SPACE: An Old Frontier?

Circa 2008 I did the "VIP" tour here at NASA. ("Here" = Houston. Anyone can take this tour; you just pay something like $80 for the tour instead of the normal $15 or whatever it is.) You get a lot more access, see a lot of the real work going on behind the scenes, eat with the engineers and astronauts, go inside the old mission control room made famous in Apollo 13, where you can sit and play at the same consoles, etc.

We were lucky in that a shuttle was in space while we were there. We were watching the mission control guys do their thing and I noticed among the wall of monitors a smallish area with a black screen and green hex characters. It looked a lot like the picture below.

I asked what it was and the guy said, "We call that the scratch pad. It's a live mirror of the terminal on the shuttle. When the astronauts enter a command, we watch and double-check it before they press Enter."

"But why is it in hex?" I said. (After all, even the vast majority of multi-decade nerds like me have never needed to enter any kind of computer command in hex, aka hexadecimal. Yes, digital forensicators of course still encounter these strange looking building blocks of data, but way behind the scenes where the non-nerds dare not tread. Not as a way to tell a computer to PRINT, for example, or COPY something. We were beyond all that a long time ago.)

"They enter the commands in hex," the NASA guy said.

"For what system?"

"The main flight computer."

"Sorry, we're still not communicating, because I know we don't have astronauts up there entering flight commands in hex. So what--"

"Yes, we do."

"As in the flight computer? You're telling me that if shuttle astronauts need to change something in their flight plan, they're doing it on the fly, in hex?"

"Yes."

"Uh...why?"

"We still use the Apollo flight control software."

I laughed. "No, you don't. You're pulling my leg."

"Yes. We. Do." The look on Mr. Man's face made it clear that he pulls no legs.

After taking a few moments to compose myself (close my mouth that was hanging open), I said, "That's unbelievable. Why would we still be using forty-year-old software?"

"Because it's the greatest and most stable piece of software ever written, to this day."

Later in the tour, we got to see a cutout of part of a shuttle, the part that contained the racks of computer equipment. They looked ancient because, you guessed it, it was Apollo-era equipment. Racks stacked with row after row after row of big clunky metal boxes and contraptions. Looking at an array of gear perhaps six feet long and four feet high, I learned that this was the still-in-use configuration of "memory." I don't recall the exact amount of memory this conglomeration of iron contained, but it was something stunning, like eight megabytes. (That smartphone in your hand or your pocket contains hundreds of times that amount of memory.)

Yes, this is a true story. And no, I'm not misremembering my decades. It was almost certainly 2008, but definitely no earlier than 2007. I still find the idea of using such antiquated technology to have been a strange approach to flying around space so many years after the Apollo era. But there's probably also a good life lesson tucked in there about the so-called greatness of our knowledge today as compared to years past. The guys who wrote that software in the 1960s were using slide rules, not pre-written libraries of code like we have today. They were the giants upon whose shoulders today's software geniuses stand. Even if they don't know it.

*     *     *

Speaking of space (ahem!), have you gotten your copy of Unallocated Space yet? It's made a bunch of the good lists at Amazon already, but it will be doing even better if you go get your copy right now! You can grab the Kindle edition right now for just $2.99. The print edition is literally days away from shipping, and the Audible edition is in production. It's being voiced by the same stellar narrator who did Seven Unholy Days, William Salyers, a major talent in the world of people with great voices. As a teaser, check out the first chapter below. It's gonna be good!

It finally happened!

It finally happened:  Unallocated Space is now available in Kindle Edition on Amazon. The print version is coming very soon. I'm very proud of this one and think it's my finest work yet. Please check it out. If you read it and like it, please leave a review and help spread the word. I've said it often, but in today's publishing world, you the reader hold all the power, more than ever before. Thanks for reading!

Unallocated Space on Amazon

SPACE. It's not just the glitziest casino ever built; it's the largest man-made structure in history. The scale and technology of this futuristic wonderland have captivated Las Vegas and the world, but beneath the shiny surface, something old lurks and festers. 

The casino's state-of-the-art gaming machines have been hacked; it's costing the company millions, and eccentric digital forensics expert Sam Flatt is brought in to find and fix the problem. But when Flatt stumbles onto the source of the technical trouble, he unearths massive financial fraud--and something far darker. 

UNALLOCATED SPACE is a thriller that delves beneath the surface and into the darkest recesses of humanity's capability for cruelty. It's a place where wealth and power can buy anything, and gamble for any stakes imaginable. And unimaginable. 

The Projectionist: Chapter 14

Sorry for the long wait, folks. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 14

THEN

Alice embraced unconventionality. She was odd. Knew it. Didn't care. So when something weirded her out? It was really weird. She stared at Mister Dan.

"Don't look at me like that," he said.

"I...well, I...it's just that--"

"Do you trust me?" he said.

She nodded.

"You've been hanging out here since you were what, ten?"

"Sounds right."

"And have I ever lied to you?"

"I don't think so."

Mister Dan cocked his head, then said, "Good enough. Have I ever treated you like you were some dumb kid?"

That one was easy. "No, Mister Dan."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"So, six years. I haven't lied to you. I haven't treated you like a kid who don't know nothing. Right?"

"Right."

"Don't that get me a little trust?"

She nodded again.

"Then take the book." He held it out to her.

Alice reached out and took it. She had never seen a book like it. Was it even a book? It was shaped like one, but the cover was metal, with a lot of fancy engraving. And gosh, it was so heavy! She lugged it to the workbench and laid it down as gently as she could, but it still hit with a thud.

She lightly drew her fingers across the cover, feeling the intricate designs of swirls and flourishes. Although it looked very old, the metal was bright and untarnished. "Is this gold?" she said.

Dan shrugged. "Never gave it much mind and it sure ain't something I'd go carting around for opinions."

"If it's gold, it would be worth a fortune, wouldn't it?"

He leaned toward her and spoke softly. "Alice, no matter what kind of metal it is, this book is worth more than a trainload of gold."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Back in the day, this place showed silent pictures. Since the movies didn't have sound of their own, a piano player would play the music that came with the movie. And even after the shows got sound, that old piano sat in its spot on the left side of the auditorium for dang near thirty years. When they remodeled the place about ten years ago, they asked if I wanted the piano. I said sure and got a few buddies and a pickup truck and we hauled it to my house."

"Can you play piano?" Alice said.

Dan smiled and scratched at his chin. "Nope, thought I'd teach myself but that didn't work out so good. To begin with, the thing was so out of tune that it sounded like some kind of sick animal. I hired a fellow to come tune it up and when he opened it up, the book was inside."

"It's beautiful. But what makes you think it has some kind of magical powers?"

He shook his head. "I don't think, Alice." He tapped his head with a finger. "I know."

"How?"

"Open it."

She lifted the heavy cover and flipped it gently to the side. She looked at the first page. Looked at Mister Dan with her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Looked back to the book. On the page, beautifully printed in bright silver ink, was the following:

MAGIC ENDURES. LOVE TRIUMPHS. A CHRONICLE OF ADVENTURE.

Directly beneath the printed line was a handwritten name: Alice Renee Pendergast. Her name. Her handwriting.

Projectionist Part 1 Now on Kindle

Because some of you don't like to read books on the web, behold:  The Projectionist - Part 1 is now available in Kindle format. Part 1 includes the first 13 chapters and sells for .99, as will all the other parts as they're released. NOTE:  Chapters will continue to be posted here on my blog as they are written and they will of course remain free of charge here. The Kindle edition is for the convenience of readers who prefer e-readers.

Click here to purchase Part 1 in Kindle format.

Chapter 14 is coming soon! Very soon!

The Projectionist: Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Alice often didn’t know why she did the things she did. Or at least she didn’t know at the time she did them. She just acted. Or reacted, as the case might be. Later she would ponder the "why." This morning's activity didn't take much brain power to figure out. That Porter boy was cute and quiet and sweet and never bothered a soul. She hadn't met him before but she had seen him around a lot of times and she could just tell these things about people. So when she saw that skuzz Ledbetter trip him, well, she acted. Or reacted. Whatever. It felt good.

What was funny, though? When she met Ledbetter in the hallway between third and fourth period, she'd expected him to threaten her or shove her or pull some other caveman move; instead he turned his messed-up face away and moved to the other side of the hallway. That wasn't like the bully at all. Oh well.

She daydreamed her way through fourth period, then homeroom, thinking about the theater, so excited about Lawrence of Arabia that she could barely stand it. She also found herself thinking more than once about Porter, which was a little silly since she didn't really know him at all and he might not think much of her anyway. Pretty much nobody else at school did. And had she embarrassed him when she knocked the scuzz down the steps? That hadn't occurred to her, which was one little problem with acting in the moment. Then she remembered something even worse:  She had winked at him! Why did she do that? Now he might think she was cheap and easy, or maybe just plain crazy.

With these things on her mind, she had an even harder time tolerating Mr. Peterson and his geometry. (Gee-AHM-uh-tree is ver-ee im-por-tant!) As it turned out, she didn't have to endure him all that long. About fifteen minutes into the class, a messenger knocked on the door and told Mr. Peterson that the principal wanted to see Alice Pendergast. Mr. Peterson sighed as if the rest of his life had just been ruined and motioned for her to go.

#

Mr. Turner's office smelled like, well, like Mr. Turner. Which is to say it smelled like Brylcreem because Mr. Turner kept so much of it slathered into his hair. Hair he was always combing, which left the whitish Brylcreem gunked up in the teeth of the black comb. It was one of those things Alice couldn't help but stare at, no matter how hard she tried. It was just that gnarly.

"Alice," he said, "I thought we agreed last week that you were going to refrain from behavior that caused these little visits of ours?"

She didn't remember the conversation that way at all. In fact, it had been more of a speech by Mr. Turner than a conversation. Alice didn't say this out loud because she had found that correcting the faulty memory of these people wasn't necessarily appreciated.

"Well?" he said.

"What did I do?"

He looked at her, drew a breath like he was about to say something, then blew that breath out and ran his hand through his hair. This made his hand Brylcreem-shiny and of course launched another combing session. "Did you or did you not shove Hank Ledbetter down the front steps this morning?"

"Oh, that," she said.

"Yes, Alice. That."

She shrugged.

"That's not an answer," Mr. Turner said.

"I pushed him."

"Why?"

"He's a bully. He tripped a guy named Porter, on purpose. Made him fall down the steps. Then pointed and laughed at what he'd done."

"And what did that have to do with you?"

"It wasn't right."

"I ask again, Alice, what did that have to do with you?"

This was a dumb conversation and Alice was about done with it. She shrugged again. This prompted another deep breath and long exhale and hand in hair and combing session.

"Three days detention," he said.

"That's not fair!"

"You think not?"

"No!"

"Maybe you'd prefer four?"

Now it was her turn to draw a speaking breath and then change her mind and hold her tongue. She did not, however, run her hand through her hair. It would not have come back slick with hair grease, but still.

"You can't wander around executing what you consider justice, Alice. If you were concerned about what you saw, you should have told a teacher."

"What happens to Ledbetter for what he did?"

"That's not your concern."

"Who told on me?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

"I have a right to face my accuser. It's the American way."

"This is not a court of law and you're not on trial, Alice. And for what it's worth, it's not a democracy, either. It's high school. More like a benign dictatorship," he said, then gave her a little smile.

"Dictators are never benign," she said.

His little smile disappeared. "Alice, you should go now."

So she did.

#

Her heart sank when she checked the bulletin board and saw that Mr. Peterson was the detention teacher that week. She slogged her way to the library to serve her time, settled into a chair at the detention table, and waited. (Maybe she was supposed to have gone back to the rest of geometry class, but she figured a detention hour with Mr. Peterson was punishment enough.) The bell sounded the end of school and a couple minutes later, she got a pleasant surprise when Porter walked into the library and made his way toward her.