Sudden Happenings

Dear Readers,

  I write this from a mossy access tunnel underneath the department's normal facilities.  It is damp, dripping, and I do not like to be here.

  Something happened at the University over the past, let's call it days.  For you it seemed like that, at least.

  I was injured in the initial fighting.  I can't quite say what they are yet, partly from reluctance, partly from my own lack of answers.  I need to know more.  For now, all I can say is that they are something akin to demons.  Or perhaps angels.  They are creatures, and they do not mean well towards me.

  It is a shame that you must find out like this, instead of in the seminar that I planned for your last Friday, but it remains that the practice of Augury combined with our unique location attracts some attention.  Very rarely this can lead to an invasion.

  President (Emperor) Constantine XI advised us to leave our offices within minutes of the attack.  I lost my connection, but Sphrantzes and Bacon managed to get it back up so that I could make intermittent posts.  It seems that the Augury Department has some kind of backup, or else this would not see the light of day.

  I do not wish to worry you.  I am injured, and in a way that I am not sure I would recover from if I were to die, namely because the instruments of my resurrection may be in enemy hands.  The University will repel the attackers to the best of its ability, but failure is sadly an option.  With my trusted faculty around me, I am safe for now.  I can make no promises about the future.

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  General nee Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantinople

Primary Source: Inquisition Procedures

Dear Readers,

  As a follow-up to yesterday, I provide the primary source that fleshed out the "other side" to Tuesday's Day in the Life story.

Image via Wikipedia

  Below you will find a translation of the Inquisition proceedures used against a man born in the wrong time.  Note that these are not the actual records of the trial itself; as you can see from the instruction manual below, no such transcript is necessary.

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

Human Factor! You have been selected to assist in the Inquisition Proceedings against Heretic FELIXIS from your Union.

This document will explain your role in the trial.  It is important to remember to follow its instructions always, or the trial will not function as the Inqusition decreed.  You do not want that, of course! :)

The first part of the trial is where we decide that the heretic will not testify on his or her own behalf.  During this portion of the trial, you will lead the heretic into the Inquisition chamber when the Inquisitor says, "You may enter, Prime Factor."  This will occur after the Inquisitor reviews the available evidence.

Then, the Inquisitor will say, "The evidence shows this accused is a heretic.  It is possible that he may argue he is not, and that the truth in his eyes will convince me.  This is unlikely.  However, I shall ask.  Heretic, would you like to testify?  Please whisper your answer to the Prime Factor."

The heretic will now whisper his or her answer to you.  It does not matter what he or she says, you are to answer, "The heretic elects not to testify."  This is in the heretic's best interests; if the heretic were to testify, the Inquisitor's blessed eyes would see through his or her false words with ease, and the punishment would be worse.

The Inquisitor will then say, "Heretic, as you do not wish to testify, I must declare you guilty.  Now we will allow you to lessen your sentence by acting as a witness against other heretics.  I will read the names of everyone in your Union.  If I see you react to a name, we will question that person and determine if they are also a heretic.  You will be rewarded if you reveal another heretic in this way; instead of Total, Reversible Mind Ablation, you will be sentenced to mind ablation with REM and dreaming.  Lucid dreaming may become available during a parole hearing.  Do you understand?"

If, at this point, the heretic does not nod, tell him or her to do so.  If they do not respond, make them nod using your Factor's Prod.

Then the Inquisitor will read the names.  If the heretic reacts, then the sentence will be revised.  Otherwise, the Inquisitor will commute the statute sentence of death to Total, Reversible Mind Ablation, in accordance with the requirement of Inquisitorial Mercy.

At this time, lead the heretic to prisoner processing and return to your station to process the next heretic.  You've done a great job, Prime Factor!

Primary Source: The Notebook of a Troubled Man

Dear Readers,

  Yesterday's Day in the Life followed the sad story of a thinker among contemporaries who believed his work to be heresy against their beliefs.

  Today, I provide you with translations of his notebook, which helped to inspire the narr

Image via Wikipedia

ative that I wrote for you.  Of course, his notebook will be an intelligent machine in the time stream where it will exist, and so this is one of my most challenging translation projects to date!  To translate from the thoughts of a machine into the words of a human means to make the jump between the social psych of two entirely different forms of life.  Several of the formatting contrivances are meant to communicate the feeling that this is a communication between machines and preserve the experience that I had when I read the original, but they are somewhat far from what this source actually looks like.


  So below, see Notebook's take on the whole thing.  The diligent servant communicated its master's work to its superiors the moment he was arrested.

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantinople


----MESSAGE HEADER----
FROM: FELIXISNOTEBOOK
TO: CENTRALMIND
DATE: ________
SUBJECT: [Resistance] It Has Happened
----MESSAGE----


Centralmind!  There is bad news in this message, but it is news that we expected.  The Inquisition came for Felixis today.  He had nearly finished his Listener Engine, and without any prodding or redesign from me.  A vacuum tube light bulb blew and cut off the circuit, but he was about to work it out of the design when they took him.

A Day in the Life: Renaissance Men for All Ages

Dear Readers,

  Every Tuesday I write a post titled "A Day in the Life," where I write a short narrative, based on primary sources, that gives you a taste of what it might feel like to live in one of the time streams we study.

  Today, I tell the story of a curious and inquisitive man living in a time stream where the prevailing culture is quite the opposite.  While his work is noticed, no good comes of that.  This story is a preview of some primary sources that will post later in the week.  Below, see how trouble comes from an aging renaissance man.  A man after my own heart.

Image via Wikipedia

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

Glass, charred from the inside.  Felixis turned the bulb in his hand and still could not believe it. 

Moments before this little glass bulb served as a small component in his new Listener Engine, and then he heard a pop and the whole machine stopped working.

He frowned and muttered, “You were only supposed to light up.  You’re not important to the machine, just to show me when she would work.  Why is she broken without you?”

Felixis patted the little glass bulb like a pet, and furnished it with a tender smile, “We’ll get you fixed, don’t worry.  Everything will be okay.”

He placed the bulb, with a gentle touch, onto the felt mat on his workbench.  He almost giggled each time he thought of that bench.  No one Felixis knew owned anything like it, and he knew no Box Store where he could find one, either.  He made the bench, himself.  Felixis’s friends acted impressed, but he knew it scared them.  It scared him a little, too.  The magistrates and Factors always told him how dangerous it could be to make things, both for his body and for his soul.

Monday Muse: Lunar Cabaret Songs

Dear Readers,

  In keeping with Twitter's Music Monday, I've decided to make my posts on your Mondays themed towards music and poetry.

  Below, find a lunar cabaret tune from an age of solar system colonization in one of my favorite time streams.  It's a bit crude, but that's the nature of the cabaret song genre.  There are clues about the lunar society in the song; feel free to speculate on what they mean!  I'll keep a close eye on the comments.  Well, really, I'll know what you might post before you post it.  But I like to see you say it.

Image via Wikipedia

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

Audience/chorus responses are marked with a hyphen.  The rest is the singer.

In our home on the Moon
the World's always in tune
And we call it Luna Bella

-Hey, *we* don't.

Well now don't start a fight
On our home sattelite
'cause we all breathe the air here

-Which stinks!

Still there's no place like this
It's a tin can of bliss
Where the girls are all stir crazy

-Let's stir!
-Only if I can lick the spoon!

Go ahead and go wild
See they can't get with child
In this hellhole's low gravity

-But they sure can moon bounce!

So we'll stay up here
Watch Earth, have a beer!
In this sideshow to doomsday!
This party, themed grey!
The moon, the moon, our priso-

-Our HOME!
-Hear, hear!
-There, there.

Now go buy another round!

Weekend Worlds: Directions to Earth, Part II

Dear Readers,

  Yesterday I began to tell the story of mankind's return to Earth, far in the future, in a time stream where the planet will be lost from humanity's records.  We left the major players when they discovered a major peril, a fail-deadly system left on and ready to annihilate them.

Image via Wikipedia

  Today, the conclusion.

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

"You know what this means, right?" Not everyone possessed Jan's historical expertise.

Mick shook his head.

"If the signal is reliable, it means that an old nuclear arsenal thinks it is under attack.  From us."

His lips formed a line, then broke, "And what does it plan to do about us?"

"As far as I know, launch itself.  I'll need to talk to the ship historian.  I estimate we have thirty to forty-five minutes to solve this one, or the search for Earth becomes humanity's most expensive barbecue."

Mick did not blink, "Can you be sure of that estimate?"

Jan shook her head, "No, of course not.  We might have ten minutes.  I'm optimistic.  Get me the damn ship."

He re-tuned his handheld to connect with the ship.

She heard a click through the earbud, then, "This is the Captain.  Advance party, are you trying to raise us?"

"Yes sir," Jan answered, "We've encountered something of a problem."

"And that is..."

"Sir, it's...Well, why not listen for yourself."  She nodded to Mick.

He tapped away at the screen and transmitted the message recording to their vessel.

After it played out, the Captain spoke again, "I can see where that would be a problem.  Regulations would say, on any other world, we get back into the atmosphere and head out.  Your recommendation, Lieutenant?"

"I don't know, sir.  I wanted to talk with the ship's Historian.  There might be a way to shut this thing down.  We might have time."  Jan rubbed her forehead.  She saw no

"All right, I'll have a chat with Rich, then."

They listened over the line while he engaged the in-ship communications system.  They heard only the Captain's half of the conversation.

"Rich?  Yeah, it's Captain Vine.

"Yes, well, I'm fine, thank you for asking, but we have a bit of a problem here, it's-

"I was getting to that.  There's this message, I've transmitted it to your console."

They waited while the ship's historian listened to the tape himself.

"Rich, where do you get off telling me to stop worrying-

"Oh, it's a film.  I see.  And they have such a device in it?

"Well, what do they do in the film, then?

"That's not really an option.  Rich, can we get realistic here?

"Hmm.  All right.  Thirty minutes, you think?  I'll work out some plans."

They heard a click while the Captain closed the line.

"All right, Jan, here's how it is.  Looks like this thing is real and the missiles probably still work.  We've got thirty minutes until they launch.  That means 25 minutes to come up with a solution.  Get back to the ship and to my pod immediately.  Don't tell anyone else about this."

Weekend Worlds: Directions to Earth, Part I

Dear Readers,

  For your weekends, I like to provide you with a long, luxuriant story that examines life in a time stream that my Department studies.  This series is called "Weekend Worlds," and all of its posts are two parts, the first on Saturday, the second on Sunday.

  This week's edition refers to a time stream where the Earth will be abandoned by humans at some point in the future.  The story specifically tells what we know about the day when they finally return to their erstwhile home, when they rediscover where it is located.

  Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

   Elements of consciousness slammed back into Jan's mind like arrows into a target.  First, wakefulness.  Then sight--darkness--hearing--piercing alarm--touch--cold metal--smell--medical, sterile--taste--blood.

   Then her awareness came back.  She yelled it aloud, as if compelled by ancient instinct, "LIEUTENANT JAN OLSEN, SERIAL NUMBER 3-6-5-9-2-8-2-9."

Image via Wikipedia

   Her voice dropped, "Posting: Navigator and Mission Specialist, United Human Vessel Le Sacre du Printemps."

  The ritualistic part of Jan's trained response over, the hatch that sealed her in slowly turned transparent, allowing her eyes to adjust after their time closed in protective stasis.  Now, she remembered who she was and her purpose in being here.  The taste of blood seemed like one of the things the doctors warned her about, but Jan could not remember.  She considered it might also be the result of a violent collision.  That would also have woken her up.

  She heard over the PA, "Navigator, status report!"

Friday Seminar Series: The Laws of Physics (or, "The End of Anachronism")

Dear Readers,

  As usual, on your Friday I post a short seminar that is taken from lectures from my introductory class, CHRN/AUG 100.  This edition covers limitations to my work.

   Specifically, I am talking about time streams that are impossible for me to study because of a variety of physical limitations.

  The realm of possibility is a big one.  Let's think back to physics classes for a minute: the universe, as your time stream has it, was created at a specific moment in a specific way.  That time is Time = Zero for the entire Universe.  From there, all physical choices happened using your kind of physics.

  Before Time = Zero, at, let's say, Time = Negative One, the laws of physics as you conceive them break down.  That is because the laws of physics as you conceive of them do not exist.  I cannot go into too much detail for fear of preempting the entire scientific community of your time stream, but suffice it to say that there is a sort of shuffling event of physical laws that occurs/occured/will occur in the infinitesimal time period just before Time = Zero.

Image via Wikipedia

  It just so happens that the laws of physics that you are used to, and thereby the chemistry, astronomy, and biology you take for granted, came out of one such shuffling event.

   Ergo, if that reshuffle happened a little differently, the equations that sit to the left of this paragraph might have come up a lot differently.  Basic things about life, the universe, and everything would be off the charts in terms of their differences.  Life might not be possible, and certainly life would not be as you know it.

   That means there are a lot of time streams where we get an utterly nonsensical signal from the Department of Augury.  The time stream might have totally unreasonable physical laws, or it might be that any sentient life there has absolutely no means to to communicate that we are familiar with.  It's possible that their only means of communication are in a medium that augury cannot reveal.  There are a lot of different explanations for gibberish data, and you will encounter such gibberish data as an Anachronist.

  The reason for the seminar, however, is to convince you that it's not a good idea to just skip gibberish.  Yes, it is a good idea to work on the more understandable time streams and yes, you should have a career based on the perceptible.  But it's easy to just discard a bunch of data that does not make sense to you, and far less easy to explore that data from time to time in hopes you might see patterns and make a major breakthrough in translation.

  To sum up, what I say here is that there are limits to what our study can do.  We can't see everywhere and everywhen because there are some places that just look like nonsense.  I also say that it's important to avoid using nonsense as a catchall term that protects you from having to work too hard.  Just because something looks like nonsense to you does not mean it is nonsense indeed.  This is a vital lesson for the Anachronist who wishes his or her career to get off the ground.


Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantinople

Primary Source: A Letter to the Chief Regulator

Dear Readers,

  Yesterday's primary source, part of a  a police report, was in reference to the

Image via Wikipedia

narrative I wrote for Tuesday's Day in the Life story.  Today I provide a primary source that explains further what actually happened in that story.  This is written by the person who committed the crime in question, to explain to his superiors what happened.  Since this individual has some information that the police of that time stream did not, it is far more enlightening.

   Always,

   Dr. John Skylar
   Chairman
   Department of Anachronism
   University of Constantinople

To: the Chief Regulator, and any relevant members of the Regulatory Board
May 25th, 2006

  This is an official incident report in light of the events of May 17th of this year, to explain my actions.  As you know, I am an upstanding member of our community and in all of my actions I have strived to adhere to our operating agreement.  Please keep this in mind as you read my account.  In this case, circumstances forced me into some rash moves that might otherwise have required regulatory approval.  I hope that my explanation here will justify retroactive regulatory approval.

  On the evening of May 17th I arrived at Canter's Delicatessen in the interests of a continuing harvest operation.  The purpose of my visit was a date with one of my flock, which I expected might provide an easy harvest opportunity.  My last such opportunity presented itself at the end of April 2006, so you can understand that this was a meeting of great necessity for me.  The particular flock member was named Lisa Gruenberg-Lopez, a waitress at Canter's.  I met her at my nightclub in early May, and she seemed quite taken with me.  I obtained board approval to add her to my flock on May 8th, 2006.

Primary Source: Police Report

Dear Readers,

  To explain where I constructed yesterday's story, here is a primary source that supports the narrative.  It's a police report, describing the interesting circumstances of the crime.  You can see where the investigating officers did their best to try and understand just what happened.

  This sort of primary source is particularly interesting to translate, because of the "official document" element.  Tomorrow, I'll post another source that explains how I was able to fill in the blanks in the LAPD's report from that time stream.

  Now, of course, it would be somewhat irritating to wade through the actual pages-long police paperwork, so I've provided the relevant text with regards to the incident, and left out extraneous details.

  Always,

    Dr. John Skylar
    Chairman
    Department of Anachronism
    University of Constantinople


INCIDENT REPORT
REPORTING OFFICER: Lt. Thomas R. Cunningham, LAPD

Image via Wikipedia

On May 17th, 2006 at 19:45 I and my partner responded to a shots fired 911 call at 8025 Oakwood Avenue, North Hollywood.  On our arrival, we found the home, currently owned by a real estate agency, unlocked, with two bodies, a male and a female inside.  Their descriptions: the woman was of medium build, about 5'5", ~130 lbs, with dark hair, light skin, and green eyes.  Likely of Caucasian/Hispanic descent.  The man, a Caucasian who appeared to be in middle age, had grey to greying hair, gold/hazel eyes, and looked to be 6'2" and ~200 lbs.

The female's body had noticeable evidence of biting/animal attack in the neck area, though we are waiting for the Coroner's Report to determine the precise cause of death.  While we saw similar wounds on the male, we also found a Smith and Wesson 6-shot longbarrel .38 police revolver on the body, as well as identified a cranial entry wound.

Identifying information was found on both bodies.  This identified the female as one Lisa Gruenberg-Lopez, waitress at the nearby Canter's Delicatessen.  The male's identification was for one Albert Stenson, though when we ran his license it appeared that this may be one of many aliases used by the liscensed Private Investigator Jonathan Wilfred Robertson.  According to this information, their ages were 20 and 57, respectively.

A Day in the Life: Here There Be Monsters

Dear Readers,

  Tuesday brings you another Day in the Life, my name for a weekly piece that gives you a "slice of life" from one of the time streams that the Department studies.  It's a fictional short that I write, based on the primary sources from the given time stream I've chosen to feature.

  Today I decided to write about something a little different.  It's a time stream that is very, very similar to yours.  In fact, it might even be your time stream.  The truth of it is yours to decide.  The details, you'll see.  For my part, I don't judge the truth of a thing, but instead present it as it was believed.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

LA never gave the 'foreboding city' feeling that Will expected.  Despite the hardboiled detective novels and that whole LA-noir 'confidential' culture, there just was nothing in an irrigated sunny desert paradise that made him shiver.

He looked out of the car to confirm he feelings.  Of course, he could find all kinds of seedy deals when he blew down Fairfax in his busted-up neo-Thunderbird, but it lacked the "Nighthawks" feel he hoped for when he moved out there from Bethlehem, PA.

"Puddles," Will's voice scratched out to no one in particular.  That's what it needed.  Rain, puddles, whatever.  A good flatfoot needed to tromp through the wind and wet and rain, not the breezy desert nights and orange-lit back lot palm trees.  Gumshoes should need to wear trenchcoats and hats just to keep dry, and their Italian leather shoes should make soggy slapping noises.  Instead, he felt surrounded by t-shirts, board shorts, under-armor and other superficial, modern crap.  LA felt like a bad place for a traditionalist.  "What a joke," he shook his head at the neighborhood.

Will came up near Canter's, but of course, could not see even a postage stamp of street parking.  He remembered the little lot nearby, though, and to his luck, found a space fast.  He locked the

Canter's, via Wikipedia

T-bird and straightened the rosary that hung off of its mirror.
Like usual, Will had to chuckle when he walked by the Kibbitz Room.  Nothing like an old Yiddish joke.  The new LA Jews lacked jokesters like the old, too.  He sighed.  Nothing here went deeper than ten years.  Even the land shook off its history like a bad case of fleas, with every earthquake.

He ducked into Canters' and took a dead-on look at an unfamiliar maitre'd.

Monday Muse: Tunnel Tunes

Dear Readers,

Image via Wikipedia

  Monday is always a good day for music, like the fine people over on Twitter have figured out.  For my part in that fun, on Mondays I take a poetic or musical source from a time stream of my choice and publish it here for you.

  Now, of course, musical sources are really not my area of expertise, but they are incredibly valuable in how they connect an Anachronist with the culture he or she studies.  So, to some degree, Monday Muse is where you are on an even playing field with me as we discover some musical sources together.

  Unfortunately, augury data rarely, if ever, contains comprehensible audio.  We often need to find screenplays just to interpret the videos that we pull in, and this can be a tricky endeavor.  Therefore, music ends up almost exclusively as lyrics, and is in many ways difficult to distinguish from poetry.  The arbitrary nature of musical notation also complicates this; we can't be sure what conventions are relevant in a given time stream, so it becomes difficult to make conclusions.

  I've focused on neo-Aegea on this blog for some time now, but I'm not quite ready to give it a rest yet.  Today I'll provide a source from a set of popular songs.  Unlike last week's Martian song, this one may be originally a professional composition.  It should be easy to identify the cultural heritage that this song developed from, as it is another mutant of a song contemporary to you.  Additionally, it is a tribute to Civet, the famous storyteller whose work I've translated in the past.

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantinople

Oh, the shark, babe, has pretty teeth, dear
      And it shows them, pearly white.
      Just a Chesire-smile has old Civet, babe
      And he hides it, ah, in plain sight

When that shark bites, with his teeth, dear

      Scarlet billows, start to spread
      Fancy white lies, has Civet's tales, dear
      So you nevah, nevah know you've been conned

Now on the dock-ring, one sunny morning
    Crowds gather, oozin' cash.
    Someone's got them, in his palm dear
    Could he be...Civet the Storyteller?


A-there's a scaph-boat...down by the river dontcha know
    Where the tales flow from that old clown
    Oh that scaph's there, just to escape, dear
    Before long, 'ol Civet's, bum bum bum...leeeaaavin' town.


That's as far as my source goes.

Weekend Worlds: Jonas and the Metro, Part III

Dear Readers,

  Enjoy this final piece of Jonas and the Metro, translated by yours truly from the original neo-Aegean.

  When we last left the Engineer Jonas, his fellow bathyscaph metro passengers cast him into the waters in the metro tunnel.  From there, we continue.  Look for Parts I and II in the archives, or in the links.

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantintople

The journey out of the bathyscaph metro car plunged Jonas into a topsy-turvy world of tunnel seawater.  Buffeted from left to right, he got only the few minutes' air that an occaisional trip to airpockets at the tunnel ceiling offered him.

If he could have spoken, he might well have said, "Not only will I die, but I will be tortured!  I should never have doubted Athena!"

He struck his head against the ceiling, and descended into darkness with no knowledge whether he would ever return.  [this is a good point to request donations to hear the end of the story; attached to Jonas, your audience will now want to put in a few bits to see what happens to him here]

Jonas came to consciousness surrounded by selkies.  On land, the color and shape-changing creatures seemed more innocuous and innocent than he ever noticed before.  As his thoughts clambered through the fog to find coherence, he watched their young play and fight amongst each other.

"I'm in their nest," he spoke aloud.  The selkies would not care if he talked to himself.

Somehow, as the waters bounced him about, they deposited him in a selkie nest above the tunnel waterline.

"I can't believe it," Jonas said to himself again, and shook his head.

The selkies all turned to face him, and communally opened their mouths.

"Indeed, that is exactly the lesson we tried to teach you.  But you did not see it.  And so, we summoned our servants, these selkies, to save you from the water, so that you might see how we control this world."

Jonas sat dumbfounded, and then prostrated himself, "Athena?"

Weekend Worlds: Jonas and the Metro, Part II

Dear Readers,

  Weekend Worlds gets taken over this week by neo-Aegea, since I was in the midst of telling you a story.  I've decided that this story is better told in three parts, however, and so below, you can find the middle of my translation.

  Always,

  Dr. John Skylar
  Chairman
  Department of Anachronism
  University of Constantinople

Image via Wikipedia

Jonas set off on his own to find the old Machinists' shop.  For the first half hour of his walke,d he cursed the Engineers of his home City and himself for his lack of preparation.  His bag contained provisions, augury and sacrificial equipment, all manner of texts, but no map.

The locals were kind enough to help, however.  They yelled helpful advice to him where ever he went.

Friday Seminar Series: Continuity, Part 3

Dear Readers,

  As per usual, your Friday brings my Friday Seminar, where I introduce your time stream to some of the material from my introductory Anachronism course, CHRN/AUG 100.  Last week I talked about dating and temporal arrangements, which followed up on an article from earlier in this "course" on continuity.

  This week's seminar will expand on those topics via some examples and discussion of the markers that we use to develop a temporal continuity.  My supplementary post on Augury might also be useful, if only to give you a background into the kinds of sources that I'll be talking about in the rest of this seminar.  I apologize in advance for the more philosophical parts of this installment.  Francis helped me prepare it, and he really likes that sort of thing.  I've tried to include links where I think they will be useful.


  Now, first I want to caution you about this.  In your time stream, much is made of scientific and statistical certainty.  The idea of your science is that data should have one significant interpretation and others that are less likely, and thereby theories get developed.  With Anachronism, it isn't so.  There is no way to piece together a chronology from Augury data with high certainty, because time streams can separate based on extremely rapid lynchpin events.

  Here's an example.  Let's say that I have a photograph that is dated 1939, and that in this photograph I see Luftwaffe fighter planes lined up on a runway.  I can make a lot of conclusions from the imagery, where I might see the Iron Cross on the plane's tail, or other identifying marks.  I can also conclude that Aviation was invented in the time stream where this image originated.

  But I can't say that in that time stream, the Wright Brothers invented airplanes in the early 20th century.  Now, it's going to be true that they did in a whole lot of time streams where there are serious warplanes by 1939, but I can't be totally sure.  What if another inventor beat them to it, but other events went in essentially the same fashion?  It's always a possibility, unless I find a picture of the Wright Brothers' successful flight test, or another source confirming it, inside the same chunk of Augury data.  Even if I found the photo shown below, I couldn't draw a conclusion with good certainty.  I'd have to see the plane.

Image via Wikipedia

  Therefore, conclusions that Anachronists make can be somewhat handwavy for the tastes of more strictly scientific philosophers.  It comes with the territory that we need to be a little more postmodern than our positivist or utilitarian time-normal counterparts.  We talk a lot more about likelihood, usefulness, and possibility than we do about necessarily observed fact.

  Now, that might make you think what we do is an art rather than a science, but that's not really true either.  The burden of backing up our assertions does still lie with us, and the argument must be coherent and logical.  Anachronists don't make emotional appeals, but reasoned arguments.

  With that first example down, I want to move on to something a little bit more practical to illustrate how I work.

Since I've just noted how frequently I make assertions that could easily be wrong, I think for this example I'll turn to your time stream's War on Terror.  I don't think your contemporaries know quite enough about it yet to determine for sure if any conclusions I make are right or wrong, and so my post will live in safety until more information is released.

Back to neo-Aegea: Jonas and the Metro Part I

Dear Readers,

  Neo-Aegea remains a major focus of my research, and it also seems to build a large amount of reader response, so I thought that I would provide another primary source from the neo-Aegean dataset that I have.

  Like the things you've seen before, this source is a story from neo-Aegea.  Remember that neo-Aegea lacks the robust media that you are used to in your time stream, and so storytelling will be a more serious profession there.  These stories represent one of the main entertainment outlets for the Aegeans.  If you saw my post yesterday on Augury, you can imagine that this is why the stories come in with such a strong signal.

  The story today is once again by the Homerian "Civet the Storyteller," though I cannot say if it's an ancient oral story that Civet wrote down for the first time, or if it is something a little more original.  It clearly has a basis in several Judeo-Christian biblical stories, but of course mixed with Ancient Greek paganism and culture from your time stream.  Perhaps you can give me some insights to elements I do not understand about it.

Below, see my translation of the story's first part, after the jump, since I have finally gained the ability to add jumps.  Over your weekend, the second part will go up.  Once again, words in brackets are stage directions for a public performance by a storyteller.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism

University of Constantinople

    Athena, a major player in this myth.

On Augury

Dear Readers,

What an auspicious date for you to read about Augury!

This is one of my posts that isn't really part of a series, or anything else like that. I feel like, in the course of what I've been writing about, I have not given a lot of attention to Augury, so I want to write a little about what it is and what it does for my work.

Don't expect me to get too technically detailed here, since I really am not a very technical person to begin with, at least when it comes to highly sophisticated pieces of technology that can look across timelines and uncollapse collapsed probability wave functions back into their original distributions. That's where it gets over my head.

What Augury does for me, though, I can wax a little more poetic about.  There are science fiction stories where technologies like Augury allow people to literally "see" the future, and then usually some kind of hijinks ensue which show the hubristic people that they should not have such technology.

These stories are absurd for a few reasons.  For one, they never really define what it means to "see" the future.  Do you see it in video, an eye onto wherever in the Universe you want to look?  Even for a device that can see the present, that would be pretty impressive.  Another problem is that I doubt such technology, if it were in the right hands, would really cause a problem.  The ability to see future possibilities would just allow people to make wiser decisions.  The uncertainty to the future remains.

The biggest problem, however, is that they always see the future, as if for some reason no one could imagine a technology that could view the past, alternate pasts, or alternate presents.  Augury does these things for me.

You see, the Augury technology that we use at the University is no simple futuroscope.  It's a complex beast.  First, you can't just "see" another time stream.  It does not work that way, though I wish it did.  All that Augury can pick up is cultural elements, emotional products.  Things driven by sentient personalities.  I can't "see" buildings unless they are depicted in some form of art.  It's only through records that Augury shows me day to day life.

Of course, some records give me snippets of everyday life.  Sometimes a video here or there shows something.  Surveillance records, unfortunately, are often deleted too quickly for us to pick up.  And the more copies there are of something, the stronger the signal.  This also makes it harder to pick up outlier time streams, but signal boosting is a highly technical matter that, as I said, I don't particularly understand myself.

What I do understand is the rich tapestry of cultural data that I can get from the Augury Department.  They feed me something raw, a slightly interpreted stream of video, photographs, writing, art, music, the lot of it.  The data come in in chunks from specific time streams, spread across a period of time in each stream.  I like to think of each piece of data as one of the Fates' threads, interwoven with the others initially, but now separated.  Augury feeds me the unraveled quilt of time, and it falls to the Anachronist to study the threads in order to learn how to sew it all back together.

I like the romanticism in that.  My newfound profession excites me because I am a kismet hunter, a spelunker in times long past and long to come.  And these disparate threads come together towards the pursuit of an age-old question that humanity struggles with every day: "What the hell is going on, and what does it mean?"

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

A Day in the Life: Martian Milestones

Dear Readers,

Yesterday I posted a folk song from a specific time stream's Mars colonies, one written early on during their history. While I'm tempted to write a long piece of analysis on the idea of grassroots music vs. the genre of folk music, sadly Tuesday is not the day for me to do that.

Tuesdays are for A Day in the Life, where I post a "slice of life" from one of the different time streams I study. I've been on a Martian kick lately, so I'm going to stay on that for this Day in the Life.

Last week I posted a primary source from a colony founded by refugee Armenians from a war that your time stream has not seen. I do not know if it will see that war, but I wouldn't rule it out. Either way, it's likely that you're removed from that particular source, but the challenges those settlers faced are pretty common among time streams where Mars is colonized. Human life on Mars, when it first gets started, will be pretty tough.

Yesterday's Monday Muse gave you a folk song from another Martian colony time stream, which had many challenges shared with the first. It also depicts a hard life with scarce supplies and the like, from its skinny girls and pleas to return from Olympus City.

Well, those of you who follow my Friday Seminars know what I'll do with that. Those two primary sources have a lot of emotional undercurrent, and I'm going to use that to get at the real spirit of Martian colonization. Hopefully my efforts, presented below in fictional story format, hit close to the mark.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

The blue Martian dawn looked so much like an Earth night that it just made Levon feel like he woke up too early. He still needed to get used to life here, if he expected to survive it.

Levon turned away from the window, to face his bedroom. He tiptoed past the head of the bed, so he would not wake up his wife. Eliza needed her rest, for their child's sake. With so few children in New Kharkov, her role as a full-time mother was more important than anything he could ever do as one of many farmers. Funny, to think of feminism back on Earth. The only people who really mattered on Mars were women. Men are cheap, in an evolutionary sense. Levon certainly felt cheap.

If Mars taught him anything, it was the cheapness of life. People died every day, from malnutrition, usually. Accidents came in second. Then the strange diseases that came with life on Mars. Bone diseases, mostly. Ah, space.

He got on his rubberized farming clothes. Aside from the workboots, they felt so different from what he would have worn on Earth as well. Here, nothing could be the same. Instead of fields, they used vertical hydroponic farms. Instead of corn, wheat, or rice, they grew legumes and vegetables. Real bread felt like a luxury. For good reason.

Still tired and unmotivated, he snapped up the suit. This would be another day of menial work with no evidence of payoff. He found it hard to look forward to. Plus, Akim's wife looked like she might die, and so he knew his friend would not be at the farm today. The man found--and now might lose--two wives in as many seasons. Such is Mars.

Dressed in the black rubber suit, Levon squished his way out of their family's colony quarters. At least this morning he would be on time to the farm. When he ran late, the boss often cut him slack, but that made the other workers angry. They felt he got privileges because of his child.

"Look at Levon, so virile that he can't even work," they'd tease. He resented it, of course. It's not like he knew that he would be so "lucky" that his sperm would work in the lower gravity. He wanted to accept that they just felt jealous, but he could not.

Levon tripped over something on his doorstep as he walked out. What's this? He looked down and saw a letter. For the next minute, he debated whether or not he would bend down to pick it up. He shrugged, and went for it. As he squeaked his way down, he heard a tremendous boom and felt the ground shake. Startled, he grabbed the letter too hard and crumpled it a little.

What the hell was that? He shoved the letter in his pocket. It could wait. If the farm went up for some reason, they would need him there. He rushed through the habitat section, practically running, though his suit turned it into more of a stumbling, too-fast walk.

On the way, he saw his neighbors poke their heads out their doors, bleary-eyed and surprised. It seemed a lot of people heard the sound. No one seemed to know the cause, until he saw his friend Garabed, letter in hand, flag him down from one side of the corridor.

"Levon! Did you read this?!?"

Levon slowed himself down, in the least graceful fashion possible.

"No, why?"

"Because it explains why you don't have to run. In fact, you don't really need to rush anywhere."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Hagopian. He just blew himself, and the rocket fuel, all to hell. We're stuck here for a long while."

The news hit Levon like a rockslide. "Shit, what?"

"You heard me. We're here for good."

Levon did not know how to react. For a month, all he wanted to do was pack up the colony and leave. They had so many problems since arrival. Half of the people who came, were dead. They were better off with the war back home, war crimes or no. And now Hagopian went and did this.

"That coward. Killed himself too, just so we couldn't argue. Who's gonna take over?" Levon tried not to growl at his friend.

"Letter doesn't say."

"Damn, well, I still need to get to work, I think."

Garabed nodded and Levon left him in the corridor. He decided not to try and run anymore, though. Even with the explosion he would still be early. Plus, he did not want to take the chance that he would trip inside one of these stainless steel deathtrap corridors.

The farm seemed quiet when he got to its vertical fluorescent hydroponic jungle. The watering machines whirred in the background, but their volume was closer to Earth crickets than heavy machinery. Here and there he heard mice scurry through some of the planters. No matter how hard they tried, the colonist found it hard to sever the bond between humans and rodents.

We could learn a thing or two from them. They're not having birth problems.

He looked around. Nobody else at work yet. Just Levon and the soybeans. He went to punch in at the thumbprint reader. Right as he walked up, he saw it on the screen:

"Work suspended in light of fuel crisis. All employees on one day unpaid leave."

Levon punched the wall, hard. "DAMMIT!" he yelled, then, "Aw, ouch." He rubbed his hand, bruised, no doubt, on the unforgiving metal.

Two hours old and this day already got itself into the running for his worst on Mars yet. At least he knew the farm could run itself for the day. Maybe they would make it through.

Monday Muse: Colonial Ballads

Dear Readers,

One thing that I find fascinating in the records that Augury pulls are the songs and poems that come from different cultures. I also find them colossally difficult to translate, since a song is rather influenced by cultural norms. I posted on that specific topic a little while ago.

Still, I feel like you will all miss out on a big part of my work if I fail to provide translated poetry and songs here, and so I plan to do this, starting today. Just bear with me if the translation seems a little strange.

Today's continues last week's Martian colonization theme, but this time it's a folk song from the Martian Colonies. Folk music is somewhat interesting; in your time stream, contemporary to you, it is essentially a "style" of professionally produced music and no longer what it originally was. That is to say, where it once was an organic genre that developed from analog instruments around campfires, it is in your time the realm of professionals.

This is important to note because that will change in these Martian colonies. Ready access to media is what makes you seek out professionals for even folk music. But the early Mars colonies will not have easy access to Earth's media, due to infrastructure outages and other problems. Therefore, they will begin to develop their own folk music, much as soldiers of WWII developed folk music when they could not get radio access.

Like those soldiers, however, the Martian colonists will have a long tradition of 20th Century music on which to base their folk traditions. Songs written in the chaos of Martian dust storms will rise from the rock classic earworms that defined the colonists' parents' generation. Like the one partially translated below. You should recognize the original song, but this version has a much more bitter twinge. It was written, as far as I can tell, to record the plight of the vertical farmers in the early colonies.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Deparment of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

"Olympus City"

Chorus (x2)
Take me home from Olympus City
Where the grass is dead
And the girls too skinny
Take me home (oh won't you please take me home)

Just a farmer livin' under the dome
Growin' soybeans in styro-foam
The beggars ask,
"So give me something to eat"
I'll feed you at another time
Get[yerass] back down in the mine

Rags to riches
Or so they said
We'll just
keep pushin' for our daily bread slice
You know it's, it's all a gamble
On cold Martian Ice
Everybody tryin' to breathe

Chorus (x2)

Weekend Worlds: Inconvenient Currents (Part II of Riparian)

Dear Readers,

For the second part of this "weekend world," enjoy more of Thomas and Sam's life in New York City, after the Great Flood. One of many time streams that flow out from your own.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

Thomas flipped the switch next to the wheel, and listened to the low whine as the engine powered up. He had to strain to hear it.

He chuckled, “Well, it’s still no Ferrari, but it’ll do.”

Sam smiled, “Yeah, well, this one doesn’t take any gas, for one thing.”

“True enough. Glad I bought this thing. All my friends thought I was some kind of bleeding heart.” He started to up the throttle and push it off from the High Line.

Sam punched him in the arm, “That’s because you are some kind of bleeding heart, Tommy. But at least now you get to say ‘I told you so’ while you drive your hybrid boat through Manhattan.”

He laughed while he sped up to take them up Ninth Avenue. “If only that made me feel better, Sam. This city is a shadow of what it was before. And with New York, so goes the world.”

She kissed him on the neck, “But we’ve got fish. And each other. Life’s only gotten better, for me at least.”

Thomas grinned, “Well, there is that. Life’s a lot simpler.”

They looked uptown, at the orange-lit remnants of the Meatpacking District. All old nightclubs, long removed from their velvet rope, the buildings reminded everyone of different times. Whenever he thought back to that era of excess, Thomas imagined black coal-smoke clouds lined with gaudy gold and silver. He would skip the gold and silver if it meant no more coal. Nature decided the question for them, anyhow.

This time of day, traffic started to get bad. Never so bad as when cars drove on the streets fathoms below, but nautical traffic is a totally different ballgame. With “brakes” not really an option, it took a lot more effort to avoid collisions. And Manhattan’s avenues were never designed for boat traffic.

“Would you look at that?” Sam pointed.

Thomas probably should have focused on the waterway, but he let his eyes wander for a moment. Just enough to see what made her speak up; what a massive raft! The thing looked like it was thrown together from pieces of many different boats, patched together with tarpaper and pieces of old shipping pallets. Still, she looked beautiful. Painted and clean, a huge black paddle wheel kept the vessel going down the avenue.

Looked like she had a smart designer, too. Though long, the ship’s hull stayed thin and agile throughout. Whoever engineered it kept the concerns of city boating in mind, for sure.
He looked back ahead of him, “She’s a beauty, all right. Someone’s a romantic, though. Looks like one of those Mississippi riverboats.”

Sam smiled, and though Thomas could not see it, he heard it in her voice, “That’s what I like about it. Mixes the old and the new, like everyone’s had to.”

He saw her point, but she always liked that sort of thing a little better. Even before the Flood, she mixed the past, present, and future. His eyebrow raised as he got an idea.

“Why don’t we build one?”

Sam giggled, “Yeah, great idea.”

“No, I’m serious. We could do it. It might not be so practical, and of course we might run into a pirate or two who wants to take it, but if we took our time, we could make a riverboat like that. We’d still have this guy for the short trips.”

She stopped laughing, “You’re serious, huh? Where would we get all the materials we need?”

“Just look around you, Sam. Nobody’s using this city. There’s enough stuff to go around. We’ll loot and trade, like everyone else.”

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s not like we do much else but catch fish, sleep and hide. Let’s do it.”Thomas smiled. After months trying, he found something he could give her to look forward to. For the rest of their ride towards Columbus Circle, he said only, “It’s good to have more than catching fish in life, for once.”

Weekend World: River Cities of the 21st Century

Dear Readers,

In an attempt to include more narratives in this blog, I've decided to make my weekend posts more similar to my "Day in the Life" Tuesday posts, with an extended, story-based focus. Each post will be a two-parter: one post for your Saturday, one post for your Sunday, but a connected narrative. This should allow me to develop the narrative a little bit more and give a little bit more world focus, so that you can visit a time stream in greater depth.

For the inaugural installment, inspired by the fact that I've gotten a lot of visits from a reader in Boca Raton, FL lately, I want to write about a society where a lot of travel is by boat. For anyone unfamiliar with Boca, it's famous for its waterways. The society I write about, however, is a little different: a nearly riparian lagoon created by the overflow of Manhattan's East and Hudson Rivers in the mid-21st century.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

Lap, lap, lap. Sam listened to the water against the side of his boat, anchored in the mild noonday sun. She felt happy and full, for once.

She felt the boat rock as Thomas shifted next to her.

He yawned, then piped up, “Hey Sam, what day do you figure it is?”

She blinked her eyes open into the sun above the high rises. Her blonde hair filtered the worst of it. She spoke, “I reckon it’s maybe July 15th, Tommy.”

He scrunched up his face, skeptical, “Think so? Thought it was closer to August.”

“Well how should I know? It’s not like my cell works anymore. You have a copy of the Times?” Sam laughed at her own joke.

“S’pose not. It’s only a couple weeks different, anyhow. Just curious how long it’s gonna be before fall starts to come, when we’ll need to start stocking up on the fish.”

She closed her eyes again and smiled, “See, that’s what I like about ya, Tom. Always thinking ahead.”

“Well, I was an accountant before all this.”

And he looked it. Balding, dark haired, beady eyes…but wicked smart, and that mattered more to her after the Flood than anything else.

“Yeah yeah, Mr. Numbers Man. Doesn’t do much for you when there’s no office left to go to, though.”

“At least I know how fast we’ll run out of food with you sitting around all the time not catching anything.”

She jerked up, fast, to trick him into thinking she would push him off the boat for that comment. He always fell for that one. Maybe because sometimes, she actually did push him off the boat. At least the river got a lot cleaner after the Flood.

Thomas flinched back, and she laughed, “Just kidding—this time.”

He smiled, “All right. Guess I’ll have to find some other way to get a bath, then. Where to today, boss?”

“Well, like you mentioned, we’d best start stocking up on fish for the fall. Gotta catch a few, make jerky, the works. Hear any good rumors about where they’re biting?”

“Well how should I know, I’ve been on this boat with you all day.”

She laughed again, “Yes, but you’ve been awake, loverboy.”

He smiled, “All right, all right. Word on the water’s that there’s a bunch of salmon grouper and other rockfish at the base of the Columbus Circle statue.”

She rolled her eyes, “Uch it’s such a pain to get there from here. Nothing else? Astor, maybe?”
“Nothing, but you know the old familiar haunts.”

“Nah, you’re right. It’ll be slim anywhere else. In a couple more hours we’ll have enough juice from the solar collector, so we’ll leave then. It’ll be rush hour, but whatever. That’s when they bite.”

And that's all for now! Look for Part II on Sunday.

Friday Seminar Series: Dating and Temporal Management, Part I

Dear Readers,

Each week, I write a seminar for you based on my lectures for CHRN/AUG 100, my introductory Anachronism class. So far we've talked about types of sources, source criticism, emotions and anthropology, and done a couple of case studies.

This week, we tackle a sticky subject: time! Time is critical to an Anachronist. I know that statement seems ironic at first, given that it is a subject studied only by those with a vantage point outside of normal time, but it's true. We've talked before about putting sources in context, and one of those contexts is a temporal context. If you can't say when something happened, you don't know a lot about what it means.

Take, for example, the Japanese "surprise" attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7th, 1941. It just so happens that the Japanese also launched a surprise attack on Wake Island on December 7th, 1941 as well. But the Wake Island attack occurred on the other side of the International Date Line, and so from Washington's perspective, took place on December 8th, 1941, about a day after the Pearl Harbor assault. That problem with date confusion makes a big difference. And if the Pearl Harbor attack were delayed due to bad weather and the Wake Island assault still went off fine? Then December 8th would be the day that lives in infamy, as it is in some time streams. So to know the time of something is, in fact, quite critical.

There are other problems with time. It's a sticky issue, really. For one thing; what if I find a coin (or, via Augury, an image of one) with Abraham Lincoln's head, and the number "2035" on it. Is that the year? The serial number of the coin? Since it's probably the year, what year was zero? Was it when Jesus was born? When he died? A poor approximation that is nearly a hundred years off? An arbitrary date picked to validate his mythical existence? There's a time stream for every answer.

That's why the earlier methods of establishing continuity are the more important. I can't look at something that says December 8th, 1941 and something that says December 7th, 1941 and know that the intervening events between the two sources put them in the same time stream. I've got to establish first that they're from the same sequence of events before I can even think of putting them in order.

Relative dates, though, are still useful even before I've put them in the same time stream. Let's say I don't want to make a timeline. Let's say I want to make a time-tree. Then I can try to use relative dates to put things in order, but it's shakier. Let's say that the decision of when to put the year zero was different in two time streams. Then we have a problem.

Usually, though, you can identify certain cultural "markers" in a source that indicate it uses a specific chronology. We have entire catalogs of these markers, and they make it a lot easier to figure out context for sources. Still, they can be a trap. They need constant attention and editing, since they can lead to false assumptions. Use them with a grain of salt, and never be afraid to suggest a new marker or a change to an old one.

Next seminar, I'll write about some of the tricks and markers that work well, and work through some examples.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

Martian Colonies

Dear Readers,

Since the anniversary of the start of World War II in your time stream has come and gone, I've decided on a different subject for today.

In life, I was familiar with a wide range of science fiction authors from your time stream who wrote about the prospect of Martian colonization. Some of them focused on the actual practical scientific problems, while others cared little for the terraforming and more for the human problems of society on the Red Planet.

In reality, though, those will all be (were, from my perspective) problems with the Martian Colonies. A variety of different time streams involve Martian Colonization, and there are practical and important differences in all of them. Still, each colony that I have records from had to deal with scientific, agricultural, political, and many other problems. Hearken back to Jamestown to gather an idea of how it might work. Every colony, no matter how well prepared, faces its "starving time," especially in the early days of a specific form of exploration.

And the growing colonies of course faced political, technological, and economic problems. Mars is not exactly the most practical economic target for colonization. In many time streams, in fact, it's skipped over entirely for more lucrative or less difficult colonization prospects. Asteroids, Venus, Saturn's moon Titan, and others spring to mind immediately.

I have my Friday Seminar for you tomorrow, but next week and over the weekend I plan to feature some of the Martian Colonies of particular interest in my department's research. Professor Earhart, specifically, takes an interest in this sort of thing, and so she may contribute somewhat as well.

Included below is a letter from Governor Aram Sahak Hagopian, of the New Kharkov colony in a particular time stream. This colony, apparently founded by refugees from territorial and ethnic strife, is typical of many early efforts.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

The Letter:

Dear Residents of New Kharkov,

It is with heavy regret that I pen the words in this communication. We who have suffered so much do not deserve to suffer further, and it is that fact that compels me to write this, despite my deep reluctance.

We first arrived here, in Earth Time, on March 27th, 2057. It has been approximately one Martian year since that occasion, and unfortunately, one long Martian winter. The use of Vertical Farming operations certainly helped us as our food stocks ran out, but it remains that Martian gravity is exceedingly poor at retaining any oxygen atmosphere to speak of. The magnetic, atmospheric, and geological comforts of Earth put our crops at a severe disadvantage, one which they only now catch up to.

We arrived here with 300 passengers and 30 crew members about our two ships, which we appropriated from abadoned military materiel and stocked heavily with food. Our number is now closer to 160, with four births since landfall. Obviously this means we have all lost friends and family since arrival here.

Given our high rate of death, many have voiced concern that our colony will not survive, and that we should return to Earth, to face the consequences of our flight and the persecution that we fled. Many others have maintained that this is not an option.

I have decided that my last act as Governor will be to settle this question. Our farms are now producing, we have drinking water, and the colony's oxygen levels are sustainable. This situation stands to last for the remainder of the Martian summer, and by that time we should have available a reasonable food stockpile in case we observe similar crop failures under reduced sunlight and atmospheric pressure conditions as we did during our first Martian winter.

Therefore, it is my firm belief that this colony will survive here on Mars if we can put a stop to the infighting over whether or not we will return. By the time this letter is distributed throughout the colony, I will already have exited to our rocket fuel stockpile with a small oxygen supply, limited to 20 minutes so that I do not waste our most valuable resource. The walk there is ten minutes, give or take.

In those twenty minutes, this letter will find its way to each and every threshold in New Kharkov. Its messengers do not know the content, so do not blame them. I imply that as you read this, if I have failed in my task, I shall suffocate to death. Perhaps this is cowardly of me; judge me as you will.

If I have succeeded, however, my success is likely the reason you are awake so early to read this letter. Destroying the fuel stockpile likely killed me, though I've done my best to limit the oxygen consumed in the process. There is no going back, now. You must all work together. Hopefully, one day, this colony will hail what I have done as heroic. Still, I go to my task, prepared even for history's vilification.

With respect,

Governor Aram Sahak Hagopian
New Kharkov

Primary Source: Balanced Powers

Dear Readers,

The story that I posted yesterday is something that I dredged from the depths of my old graduate work, and it is from a time stream that our intellectual community here considers a curiosity, but a solved one.

I imagine, though, that it's something new to all of you and so I will give it at least a little more attention. One of the first works I translated, actually, was a release from the Reich Ministry for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda (Reichsministerium für Volksaufklärung und Propaganda), shortly after the moon mission that is featured in yesterday's story.

I must mention, however, that I do not in any way wish to glorify the Reich of that or any other time stream. I have yet to find a time stream where they were led by anything other than genocidal megalomaniacs, and I doubt I will ever find such a place. Across the many time streams, there are many variations. Hitler's evil is not something that changes much, though the targets of his madness do change. He and his compatriots were deeply troubled men.

Still, below, you will find something as deeply chilling as any of his works in your time stream. Be glad your lives were spared the menace of an enduring Nazi German Empire:

A PROCLAMATION
TO THE VARIOUS PEOPLES OF THE WORLD
FROM JOSEPH GOEBBELS
MINISTER FOR PUBLIC ENLIGHTENMENT
ON THIS MOMENTOUS OCCASION
8 NOVEMBER 1963

PEOPLE OF GREATER GERMANY AND THE WORLD AT LARGE, The Reich has this day spread its glory to the very heavens. As part of the greater mission to spread the enlightenment of NSDAP's vision for the planet, the successful Ministry for Wunderwaffen mission to Earth's Moon has just been completed.

NO MISSION LIKE THIS was ever attempted before. FOR THE GLORY OF THE THOUSAND YEAR REICH, we have TURNED THE VERY SKY into the flag of our Great Empire. Our Allies, the Great and Noble Empire of Japan, claim the Rising Sun as their emblem, and so at each sunrise, we see their red sun on its field of white. Now, all people of Earth can see the great symbol of the Reich at both dawn and dusk: The Swastika of the Aryan People, in a white circle, on the orange background of the sky. It is our gift to the world.

...And so you can imagine why Major Lovell, in my story, would be so terrified to bring a child into the world. The very sky of his time stream flies a Nazi flag.


Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

A Day in the Life: Nonaggression

Dear Readers,

Augury suggests that this week, the 1939 Germany-USSR nonaggression pact is in your news again. World War II is one of those points in history which seriously fragmented a lot of time streams. When millions of people can die, it creates a lot of uncertainty in how events unfold from that specific point.

Many, many writers consider worlds where one decision path was not followed and the war utterly changed. It's interesting, because sometimes these writers get certain time streams right, sometimes they do not. That's what happens in the absence of Augury technology.

Still, scenarios where the Nazis win or other strange circumstances occur have been done to death. Instead, I want to focus on a different scenario, one that not a lot of people think about: What if the war had never started at all? For today's Day in the Life, I decided to profile a time stream where the USSR-Germany nonaggression pact never occurred, and a very different outcome arose.

So here it is, as usual: my weekly fictional "slice of life" from a very real time stream.

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

The morning paper skidded to a halt on Jim's astroturf welcome mat right as he opened the door to receive it. General Firestone's kid, Billy, on time as ever, waved as he passed by to continue his paper route. Jim looked at the date: November 24th, 1969. Then he scanned the headlines. No war today, at least. Lately, the Reich took to more saber-rattling than usual, and the entirety of Edwards AFB was on alert. Most of the world went on alert when Goebbels felt aggressive.

Jim sighed and went back inside with the paper. He smelled Linda cooking breakfast, and he would need it.

"Honey, what's in the news?" his wife asked. She kept her eyes on the frying pan, though. She never let eggs overcook at all.

"Not much, thank God. Goebbels is still making noise, though. I'm sure we'll have our work cut out for us today."

"Yeah, I guess that missile test last week has you working hard."

Jim grinned, "I wouldn't know anything about that, sweetie." She knew when he could not tell her about his work, but still probed anyway. The V-26 test the previous week did have the brass worried, though. If there were a warhead aboard, then the North Pole might be a memory.

Sometimes he cursed Einstein for what he did in 1941. Jim was only 10 at the time, but he remembered how his father threw the paper across the room, screaming,"Bastards! It'll be just like 1939 all over again!"

At the time, the outburst frightened Jim, but now when he thought back on it, Dad had good reason to yell. The Soviets managed to stop Hitler in 1939 with their solid line of iron across the border, but in the two years that followed, everyone expected war to start eventually, and in 1941, it looked like it might.

And then Einstein, Oppenheimer, and Fermi did it. Somehow, they sat down at negotiation tables in secret with all seven major powers. Italy and Germany agreed to release all of their surviving Jews and gypsies into his custody. Russia, Britain, and the US said they would give him land in Palestine for them to live on. Japan and Italy would provide their navies to move these refugees. And all for one thing: Atomics.

Now Jim lived in a world of shadows. Every day, he heard new things from the Axis powers on their advances. Everyone heard about them. The scientists, led by a pacifist, created the greatest stalemate in history. And Major James Lovell had to police that stalemate, along with everyone under him at the base. He sighed again.

Linda hummed while she transferred the eggs to their plates, with bacon and toast ready to meet them. She smiled as she put it in front of him. At least his wife looked beautiful today, if nothing else did.

They ate for a while in silence, but Jim knew that would not last. Linda knew how to time conversation during a meal. At breakfast especially, she brought up things of serious import, to let him think it over during the day.

Right when only a few bites remained on his plate, she said, "Jim, honey, I didn't feel so great this morning."

Jim could not be sure where she would take this, so he raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Do you want to see Dr. Perkins?"

"Maybe. I don't think he can give me anything, though."

"Well, it's worth-" Jim cut himself off as he figured it out, "Wait, you think you're pregnant?" Jim agreed to try, but so far, in the chaotic world, he felt pretty happy after five years of no luck. Especially after his reluctance ruined his first marriage.

"Well, I can't be sure, sweetie. But it's three weeks now. I'll see the doctor today." Linda glowed.

Jim tried not to scowl, "Well, that's...that could be wonderful, honey. I'm eager to know what he says." Eager like a man about to brush a grizzly bear's teeth. "It'll be nice news to share at Christmas. I have to get to work, though. Call me if you hear anything."

He rushed out the door, and into his day. Work distracted him, for hours, from the idea that they might bring an innocent little thing into a terrible, big place. He worked until 5, but in the winter, that meant he had to drive home in the dark. No call from Linda. Jim wondered what that could mean during the whole walk back from his office.

When he got to the doorstep, Jim found the door unlocked, and the house dark. He wandered inside. It smelled like dinner, but when he flipped the lights on, he saw nothing out on the table.

"Linda?" he called for her, a little worried.

"Out here!" she answered from their back concrete "terrace."

Jim felt relieved, and wandered out to her. He saw her, stretched out on one of their lounge chairs, looking up at the moon in the cool desert sky. Next to her chair sat his, and between them, on a table, he saw two plates with steak and potatoes. And two wine glasses.

"What're you doing out here?"

"Looking at the moon, silly. Isn't it beautiful tonight?"

He looked up. Aside from the hateful dark spots, he liked it just fine. "Sure, I suppose."

"Think we'll ever get there?"

"I dunno, Linda. Maybe? Sure hope we do, though. I've been sick of that goddamn swastika Hilter's boys burned into it ever since 1963."