The request did make sense, but he didn't understand how this situation had already come to conspire in this fashion. Why was it his task to give this instruction? Why did this accuser not face him or the other Doctor directly? Why was his mere hearsay enough to cause this all to occur? How soon would be soon enough to make some kind of new discovery be presented? What would be an acceptable justification? He quickly deduced that the most important variable to determine was the allowance of time.
"Sir, how much time will I have for this?"
The question was asked to nobody. Daron had slipped away from the barn while the Doctor was lost in thought.
"Here! Come here!" Daron compelled him to come to the spot with a raspy whisper as he knocked against the wooden wall of the barn. He knocked again as he watched the outline of Doctor Adewa Kufo's body in the weak moonlight turn his head around from side to side. Finally, the man turned to face the wall from the other side and leaned his face against the wall in a failed attempt to confirm who was on the other side.
"Daron?"
"Hush! Turn your back to the wall and just answer the questions that I ask you."
"Understood." The Doctor did as instructed and leaned his body against the wall, causing a creak to emit from the aged planks. Daron sighed and shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure-"
"Yes, yes, fine, but no names. Ain't no secret if names are heard." Daron strained to keep his speech in a whisper and his words were delivered with enough rasp to compel him to cough.
"I suppose you're right." The Doctor was embarrassed to make that admission, and his voice reflected it.
"Just remember it. Anyways, reason I wanted you here is to tell you that some folks here got a story against you and your pal Garr. They want you out of here. I don't agree, but you need to make a reason that you should stay."
"Is it the Reverend?"
"Doesn't matter who. Bad enough you're not out there with the rest of us workin the crop. Folks think you just here to leech."
"That's unfortunate. Research takes time."
"Well one of em is sayin that you do experiments on dead babies, Doctor. This ain't just about how you spendin your time."
"Oh, what rubbish. It is the Reverend, then. They get one story about one person and-"
"Look, I just said it doesn't matter. What you gotta do is prove your worth here. What is your work now, then? What're you working on?"
"Well, Dr. Peterson and I were making experimental formulations for new feminine cosmetic products. We're trying to find better formulas for compounds which hydrate the flesh. We believe there to be a strong market for that."
"So, beauty products?"
"Yes, D-. Yes sir."
"All right. All right. I hear what you're sayin but you gotta change that now. Like right now. What's something you can do for something like our crops first, instead?"
"Uh, well, I uh... you must understand that neither Dr. Peterson or I are specialists in that kind of organic chemistry, and we just can't-"
"Hush, I don't care, I don't care. It don't matter. I'm trying to help you earn your stay here. You find a way to get our crops to stretch out, how to get us to grow more from the same plot, that'll shut them all up. You find a way to help feed all of us, ain't nobody gonna run you out. All right?"
"Um, yes, that would be true, yes, but, again, that will take some time to happen."
"Think beyond your job, Doctor. You gotta make your case and sell yourself like you got a new tonic. Make something up. I don't know what. New seed, new soil food, something, anything. Prove your worth. And do it as soon as possible. Do it and buy yourself some time, and earn your stay."
Doctor Kufo stood silent for a moment, with his gaze cast to the darkened ground in contemplation. The request did make sense, but he didn't understand how this situation had already come to conspire in this fashion. Why was it his task to give this instruction? Why did this accuser not face him or the other Doctor directly? Why was his mere hearsay enough to cause this all to occur? How soon would be soon enough to make some kind of new discovery be presented? What would be an acceptable justification? He quickly deduced that the most important variable to determine was the allowance of time.
"Sir, how much time will I have for this?"
The question was asked to nobody. Daron had slipped away from the barn while the Doctor was lost in thought.
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