Population Control

Conspiracy theorists have been accusing various military and governmental entities of various programs to control their subjects.  Subliminal messaging, misinformation, and chemical mind control are just some of the methods suggested.

What if one such program was truly implemented?  A chemical compound that would make people suggestable without effecting their effectiveness.  The compound could be put in water supplies or foodstuffs.  People could then be lead to professions that would benefit the leadership without questioning why they were following such pursuits.  Civilians could be made to not question the actions of the military.

How would such a chemical be detected?  Would it be possible to stop such a program once it got started?  Is there any way of knowing it hasn't already begun?

The sergeant approached General Yatimo's office with a degree of apprehension. The folder in his hand contained information that nobody really wanted to see. It had the potential to shake up the entire Command Structure that had been in place for generations. One single fluctuation in a normally flat line of a graph could mean an end to everything their society had been developed to become. It wouldn't happen immediately, but the people that had detected the problem were more than happy to include projections for the end of all the peace they had enjoyed. While there wasn't anything General Yatimo could do, he and the other Leaders may be able to find some way to keep humanity from falling into the chaos that existed before The Program was instituted.

The sergeant nodded to the general's secretary. She had been calmly typing at her computer terminal when he entered the outer office. Because his duties included bringing regular reports to the general, she knew him well. However, today wasn't one of his regularly scheduled appearances. The information he carried couldn't wait the three days until he would normally deliver his reports.

The secretary gestured for the sergeant to have a seat. The sergeant ignores her suggestion and waits for her to make General Yatimo aware of his presence. She already knew the answer to the question but asked it anyway, “Do you have an appointment Jefferson?”

The sergeant's reply was completely flat. It carried none of the fear and apprehension he felt. There was also no sign of the joy he usually expressed at the few moments spent in the presence of the lovely woman. “No appointment this time. However, I have a report that has been flagged as Priority 1 Alpha. The general must see it immediately. The Leaders will be calling an emergency session this evening and he has to be prepared.”

No emotions altered or changed her face as she processed the meaning of what he had just said. “He is currently meeting with a civilian. They should be done in just a few minutes.” With that her attention returns to her computer terminal. She activates her headset and begins making calls. From what he can hear of her side of the conversation, she is canceling and rescheduling the general's appointments for the rest of the day. After the sergeant's meeting is complete, the general will probably have her clear his calendar for a much longer period of time.

The sergeant continues to stand and wait patiently for General Yatimo's earlier visitor to finish. The import of what he has to say make the few minutes seem to drag on for much longer. The general's office door finally opens and a diminutive older gentleman in common clothes emerges. The sergeant pays him no attention as he enters the office before the door closes behind the previous guest. The general is involved in something on his terminal, much like his secretary had been when the sergeant first arrived. The general becomes aware of the sergeant's presence when a folder is slapped down on his desk.

Without preamble the sergeant gives the general a headline that summarized the data in the report and its implications. “The Program is in trouble. An individual is developing a resistance. It is only a matter of time before all the peace we have enjoyed for so long comes to an end.”

General Yatimo sits stunned for a minute. He opens the folder and looks over the reports. He doesn't understand all of the technical language, but the summaries are enough for him to get the idea of what the scientists had to say. The sergeant explains as the general forms his own understandings of the situation.

“Testing of blood samples 'donated' last month show a decrease in the variable proteins associated with standard Program implementation. Similar levels were detected in a single sample last month, but it was deemed an error in testing. The increase in these variations since seem to indicate an expansion in resistance. This despite all the assurances there would be no resistance when The Program was first developed.”

Still getting over his initial shock and absorbing the data before him, General Yatimo asks the sergeant, “How widespread an area are we looking at?”

“Right now all of the people showing decreased protein levels are residents of a single small town Southern Nevada. No direct family connection has been found. They all work in different professions and eat and shop at different businesses. The only commonality between them all is the neighborhood in which they reside. More residents of the area are being 'encouraged' to visit their local blood donation centers so further samples can be collected. A similar program is being instituted in nearby towns and communities.”

The full meaning of the reports hits General Yatimo. He states a few facts the sergeant had realized and come to grips with on his way to deliver the information. “The decrease in the variable proteins means that people are building up a resistance to the control chemicals we've been feeding them for generations. An occurrence that shouldn't be possible. Civilian's minds will begin to think outside the parameters we set for them. They will behave as they did before The Program was initiated. The authority of The Leaders will erode as conspiracy theories grow and people question government and military policies.

“The source of this resistance must be found. Once we know how it is spread, we can stop it and eliminate anyone whose blood shows the decrease in protein levels. That should be sufficient to maintain our control over the population for centuries to come.”

The sergeant was reluctant to point out to General Yatimo the conclusions on the final page of the reports. There it was indicated the current resistance developing in the civilian population was due to the effects of nuclear tests decades ago in the desert near the small Nevada town. The effects of past military actions were hampering the future of that same military entity.

If you wanted to control the world, what method would you use?

Fourth Degree

This is another story idea that isn't from my brain, yet one I had quite a bit of influence on.  It is a tale from my son's notebook of stories.  At this point, I can easily see his creative and artistic talents leading him many places in the future.  If only he would stop growing up so fast.

My name is Jackson S. Master.  At the age of five I started to practice swordplay.  It took me thirteen years to master a technique called "the four angles of death."  After high school it became more difficult to keep training.

One day I found a rare metal called morphanite.  I decided to create four swords out of it.  When I tried to practice with them, I started to change.  At first my body turned all black, then stripes of red formed around my waist and chest.  After a few seconds I noticed that I had become faster, stronger, and more agile.

It seemed to me the only thing for me to do was protect the weak and innocent.  They call me Fourth Degree due my use of four swords at the same time.  Evil better beware the blade of the hero.

With summer vacation in full swing, I think the two of us will sit down and develop some of the ideas from his notebook into a few full fledged stories.  Before long we may even have two published authors in the house.

Taking The Next Step

My first book, Dangerous Stars, was written, edited, and published by me.  Some friends and family members helped with reviews and suggestions, but there was no editing staff, interns, or executive assistants to do all of the menial work that comes after the creative process is finished.

Contracts have been signed and files transferred.  The wonderful folks at Amazing Things Press have agreed to the next steps for my new title, Post Exodus.  This means less physical work required of me to get the book released, but more effort once all of that is done.  Release parties, book signings, authors' gatherings, and other events will soon be filling my schedule.  I consider that a fair exchange.

The new book came from a simple question.  What if an apocolyptic event was predicted but never happened?  The majority of humanity was able to leave the Earth, but a few remained behind by choice.  Technology and major infrastructures were still intact, there just wasn't anyone to fill the space.

This is just a snapshot of how I think one small segment of civilization would change after the ultimate nothing happened.

 The door to the bedroom opened and a young woman entered just as I was feeling myself again. She had long hair of a light golden color. Her face was circular in shape without appearing puffy or pudgy. She had a classic beauty that was accentuated by a faint tan from working many hours in the sun.

She had on a simple dress with a white apron on over it. The apron had some small stains on it that appeared to be from being worn while cooking many meals between washings. In one hand she carried a bowl full of something steaming and a pitcher of water was in the other. Her voice was gentle and smooth. “I see you are awake. It probably isn't a good idea to try and get up too fast. It looked like you had a rather hard knock on your head when my brother found you coming back from collecting firewood. We tended to your wounds and kept you warm in the hopes you would heal.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Not very long. My aunt found you early in the afternoon the day before yesterday. My sisters and I brought you here that evening and started bandaging your cuts and scrapes. This is the most awake and talkative you've been since then.”

“What about my bike? Did you leave it by the log I hit?”

“No. We figured you were doing something important by the way you were traveling. My sister brought your bike back while the rest of us carried you. It will need some repairs before you can travel any further though.”

“How bad is the damage?”

“Some cosmetic scrapes, about like you really. However, the front tire is severely dented and the handlebars are bent. Any other alignment damage would be up to you to find. You probably won't be able to find any replacement parts here, but there is a small town about a day's walk north that should have anything you need.”

“Thank you for all that you and your family have done.”

“You are most certainly welcome. Now, it's time for you to have something to eat. This is a thick broth that we've been carefully spooning you since you got here. Would you like me to feed you again, or do you think you are up for doing it yourself?”

I'm not sure, but her tone of voice when offering to feed me seemed to hint that there was more than food being offered. “Thank you, but I think I would like to try to feed myself. See how much of my strength I have back.”

“Okay. It shouldn't be too hot to eat right away. I didn't realize you would be awake so I let it cool before bringing it up.

She set the bowl down on the nightstand next to the bed. Reaching underneath the bed itself, she pulled out a tray and set it on my lap as I positioned myself more completely on the bed. Once I was settled, she placed the bowl on the tray and pulled a spoon from a pocket of her apron. The soup was rather thick and creamy. It had a cheesy flavor with a hint of garlic. There was also a mixture of other flavors I couldn't quite name. There didn't seem to be any chunks of meat or pieces of vegetable in the soup. The soup's thickness and lack of other ingredients explained how it could be safely fed to someone unconscious without running the risk of the patient choking. The texture reminded me of a potato chowder my mother was fond of making.

The young woman pulled a glass from the drawer in the nightstand. She filled it with water in the pitcher she had brought in with her. “It is a blend of helpful herbs in a cheese soup that comes from an old family recipe. We make it thick enough to fill the stomach during a long convalescence. It's good enough we eat it as part of our regular meals now and then. Goes well with a bread we make ourselves and some of the pork we trade with nearby farms for.”

“It is quite good. I thank you for taking care of me and providing me with this fine meal. Once I am up and around again, is there anything I can do for you?”

“From all the letters in your vest, I guessed you are a messenger. We really don't have much need for you since our family is all on nearby farms. Since you will still be healing for another day or so, I will talk to the others and see if they can think of some way for you to repay us. Is there anything else you would like me to do for you?”

Between spoonfuls of the wonderful soup, I thought about her offer. Once again her tone suggested an invitation for something more than simple assistance. “The only other thing I would like while I'm here is the saddlebags that were on the back of my bike. Would it be possible for you to ….”

I suddenly felt extremely exhausted. I was way too weary for the amount of energy expended since I woke up, even taking into account my injuries. I barely heard the spoon clatter into the empty bowl as I fell back against the pillow and fell hard asleep. I will never be sure if what I heard as I passed out was her actually speaking or just my imagination. “You sleep now, we will see if you can give us what we want.”

When a release date is set, I will post it here and on my Twitter feed.  Until then, there is more work to be done.

The Noah Push On

Despite my best efforts, the story of the Noah inspired by a tweet from Lar DaSouza won't leave me alone.  Similarities between certain aspects of humanity in reality and those in fiction are being drawn.  The individual human characters are beginning to become fleshed out.  While not featured here, the cruelties the Drag'kon are capable of is starting to become more severe in my mind.  

This entire tale is taking on more of a life than I thought it ever would.  Maybe I should get it a birth certificate and start claiming it as a dependent.

The Noah ship was picking up faint signals from the assembled device they had left behind on Earth so many centuries ago. There was no coherent message, but the fact a signal was being broadcast was encouraging. The communications panels were double staffed on all shifts in anticipation of the need to send messages back and forth between the ship and the planet. This meant personnel had to be diverted from other duties. The captain and other officers all agreed that, given their location and situation, it was deemed sufficient to have one individual cover both sensor scan reports and engineering monitors. Both systems were expected to be a low priority for some time. The engines were in a low power cruise mode until a response from Earth prompted acceleration to a higher speed for the rescue effort. Since the Drag'kon weren't expected to arrive for some time, there shouldn't be any changes in the reports from standard system scans. Unfortunately this meant a series of ionic fluctuations passing near Saturn were missed by someone who was looking at engine temperatures at that moment.

The politicians were doing what they seemed to be experts at, arguing. Their entire responsibility was to compose a message from all the peoples of Earth. In quick order, they had agreed to accept whatever help the Noah had to offer. However, the issue of a planetary evacuation would be tabled until such a time as the presence, or even the existence, of the Drag'kon could be proven. It was the composition and content of the message that was being thoroughly discussed. Each figure felt writers from their homeland should be featured in the message. Initial sections and passages were developed and compromises made. Later segments would be introduced, and accepted only if words that had been agreed upon earlier were changed. This entire process was repeated and repeated until it was the subject of numerous comedian monologues and bets were being placed with Las Vegas odds-makers. If any of them knew the importance of information that was only now coming to light, they would put their differences aside and urge the Noah to hurry and save all of humanity.

Darryl had finally sorted through most of his personal emails despite numerous interruptions from scientific inquiries regarding his discovery of the alien device's nature. While he couldn't offer any additional technical insights, it was his ability to recognize patterns and familiarity with the Noah's broadcast that made him a celebrity around the frozen base. Now that he finally had a few minutes to himself, he could see what his cousin was so interested in that she felt he should know about it and not her superiors at NASA. The message was rather brief. She had picked up something strange in the data relays from robotic probes on Mars. The bulk of the email was attachments of data files and transcripts of the data streams with the strange interruptions. Darryl's cousin just asked if it was possible he could share the information with one of the scientists on the base. She had no idea how many of them would be willing to look at pretty much anything he put before them.

Behind their stealth tech and maneuvers, the Drag'kon were monitoring the Noah closely and positioning themselves for battle. Shield generators were charged and ready to be activated. Photonic energy weapons were primed. Electromagnetic pulse devices were loaded into their tubes for launching into the Earth's atmosphere. Attack patterns and contingency plans were formed and entered into the combat computers. All of this was accomplished as Saturn's rings shrank in the view from behind the fleet and Jupiter grew before them. The level of excitement from the pending battle, regardless of how one-sided it seemed, was on a constant rise.

Leave a comment and let me know if you think, once the story is done, it should be developed and edited into its own book for publication.

Senses of Time and Place

Sight is one of the most heavily used senses today.  Travel is accomplished with the help of traffic signs of different colors or displays of flights and their pending arrival or departure.  Even pedestrians utilize street signs for their location and required directions.  Cell phones and tablets require custom settings to be activated and the occasional additional app to be installed so owners unable to see the touchscreen can still enjoy their devices.  While many art museums feature audio tours, they tend to describe the life of the artist or history of the painting and not the beauty of the piece itself.  Magazines and other publications try to boost their sales by featuring covers that are pleasing to the eye or broadcasting controversial headlines.  A difference between the amount of movement detected by the eyes and the motion sensitive inner ear is what causes motion sickness.  These are just some examples of the importance of the information our brains receive from our eyes.

The recent release of Daredevil on Netflix got me thinking about how much can be learned about the surrounding world without being able to see.  Even without enhanced senses, much can be gleaned about obstacles ahead by listening to the effects solid objects have on sounds in the area.  A number of blind folks have developed a navigation technique that takes advantage of echolocation.

The post today attempts to describe a normal daily activity while using only the senses of hearing, smell, touch, and taste.

It was a wonderful spring morning.  The warmth of the sun emerged through the windows as I walked across the smooth tile floor of the kitchen.  My bare feet had received a slight shock when I stepped from the carpet of my bedroom hall onto the chill of the ceramic tiles of the kitchen.  The difference was noticeable, but not as drastic as an early winter morning would provide.

My toes rested familiarly in the gentle roughness of the grouted groove between the tiles that were lined up in front of my refrigerator.  Opening it up, I heard the gentle clatter of glass on glass from the shifting bottles on the shelves of the door.  A cool draft filled with the smells of box of oranges placed on the bottom shelf blew across my face.  Reaching in, I felt for the round tub of butter where I usually left it.  Finding the smooth plastic, I reached around it to make sure its size and shape were what I expected.  I set the butter on the shelf next to the fridge and grabbed the second jar on the right from the top shelf of the door.  Removing the lid, I gave the contents a sniff to make sure it was the orange marmalade that I was in the mood for.  It took spooning grape jelly instead of pickle relish on a hot dog for me to learn that a jar sitting where I expected it doesn't mean the jar would necessarily contain what I was looking for.  That was certainly one of the more interesting hot dogs I've ever eaten.

Stepping through the warm spot formed by the sun again, I stopped for a second to warm my feet up and savor the start of a potentially nice day.  Finally, I arrived at the larger counter I used for preparing my meals.  Reaching forward with a well practiced motion, I grabbed the smooth glass knob of my breadbox.  My fingers traced along the first plastic bag of bread they found.  Finding the front of the bag, I felt the plastic clip holding it closed.  That clip told me the bread was white bread, not the wheat I wanted to toast.  Finding another bag, I felt the twist tie that meant this bag contained the type of bread I desired.

The kitchen was filled with the scent of warm wheat as I pulled a knife from a nearby drawer and opened the butter and marmalade.  The satisfying "tunk" of the toaster told me my breakfast was perfectly warmed just as a light rumble from my stomach informed me it was time to eat.  The hard wooden handle of the butter knife hardly moved in my hand as I drew it across the soft butter.  A long, light crunching sound reached my ears as I moved the butter-coated knife along the stiff bread.  Another soft rumble emerged from my stomach as I buttered the second slice.  The scent of sweetness and oranges reached my nose as a layer of marmalade followed the butter.  With one hand, I reached out and dropped the knife in the area I knew the sink to be.  The clatter of metal blade on metal basin told me I was right on target, once again.  My other hand brought one of the coated slices of toast unerringly towards my mouth.  I took a big bite of the crispy bread.  My mouth was filled with the creamy texture and sweet citrus flavor of my chosen toppings.

Now that my empty stomach had been filled, it was time to get the day started.  The sounds of beeping alarms and shifting bed springs indicated that my roommates would be up soon.  I left the butter and marmalade on the counter where the others could see them.  I returned to my room and prepared myself for whatever the world had in store.  It did seem odd to me that the only one in the house up early enough to enjoy a sunrise was the only one that couldn't see it's colors.

If you were to go blind, what is the one sight you think you would truly miss?  With descriptive audio tracks on movies and television shows, books in braille, crosswalk signals with audio cues, and text-to-speech apps, do you think there is more that could be done for the sightless to help them enjoy the modern world?

Time has come....

Time has been a part of tales and stories as long as people have been passing tales from one generation to the next.  Rip Van Winkle could be said to be the first time traveler, although his trip was accidental and unfortunately only in one direction.  Since then, many other authors and story tellers have explored the options of moving back and forth through the passages of Time itself.  Some books have been about a single person exploring the past and future, others about groups large and small making the trip across the temporal borders that separate today from yesterday and tomorrow.  Entire entertainment franchises have been built around making trips through time itself and the unique perks and problems these trips involve.

Thanks in part to modern physicists like Einstein and Hawking, a tool for modern authors exists that can make time travel more feasible and technological.  Approaching the speed of light would alter the flow of time one experiences in relation to those moving through the universe at a more mundane pace.  As one travels at speeds approaching the speed of light, time would move more slowly for the traveler than for those at home.  This takes place today.  Some satellites in orbit travel at such a high rate of speed, their clocks must be periodically reset or they would go out of sync with ground control.

With this in mind, it is entirely possible for a living "time capsule" to be developed.  Something like the discs loaded on the Voyager, a ship with a small crew and filled with cultural data could be set on a course to deep space and back to Earth at an extremely high rate of speed.  This would allow them to share modern viewpoints with anthropologists and researchers hundreds of generations down the road.  Imagine how much more we as a society might know if members of some of the lost civilizations like the Mayans, the Moai builders of Easter Island, or the residents of the temple in Angkor Wat were still around today to explain how they viewed their worlds.

I make this recording as a part of the permanent log of the spacecraft Hartnell as a part of "Operation: Van Winkle."  We were about two-thirds of the way through a mission with very simple parameters.  All we had to do was accelerate to a speed that approached the speed of light, coast for a few years, then return to Earth and quickly decelerate.  There we would share with the population the shared knowledge, values, and societal norms of the planet we left.  While just over a couple of decades would have passed for us, numerous generations would have passed for those back home.  Our crew would be the first time capsule that could explain the importance of the past to those that "dug it up."

The 50 members of the crew all had experience in multiple disciplines including electronics, engineering, communications, biology, and even some linguistics.  Over the first few relative of the 25 we were away from Earth, we all shared our knowledge with each other.  This was done for two reasons.  One was intentional, to make each one of us a backup contingency in case one or more members of the crew fell to some unexpected illness.  In the beginning, it also gave us something to do to fill the endless hours as our ship accelerated through empty space.  Nothing more was required of us than double checking our position and course and ensuring the environmental systems were still functioning.  All of the members of the crew were selected for their patience and ability to remain focused despite numerous possible distractions.

One major advantage of our "cargo" was the nearly endless supply of entertainment in a multitude of languages and genres.  Mornings would be spent performing simple maintenance on the ship and its systems.  Books, movies, and music we consumed during most afternoons, depending on the preference of the individual or plans for later.  Debates and discussions filled the evenings.  Comparisons were made between comedic movies from Korea and Japan.  The progression of science fiction in relation to actual scientific advances was a topic of many conversations.  Even the definition, content, and distribution of pornography made for more than a couple nights' late night topics.  In order to further clarify what we had for future generations, we recorded ourselves so that our words could be added to the library of culture that was to be shared.

The last 16 years had taught us a lot about each other and the shared history of all of humanity.  There was still enough for us to learn even more over the next 9 years.  Even the relative isolation from other crew members forced on us by the rapid deceleration during the last year and a half of our trip will be filled with final log entries, summaries of our explorations into our "cargo," and attempts to communicate with the current residents of Earth.  As much as we could hope that records of our existence would last hundreds of years, none of us really expected that to be the case.

Time capsules have been buried for all kinds of lengths of time in all manner of containers and places.  Why not one for all of humanity in space?

When you think of time travel, what is the first franchise that comes to mind?  Leave a comment and let me know.

When will the Noah arrive?

Stories can be outlined and planned in extreme detail.  Even so, they tend to grow organically.  Characters that were planned to be a utility in the background can become major players in the plot.  Items and inanimate objects that appear important at first may fall by the side without a clue.  All of this is a natural part of the story writing process.  Just as life can change plans in the real world, a fictional world can develop a life of its own and alter the original plans of the author.  A good tale is one that balances the author's first intentions with the wild growth of the tale itself.

The young technician was having difficulty getting any of her superiors to take note of the signal she had found.  Some said the signal was too short and couldn't be anything more than a simple distortion.  Another informed her that the Noah had transmitted their initial signal in many languages of Earth, therefore her signal couldn't be anything because it was too alien in nature.  He pointed the nearly random nature of the signal further showed it was simply a natural phenomenon.  She was escorted out of his office before she was unable to point out the base 6 encoding he has missed that made the signal appear random to anyone used to seeing data in patterns of base 8 or 10.  Anyone else that she felt would understand what she had was either in Antarctica or at a dedicated research station in communication with Antarctica.  She would have to find a way to get the data she had into the hands of someone closer to the South Pole.

In the cold at the bottom of the Earth, a small discovery had been made.  The varying artifacts that had been scattered around the planet as proof of their former presence could all be joined into one object.  When combined, the object seemed to modify electromagnetic signals nearby and give off a new signal.  The new signal was the same, regardless of the frequency or type of signal present.  AM radio signals, VHF television broadcasts, and digital data transmissions were all apparently detected, modified, and transmitted again as the same signal.  Through much experimentation it was discovered that the only variation in the new signals was one of strength.  Each retransmission was slightly stronger than the original broadcast.  However, an inability to understand the signal the object transmitted meant the scientific minds were still stumped as to its purpose.

A studious officer on duty in the communications building happened to discover something the scientists had all missed.  Each time there was a test on the strange object, he picked up a signal similar to the Noah's that lasted the exact duration of the test, but much weaker and locally sent.  He recognized the nature of the alien transmissions from reports and recordings he had been studying in his off duty hours.  After detecting a week's worth of tests, the officer took his readings and the detailed reports of earlier signals from the aliens to a group of scientists having some food in one of the common buildings.  They quickly understood what he was trying to show them.  They took this new information to the laboratories without finishing their meals.  There was finally a way to directly communicate with the Noah.  Now it was up to the diplomats and numerous governmental representatives to come up with a message to send.  Hopefully there would still be time for the Noah to help humanity when the politicians reached a consensus.

When the officer returned to his quarters, he was in a good mood and decided to read some of his personal emails.  He found one from a cousin of his that worked for NASA, and she was asking him for a favor.  He would read the rest of that one later.  His sister was due to have a new baby any day now and he had a pool going with some of his comrades that involved the new baby's birth weight and time.  There was an email from his mother that could have some interesting news.

A number of Drag'kon attack craft quickly approached the orbit of Uranus.  They were still undetected by the single Noah craft.  None of the technology on Earth was capable of seeing them approach before they wanted to be seen.  The captains were all anxious about the pending battle, but visibly relaxed.  A number of the weapons personnel were salivating at the thought of a fight, even when not at their stations.  The lower ranks working in the bowels of the ship were only aware of their ever present duties, in battle or traveling between systems didn't change anything for them.

I will admit that certain connections have appeared in this segment that I didn't really expect.  The relation between the communications officer and the technician that discovered the Drag'kon was completely unplanned.  It does add a possible tool that can be utilized in more than one way later as well as a possible wrinkle to add a touch of drama if needed.