Satisfying An Addiction

It seems like the government is finding new things to ban every day. Some of them are banned because they are more harmful than good to the human body, regardless of how they make that same body feel. Other things are banned “for the public's own good,” whether it's any good or not.

Regardless of why something is banned, people will find a way to satisfy their desire for it. Even if it something they didn't have such an extreme need for when it was easily and legally obtained.

There is more garbage on the worn pavement than in the cans and dumpsters that line the alley. Numerous fixtures extend over beaten doors, but only one currently emits any light. Two dark figures stand in the weak glow. The shadows around them merging with the night above.

One figure is hunched inside their coat. Their hands moving nervously inside the deep pockets. Head down and shoulders hunched, she appears to want to avoid being noticed by the only other living soul in this ill-reputed area of town. While she is no stranger here, this place makes her nervous and afraid. It is only her strong desire, her almost physical need, for what can be acquired here that would drag her down to such a neighborhood.

The second figure is full of confidence. He stands straight and proud. This is his area. The scum that reside on these streets are his people. The businesses that operate here, legal and otherwise, do so at his leisure. He doesn't just live here, he is an absolute king. So much so that even the snobs from the richer parts of town seek him out in order to satisfy themselves.

“Welcome back my dear. You have returned sooner than I expected. I figured my last 'shipment' to you would have lasted you at least another two weeks.”

A look of concern crosses the otherwise happy face of the man. “You haven't been sharing my product with anyone else, have you? You know that is against the rules. If the wrong people found out about my little side business, you would be cut off from your supply forever.”

The huddled woman shakes her head vigorously, her voice shaky with nerves and fear, “No! I haven't shared with anyone else. I haven't told anyone else. I just had a few unexpected.....rough days. It took more than usual to calm me down. That's all. No risk to you.”

She stands a little straighter and her words lose most of their timbre. “Besides, I would lose more than my source if you were discovered. I would lose my entire inheritance. I would lose my very livelihood. A conviction, even for mere possession would make me a pariah in my social circles. You would just serve your time and come back to your operations, the same as before. Time behind bars might even get you a few new customers. I would be completely ruined. If either of us has to worry about the consequences of the authorities find out, it's me.”

The man waves his hand and nods in understanding. “Settle down, settle down. It just seemed a little unusual, that's all. In my experience, unusual is not generally a good thing. It causes me concern and I don't like to be concerned.”

He pulls out a small notebook and extracts a pencil from the metal spiral binding the pages. “Now, let's get down to business. What is it you would like today?”

The woman gives a nod and starts considering her request. “I want the good stuff. The stuff direct from South America. Don't you dare try to pawn any of that weak crap from Pennsylvania either. I'd rather eat mud than even touch that junk.”

He makes a few quick scratches in his notebook and looks her in the eye. “South America, eh? That isn't going to be cheap. It's getting harder to move product across some of the borders involved. It's actually easier to get stuff from parts of Europe or even Israel these days. Are you sure you wouldn't want some from there?”

“Expense doesn't matter. You know I can afford anything. Europe's stuff is decent, but they cut it with too much other stuff. It's still good product, but I want more purity. I want it direct from the source. I want it from South America. Colombia, Brazil, where they know what they are doing.”

A couple more notes are made on paper. “Fine. Suit yourself. South American it is. Delivery should be in about a month and a half.”

“A month and half? I can't wait that long. I need some now! I ran out yesterday and I can barely hold on as it is.”

“Hey, you want the good stuff, it takes time. I already told you borders are getting harder and harder to cross. Part of the trip will have to be made by cruise ship and that takes two weeks just to arrange. If you want anything quicker, I have a few samples on me. A couple of manufacturers you haven't tried yet. However, these will have to do you for now. The only other thing I have on hand is the 'Pennsylvania mud' you despise so much.”

Her hands fly out of her pockets and shake as she extends them to him. “Oh yes, please. Give me some. I need something now. Then I promise not to bother you again until the shipment arrives.”

He reaches behind his back and draws forth a thick pouch with a zipper holding the top closed. One hand holds the pouch by the bottom while the other slowly opens the zipper. The sounds of the the metallic teeth being separated echoing off the brick walls lining the narrow space. Once the zipper pull finally reaches the end, he slides his hand in and pulls out an array of small baggies. Each one contains a few ounces of the precious substance the woman has come to purchase.

He starts to extend the handful of baggies towards the woman, but quickly yanks them back, the plastic mere milimeters from her touch. “Don't get too excited now. We still have to discuss payment. Your usual amount, this time from South America. Plus these sample to tide you over. That should come to about three thousand, five hundred dollars total.”

The woman's face becomes contorted as she is obviously at war with herself. The price is more than she is expecting. She can still easily afford it, but it is considerably more than her usual amount. Hiding an expense that large won't be easy. Her desire for what he is dangling before her eyes is enough to inspire an idea.

She reaches back into her own pockets and withdraws three pieces of plastic. “Here, here you go. You can take what you want from my credit cards. I can say I made some random rash purchases. Nobody will look into that.”

He shakes his head as he begins to replace the baggies inside the pouch. “No can do my dear. I'm not your corner clothing store. I don't have the processing service that all your favorite retailers have. I can't take plastic. It's too easily traced. Too many bureaucrats getting their hands in my pies. This is a cash only transaction.”

Her hands begin to shake more than ever as she puts the useless hunks of plastic back into her pockets. Her voice picks up its old quiver again. “What about jewelry? I have some rings on me and there are some gold chains my mother never wears. She'd never notice if they went missing.”

“Nope. I can't pay my suppliers with the presumed value of things that are probably going to end up being reported as stolen the day after I deliver to you. I said cash, I need cash. You want what I have, you pay me what I want.”

“But.....thirty five hundred dollars? I can't get that much cash. My dad calls if I even get $100 out of an ATM. They don't care how much I spend, they just want to know where I'm spending it and that doesn't happen if I carry too much cash around.”

He quickly closes the zipper on the pouch and returns it to its hiding place behind his back. He flips his notebook closed and slides the pencil back into the spiral binding. He turns to leave the alley as she drops to her knees, sobbing. “Call me again when you have the money. I will hold the price for you for 48 hours. Any longer than that and my lack of patience makes the costs go up.”

Her sobs become pleading wails for him to do something for her. Wails that are only heard only by the one person whose business ethics and lack of other morals give him no desire to help the suffering soul in the alley.

As he turns from the dark alley onto a dimly lit street, a single thought crosses his mind. “All of this fuss and hassle over chocolate. Who'd have thought it?”

If chocolate were to be completely banned in America, do you think you could live without it? What is something you don't think you could survive without should it become illegal?

Taking Over The World

Villains the world over all have their own reasons for wanting to take over or destroy the world.  Some of their plans focus on defeating the hero, others just want their bidding done without question.  Regardless of why or how they try to complete their plans, would hero stories be worth reading if it weren't for powerful villains?

Finally, all of the pieces are in place.  I have planned for every contingency.  I have backup plans for my backup plans.  There are escape routes for my most dedicated personnel. Even some of the common cannon fodder may survive to serve me another day.  No big loss if they don't, they were just scum I hired off the street.  What remains of them can just as easily return there.

The expenses for this endeavor didn't make a dent in my total assets.  Which is fortunate because I will need to grease a few more wheels in order to maintain my position once I sit on my throne.  It would be a shame that so many people compromise their morals for the right amount of cash, if that fact didn't open so many literal and figurative doors for me.  Police officers in my pocket.  City officials looking the other way while licenses are handed out and permits are violated.  State legislators fighting laws that would hurt my plans, but actually help their constituents.  A few campaign contributions, some donations to the right charities, out and out bribes.  If any of them knew how much I had squirreled away from my business practices, legit and otherwise, they would demand so much more.

So much control.  So many people respecting and fearing me.  All of this from someone that couldn't even control his own life for so many years.  A drunk for a father.  A mother that was pregnant almost as often as she was high.  Siblings that were too busy getting into their own trouble to notice me doing what I had to in order to survive.  A beloved neighborhood pet or two disappears, only to be returned once a reward is offered.  Money that wouldn't be missed vanishes.  Car tires go flat just when I happened to be close enough to help, for a small fee of course.  Such subtle beginnings for a man that is about to rule the world, even if only from the shadows.

Now, in a matter of hours, my plans for the night will begin.  Those that are fated to be hurt will be hurt.  Those that must die will die.  As the dust clears, everyone will know my name.  They will look up to me and cheer for my leadership or quiver in fear of my anger.  It is only right that I take my place above everyone else.  I wonder if I should choose the material for my statue, or give the people the impression of control by letting them "decide."

If you were to rule the world, what is the first thing you would do?  What would your enemies fear about you the most?

Identity Verification

I originally had an idea for today's story that was about plans for world domination.  It was to be a piece from the point of view of a maniacal villain bent on taking over the planet.  It was going to be dark and powerful.  Then that train of thought fell off the tracks.

Netflix recently released a new version of a show that was beloved to me in my childhood, Voltron.  As I watched the reboot pilot episode, they mentioned each robotic lion choosing its pilot and the match can't be forced.  While their connection has a mystic angle, I got to wondering about a more technological angle for connecting a weapon and wielder.

There was one series that featured laser swords with an added function to the handle.  When someone gripped the handle, the weapon would sample their blood to make sure they were the kind of person allowed to wield such a weapon.  If the DNA didn't have the correct markers, the sword wouldn't activate.  I wanted to take this idea a little further.  What are some other biometrics that could be measured?  Could combinations of these physical traits be unique enough to tell one person from another?

"Alright you punks!  Millions has been spent on your training.  Apparently some high muckety-muck thinks that has earned all of you the right to your own combat equipment.  I don't see it, but they don't pay me to make these decisions."

A group of young, eager troopers sit still and straight in their chairs as a grizzled officer stands at the front of the briefing room.  The scars on his face and cybernetic leg are testaments to his long combat experience.  Behind him is a screen that currently only displays the logo of the military arm of the Interplanetary Expeditionary Forces.  The troopers know the screen will soon be showing them the specifications of the flight systems and weapons programs that will be assigned to them.  While they all respect the old soldier before them, on the inside they are all impatient and want to try out their new gear.

"Now, before any of you are allowed to pilot a flyer, drive a tank, or fire a cannon, it will have to be attuned to you.  Unlike those fantasy sims I know many of you play, there is nothing spiritual or metaphysical about this."

As he continued to speak, bars and graphs began to appear on the screen.  All of the troopers recognized the displays as the readouts of biological scanners.  Only a few knew exactly what each graph meant and what system in a body generated each readout.

"The first time you grip the controls of a newly configured system, it will take a number of biological readings from you.  DNA patterns, resting brain wave patterns, pheromone levels, and other statistics are are unique to each and every one of you.  Once these are all locked into the system's digital memory, it will compare them with the statistics of anyone else that attempts to use that system.  If someone else tries to use a system programmed for you, they will be ejected immediately.  During ground combat, this can be inconvenient.  I won't go into the hazards of this occurring during operations in space."

A quick shudder ran through all the troopers as they considered the realities of suddenly being ejected into a hard vacuum.  It was something all of them had seen the results of, but none wanted to experience personally.  As the group mentally recovered, medtechs entered the room from a side door.
 The officer finished his speech as generic schematics for computer systems and controller configurations flashed across the screen.

"Making these combat systems operable for only one person makes them extremely expensive.  Regardless of what the accountants say, I consider each of them more valuable than any one of you.  Once you have been dispatched, be sure and treasure your equipment and bring it back.  If you don't, I will personally track you down and extract every lost dollar out of your hide.

Now, follow these specialists to the medical bay and they will get you outfitted for your individual attunements."

There are so many different ways today of gathering biological data on an individual.  Would it really be so hard to customize a weapon or vehicle so that only one person can operate it?

I do realize this would be expensive.  It would also nearly eliminate the used car sales industry.  Can you think of any advantages to such a system?

Information Gathering

For centuries humankind has had the terrible talent for torturing other members of its race.  This has been done for many reasons, some seeming legitimate at the time.  People tortured each other to instill fear in their enemies, reinforce religous beliefs, or out of a perverted sense of joy.  The most common reason for torturing an individual, one that is still justified by some to this day, is the extraction of information.

Not every interrogator that resorts to torture causes severe physical pain.  Much can be accomplished by impacting the subject's mind.  Sometimes the person being tortured can imagine worse pain and suffering than the interrogator can actually inflict if the desired answers aren't given.  Rewards, beyond the ending of pain and suffering, can also be used to entice a torture subject to give up the wanted information.  Beyond any legal restrictions, the only limits on a torturer are their own morals and values.

The man sits in a single metal chair.  He is wearing only a tattered pair of shorts.  The chill coming off of the concrete floor and walls isn't enough to cause him to shiver, but is still uncomfortable.  The sole occupant stares at the floor in the glow of the single bulb mounted to the ceiling high over his head.  The starkness of the room allows him to ponder his situation with absolutely no distractions at all.

He doesn't know exactly where he is, but he knows why he is there.  He knows things.  Things only a very few other people know.  Things the other side desperately wanted to know.  Things they would go to any lengths to find out.  He is here so their interrogators can try to extract this information from him.  His only hope for survival is to keep from telling them anything.  If he speaks, then his captors would have no reason to keep him alive.  If the information gets out, his own side would kill him for revealing their secrets.  His entire existence hangs on his ability to keep his mouth shut.  Right now things could easily go either way for him.

The creek and scrape of the single door opening means it is nearly time for his fate to be decided.  A group of three men carry in a metal framework.  Once it is positioned, they all leave.  One of them returns and sets up a simple folding table next to the framework.  The single laborer looks at the subject in the chair and shakes his head slowly as he walks out of the containment room.  After a few minutes, an older gentleman enters the cell with a rolled up bag of tools under his arm.  He wrings a towel in his hands as though drying them.  Once he is satisfied, he tosses the towel on the floor outside the door and kicks it shut with an echoing clang.

The captive looks up at his captor in anticipation of what is to come.  The interrogator pretends his subject is beneath his notice as he steps to the table and unrolls his tool bag.  Many pieces of hard metal glisten in the light of the single bulb.  Sharp edges and spiny points are highlighted by the reflections they give off.  The subject in the chair knows what some of the edges are designed to do.  He is afraid to consider what the others may be intended for.

The men that had carried in the equipment now stand guard outside the room.  Through the door then can hear the faint sounds of the prisoner being strapped into the frame they had carried in.  They knew, from past experience, that the interrogation was about to begin.  A few minutes later, the sounds of screams resonate from inside the cell.  One of the guards glances at his watch.  He then reaches into his pocket and withdraws a couple of dollar bills.  He hands these to the other guard who takes them with a smile.

The sounds of human screams rise and fade and the interrogator continues his attempts to extract information.  The questions can't be heard from outside the cell as the interrogator never raises his voice above a loud whisper.

The sounds continue to rise and fall in volume and intensity for some time.  They finally cease seconds before the door opens once again.  The interrogator steps out of the room and simply confirms that he is done.  Inside, the captor hangs from the framework.  His head hangs loosely, his chin resting on his chest.  Sweat is streaming from nearly every pore and he is suspended motionless by his arms.  No marks are evident on his naked body as the guards step into the room and begin to lower him from the framework.

By no means do I condone torture as a generally acceptable interrogation technique.  However, like any other tool, it can be an advantage when used used with control and discipline.  In a time of war, the safety of one's own soldiers must be paramount.  This can still be ensured without losing a respect for all of humanity.

A Leisurely Cruise

My wife and I enjoyed a short cruise for our honeymoon.  On that same cruise were two groups that had gathered for reunions.  Ever since then, I had liked the idea of a sea cruise as a location for a class reunion.  The only hindrance is a lack of funds to organize such an expensive gathering of good friends and relations.  This doesn't prevent me from mulling over the idea of a cruise and what else may happen while the ship is on the water.  For this story, I thought I would present it in the format of a journal written by one of the passengers.

Day 1:  The ship left the dock this afternoon after everyone was told what to do in case of an emergency.  I still can't believe that someone arranged for our graduating class to have this cruise all to ourselves.  Sure, it's not a very large ship, but we weren't a very large class.  Even with many of my fellow classmates having families now, there is still enough room to get around and I don't feel crowded.  Not even with all the kids on the pool deck.  It seems some of my former classmates have been very fertile in the last couple of decades.  Now to take a few minutes and finish getting myself settled in my cabin.

Day 3:  The food here is fantastic.  I ate so much yesterday, I spent most of my time in a food coma.  The easy access to so many tropical mixed drinks didn't help my desire to sleep much.  The supply of food seems to be endless.  Each time I made a trip to the buffet line, anything that seemed to be nearly out was quickly replenished.  It didn't matter if it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, there was always plenty of steaming hot dishes ready.  There are more formal meals planned for other nights of the cruise.  I can't wait to see what those menus offer.

Day 6:  I spent the last couple of days catching up with some of my old friends.  We shared memories of our times together and told stories of what happened to each of us in the years since.  As a group, we then checked out the nightlife the ship had to offer.  None of us was too interested in the casino, so we participated in a few rounds of karaoke.  Our questionable singing skills were enhanced by a few too many drinks.  Nothing like some new stories to share at the next reunion.  I enjoyed the company of one person in particular.  I couldn't help but wonder what may have happened if I'd had the bravery back in school that I had at the end of the night.  I'm sure that kiss goodnight will lead to almost as much gossip now as it would have back in school.

Day 7:  Something isn't quite right.  I don't think any of the other passengers have noticed.  Too many of them paying attention to their families I guess.  The crew, however, all seem distracted.  The captain's voice didn't seem to be its bright and cheerful self during his morning announcements and list of scheduled events.  I also don't think the ship is where its supposed to be.  According to the itinerary, we should be headed back towards port.  The GPS on my phone shows we are still far out to sea and getting further from land.  Did someone hijack our reunion cruise?  Are we all in danger?  Is the captain stealing the ship for some reason?  What is going on?  It will be expensive, but maybe I can call someone on land with my cell.

Day 8:  I couldn't get anyone to answer my calls.  It was almost like nobody was even there.  The captain made an announcement this evening that explained it all.  Something has happened on the mainland.  He wasn't quite clear about what it was that happened.  All he did say was that hundreds of thousands of people are dead.  Communications are very spotty if they are there at all.  It seems like our cruise ship, and a few others like it, are now the lifeboats for humanity itself.

Day 9:  The attitude all over the ship has changed.  Parents are still letting their kids play, but the laughter seems muted and distant.  Meal times are much more restricted as some rationing is now in place to extend our food supplies.  It seems the alcohol isn't being rationed.  Some of my classmates now seem to be drunk all the time.  I'll take the fact not everyone is getting plastered as a good sign for humanity.  What's left of it anyway.

I may continue more of this story later on.  I may not.  I'm not sure yet.  While I decide, what kind of tragedy do you think the cruise ship passengers avoided?  A viral outbreak?  Some kind of massive EMP?  National riots and a breakdown of society itself?  Let me know in the comments.

A Day In The Mines

The curses of the Real World imposed themselves and prevented me from posting my last regular blog.  For that, I apologize.  I am adjusting many of my usual routines and patterns to accommodate a shift in my employment.

For today's post, I have been considering those that have entered the mining profession.  They risk their lives to work deep under the surface of the Earth and collect the metals and minerals we take for granted on a daily basis.  Silver, copper, and even salt all must be extracted from the dirt by people that spend long stretches of time away from the light of the sun.

In recent years, many people have discussed a secondary source for many of these minerals.  It would still require the risks and skill of miners.  However, reaching this source comes with a new set of challenges.  After all, it takes more than a pick and shovel to mine an asteroid.

The locator beacon was transmitting its signal loud and clear.  The survey crew had marked a very promising rock.  Their preliminary scans and tests seemed to indicate the presence of iron and copper ores along with some other trace minerals.  As the only miner close enough to reach it without exhausting too much fuel, Jackson would be the one luck enough to make a claim on the asteroid.  If he survived the excursion, this haul would make him a very tidy profit.  There might even be enough funds left over to upgrade some of the systems in his craft.  A larger cargo pod would mean larger future hauls for even more profit.  That would have to wait until Jackson had a chance to see exactly how much he could extract from this rock.

The beacon was about 5 degrees to his left and about 20 degrees under his feet.  A couple of short bursts from his maneuvering thrusters would place the beacon directly in front of him.  A brief burn of his main engine would start narrowing the 50 kilometer distance.  He could close the gap more quickly with a longer burn of his engine, but that would cost more fuel now and again when it came time to slow down and approach the asteroid itself.  Besides, the longer travel time would give Jackson more time to power up and run diagnostics on his mining equipment and space suit.

Some time later, Jackson is standing on a large barren rock.  The ticking of his landing thrusters as they cool unheard behind him.  His helmet keeping him alive and and blocking out any slight sounds that might make their way through the emptiness around him and the asteroid.  The only things Jackson could sense were the sounds of his suit's air recycler and the pressure of the suit itself on his body.  The lamps on his helmet don't brighten the omnipresent darkness much more than a few feet in front of him.

Jackson sticks the probe in his left hand deep into the powdery soil clinging to the surface of the asteroid.  He extracts the probe and places the sample in its tip into the machine he had been dragging behind him for testing.  As he waits for the results, he is momentarily envious of the tales of his great-grandfather and grandfather and their years mining.  It was said they could both swing a pick into the ground and pull it out.  They would then lick the dirt that stuck to the tip.  They each had the legendary ability to taste whether or not the ground had enough profitable ores to stake a claim.  Jackson had been tempted more than once with the urge to test his own sense of taste and its affinity for minerals.  It was the need to maintain a seal on his helmet that kept him from doing so.

Jackson had traveled about half the distance between his landing spot and the survey team's beacon.  He had collected enough samples to know the powdery "soil" had enough trace minerals to make it worth collecting.  It would require deeper probes into the harder core material of the asteroid to determine how much profit, if any, there would actually be.

If it were possible right now, would you want to be a part of a team surveying asteroids for possible minerals?  Or would you prefer the solitary existence of a miner itself?  While mining asteroids is still firmly planted in science fiction, much of the technology to do it does exist today.

Who Is Snoke?

Since the day Star Wars:  The Force Awakens was released into theaters, people have been guessing and publicly theorizing on the true identity of the dark Supreme Leader Snoke.  Some claim to prove that Darth Vader survived his funeral pyre and became Snoke.  Others claim it to be Darth Sidious/Emperor Palpatine, wounded when he survived the destruction of the second Death Star.  More still offer up facts that support the despised Jar Jar Binks as the one behind the holographic projection of Snoke.

I have an idea of my own.  It is supported by as much evidence as any of the other theories floating around out there.  The true identity of Supreme Leader Snoke is none other than Gaston from Beauty and The Beast.  Below are the facts that lead me to think this.

Snoke's wounds.  Gaston could easily have received head wounds like those seen on Snoke as he fell from Beast's castle.  His pale coloring could also be explained by some time spent exposed to the snow and cold waters present after the battle at the castle.

The Force.  Gaston's inability to use The Force would not be a handicap.  Nowhere is it shown that Snoke is able to use The Force.  He leads those under him with a strong hand and a drive that gets them to willingly follow him blindly.  Gaston has shown a similar ability to get others to follow him without anyone considering their own actions.

Size.  Gaston has a huge ego and sense of entitlement.  If he were to use a holographic system to communicate with his underlings, that projection would certainly be of considerable size.  The immensity of Snoke's image would only be fitting for a self-image as large as Gaston has.  After one view of Gaston's arms collection in his hunting lodge, is a weapon the size of a planet powered by a sun really much of a stretch?

Getting around.  All the different worlds in Disney's universe are interconnected.  This can be seen with the occasional appearance of characters from one area in another.  The methods are further exploited by Sora and others in the Kingdom Hearts video games.  With the recent inclusion of the worlds of Star Wars into the enveloping arms of Disney, it's not impossible to imagine a manner of transportation from the village Belle and Gaston lived in to the planetary weapon in The Force Awakens.

Are there any connection between Gaston and Snoke I missed?  Do you have an issue with one of the reasons I listed?  Is there someone you think would fit the bill better?  Leave a comment and let me know.