google.com, pub-2829829264763437, DIRECT, f08c47fec0942fa0

Sunday, April 21, 2019

Chasse Galerie

La Chasse Galerie

(extract from The Forever Man by Gordon R. Dickson)


She stepped back from the open port of La Chasse Gallerie, and gestured to the interior, “Want to come in?”

Jim hesitated.

“I don’t have a Secret clearance for this project – “ he began.

“Don’t worry about it”, interrupted Mary. “That’s just to keep the news people off our necks until we decide how to handle this. Come on”.

She led the way inside. Jim followed her. Within, the ancient metal corridor leading to the pilot’s compartments seemed swept clean and dusted shiny, like some exhibit in a museum. The interior had been hung with magnetic lights, but the gaps and tears made by Laagi weapons let almost as much light in. The pilot’s compartment was a shambles that had been tidied and cleaned. The instruments and control panel were all but obliterated and the pilot’s com-chair half gone. A black box stood in the center of the floor, an incongruous piece of modern equipment, connected by a thick, gray cable to a bulkhead behind it.

“I wasn’t wrong, then”, said Jim, looking around him. “No human body could have lived through this. It was the semianimate control center that was running the ship as Penard’s alter ago, then, wasn’t it? The man isn’t really alive?

“Yes,” said Mary, “and no”. You were right about the control center somehow absorbing the living personality of Penard. – But look again. Could a control center like that, centered in living issue floating and growing in a nutrient solution with no human hands to care for it – could something like that have survived this, either?”
Jim looked around at the slashed and ruined interior. A coldness crept into him and he thought once more of the legend of a great ghost cargo canoe sailing through the snow-filled skies with its dead crew, home to the New Year’s feast of the living.

“No…” he said slowly, through stiff lips. “Then… where is he?”

“Here!” said Mary, reaching out with her fist to strike the metal bulkhead to which the gray cable was attached. The dull boom of the struck metal reverberated in Jim’s ears. Mary looked penetratingly at Jim.

“You were right,” said Mary, “when you said that the control center had become Penard – that it was Penard, after the man died. Not just a record full of memories, but something holding the vital, decision-making spark of the living man himself. – But that was only half the miracle. Because the tissue living in the heart of the control center had to die, too, and just as the original Penard knew he would die, long before he could get home, the tissue Penard knew it, too. But their determination, Penard’s determination, to do something, solved the problem”.

She stopped and stood staring at Jim, as if waiting for some sign that she had been understood.

“Go on,” said Jim.

“The control system,” said Mary, “was connected to the controls of the ship itself through an intermediate solid state element which was the grandfather of the wholly inanimate solid-state computing centers in the ships you drive nowadays. The link was from living tissue through the area of solid-state physics to gross electronic and mechanical controls”.

“I know that,” said Jim. “Part of our training…”

“The living spark of Raoul Penard, driven by his absolute determination to get home, passed from him into the living tissue of the semianimate control system” went on Mary, as if Jim had not spoken. “From there it bridged the gap by a sort of neurobiotaxis into the flow of impulse taking place in the solid-state elements.

Once there, below all gross levels, there was nothing to stop it infusing every connected solid part of the ship.”

Mary swept her hand around the ruined pilot’s compartment.

“This,” she said, “is Raoul Penard. And this!” Once more she struck the bulkhead above the black box. “The human body died. The tissue activating the control center died. But Raoul came home just as he had been determined to do!”

Mary stopped talking. Her voice seemed to echo away into the silence of the compartment.

“And doing it,” said Mary more quietly, “he brought home the key we’ve been hunting for in the Bureau all this time. We pulled the plug on a dam behind which there’s been piling up a flood of theory and research. What we needed to know was that the living human essence could exist independently of the normal human biochemical machinery. Now, we know it. It’ll take time, but someday it won’t be necessary for the vital element of anyone to admit extinction, unless whoever it is wants to”.

You want to go out and fight the dragons, but life is too short… Image: © Megan Jorgensen.

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Tricked

Tricked

The Iron Druid chronicles

By Kevin Hearne

Chapter 15

The key to faking deaths is a fine appreciation of arterial spray patterns. One might be tempted to simply smear a bit of blood here and there, but forensics fellows these days are a bit more sophisticated than they used to be. If they figure the scene is a fake, they'll tell the family and the said family will never hold that all-important funeral for closure. Without a body, the coroner would never issue a death certificate, but the police would at least designate it a cold case if you could convince them there was a high probability of death.

I have found that blood bags work very well at simulating spray with a strategically poked hotel apply pressure to the bottom of the bag, practice a bit, and before long you will be able to write stories of carnage and odes to gore.

A small fan brush – the sort that one dude used to paint happy little trees – can paint a picture of bluntforce spatters if you flick the surface properly. Don't use a toothbrush; those patterns are recognizable. You could even talk to yourself, as that painter did while you flick blood around : ”And may be over here we have a nice stab wound. And, I don't know, may be there is a few more back over here. Multiple stab wounds. It doesn't matter, whatever you feel like.”

When it comes to the actual blood, my former policy was that it was best to use somebody's else. You could even leave someone else”s hair, as long as it was plausibly the same color, and that was the best practice, because magic users would have no way to track you down. Can't do that anymore, however. Police routinely send all blood and other biological samples to labs for DNA matching, because some of theses goodies might belong to the suspect. It's tougher to fool the coppers these days, but I enjoy the challenge.

Granuaile wasn't worried about constructing the crime scene, however. She steered me away from that topic.

“What I want to know is how you get around the documentation issues,” she said. She was driving us down to Flagstaff as Oberon napped in the backseat.

“Documentation of what?”

“Of your life before you take on a new identity. I mean, you can't just show up. You need all this stuff. A credit history. How do you do it?

Tricked. Illustration by Elena.

Friday, March 22, 2019

Lithiated Water

Lithiated Water

Excerpt from A Feast of Science, by Dr. Joe Schwarcz


It was once called “The Texas Tranquilizer” because of its association with reduced admissions to mental hospitals and low crime rates. No, it wasn't a pill prescribed by physicians or a weapon wielded by law enforcement officers. It was naturally occurring ionic lithium in the water supply, particularly in the town of El Paso.

The theory about the calming effects of lithium on the population of the Texas town first emerged in 1971 when University of Texas biochimist Earl Dawson noted the presence of lithium in urine samples collected from some 3,000 citizens. He suggested the lithium mush have come from the town's groundwater supply, which had a higher concentration of the element than is typically found elsewhere. Could this explain why Dallas with its surface water supply had seven times more admissions to state mental hospitals than El Paso? Could it also account for a crime rate that was half of that in Dallas, and a murder rate that was one twentieth?

There was already interest in lithium at the time because the U.S. Food and Drug Administration had just a year earlier approved the use of lithium salts for the treatment of manic illness. Although the idea that lithium could curb mania had been bloating around since the late 1800s, it wasn't extensively embraced, possible because this naturally occurring substance could not be patented and therefore was of little interest to pharmaceutical companies. But chitchat about the supposed benefits of lithium in water did send hopeful people scurrying to Lithia Springs, Georgia, to partake of its lithium-containing water. Luxury hotels mushroomed to welcome the rich and famous including Mark Twain, who is purported to have suffered from manic-depressive illness. But you didn't have to traipse all the way to Georgia to experience the legendary benefits of lithiated water. In 1887, a bottling plant was built, and the water was shipped around the country. Other marketers cashed in on the popularity of lithiated waters by just adding lithium bicarbonate to spring water.

Calming ambiance. Picture by Elena.

Then in 1929, Charles Grigg decided to get a step up on the competition by adding citrus flavor and sugar along with lithium citrate to carbonated water. He called it Bib-Label Lithiated Lemon-Lime Soda and claimed that it would “take the ouch out of grouch. The beverage was also a cure for hangovers, Grigg maintained. But the drink's name didn't exactly roll off the tongue, and he soon changed it to the simpler 7-Up. Why he chose the name isn't clear. Some suggest that it had seven ingredients and the ”Up” referred to the mental lift it provided. Others claim the bottle contained 7 ounces and featured bubbles that rose when opened. Grigg took the secret of the name to his grave, but 7-Up is very much alive, although it no longer contains any lithium. The beverage was reformulated in 1950 after the FDA banned the use of lithium as an additive.

Water with naturally occurring lithium, however, can still be marketed. “Earth's Healing Magic in a Bottle” can be purchased from the Lithia Mineral Water Company, still located in historic Lithia Springs. Whether at 180 parts per billion (ppb) lithium has any biological activity is open to debate. This is way less than the dose used to treat mental illness, but in 2009 a Japanese study did link low levels of naturally occurring lithium in drinking water with an increased risk of suicide. Then two years later, the same group showed that even with the data adjusted for suicides, lithium exposure at levels even below 60 ppb was associated with a reduction in the standardized mortality ratio (SMR), albeit only by a few percent. The SMR is defined as the ratio of observed deaths to that expected in the general population.

The researchers then went to raise a species of roundworm commonly used for anti-aging studies in an environment where they were exposed to 60 ppb of lithium continuously and found that after twenty-five days, about 15 percent of the untreated worms were still alive as compared with 10 percent of the untreated ones. Not exactly a stunning finding, but I guess if you are a roundworm, lithium might allow you to squiggle around for an extra day or so.

That study may just give producers of Happy Water, with its 100 ppb of lithium, sourced “from two ancient Canadian springs,” a little promotional wriggle room. It's doubtful that the water will put a spring in your step and a smile on your face, as the advertising suggests, but the claim that it is “free of empty calories” is good for a giggle. Contains full calories?

Perfume and TNT

Perfume and TNT

From A Feast of Science, by Dr. Joe Schwarcz


One of the most fascinating facets of chemistry is the process of discovery. Think of TNT and chances are you think BOOM, not Chanel #5. But rinitrotoluene (TNT) played a major role in thf formulation of one of the most famous fragrances in the world.

Following William Henry Perkin”s 1856 accidental discovery of mauve, the world's first synthetic dye, the chemical industry was hot on the trail of new colorants. It was then that German chemist Joseph Wilbrand synthesized TNT, which never made it is a yellow dye but did announce itself with a bang. At the time, trinitrophenol, commonly known as picric acid, was the most widely used high explosive but was prone to accidental detonation during production and transport. TNT, on the other hand, can be melted and poured into shell or bomb casings with safety. Its detonation requires the use of a more sensitive explosive such as lead azide, which when energetically struck, quickly decomposes to elemental lead and nitrogen gas. The shock wave created by the rapidly expanding nitrogen sets off the TNT. The same chemistry is used in automobile air bags where sodium azide supplies the nitrogen needed to inflate the bag.

When TNT detonates, it also releases nitrogen along with steam and carbon monoxide. It is the rapid production and expansion of thee gases that characterizes an explosion. While TNT never made it as a dye for fabrics, during World War I it did manage to taint the skin of munitions workers, most of whom were women. “Canary girls” these ladies came to be called. Skin discoloration, however, wasn't the only problem. TNT can be absorbed through the skin and cause nausea, loss of appetite, and liver problems. Many workers suffered before it was discovered that application of grease to the skin would prevent absorption.

After the explosive potential of TNT was recognized, chemists went to work trying to get more bang for their buck by attempting to modify the compound's molecular structure. And that is just what Albert Bauer was doing in 1888 when he used the well-known Friedel-Crafts alkylation reaction to add a four-carbon fragment known as a tertiary butyl group to the molecule. As the reaction proceeded, he noted that the lab filled with a decidedly unusual smell. Being a chemist, Bauer was familiar with all sorts of odors, and this one reminded him of the fragrances of musk. That was an exciting observation because at the time musk scent was a much sought-after commodity, highly prized by the perfume industry. Only did it lend a pleasing note to a perfume, but it also acted as a fixative, slowing down the evaporation of all the perfume's components.

Musk scent was very expensive because of the scarcity of its source, the sex glands of the Asian male musk deer. The animal secretes a smelly mixture of compounds from the glands located near its anus to attract the female. In its concentrated form, the scent is decidedly unattractive, but it becomes seductive when diluted. How anyone ever discovered that the dried and then diluted secretions from his inconspicuous little abdominal sac of the male musk deer charmed receptors in our nasal passage remains a mystery. What we do know, however, is that musk fragrance has been used by perfumers since antiquity, with the word “musk” itself deriving from the Sanskrit word for testicle. The ancient Hindus seemingly were better at perfume-making than anatomy since the scent glands are quite distinct from the animal's testes.

As soon as Bauer sniffed the musky aroma of his new compound, he recognized that he was on to something. He quickly filed a patent for Musk Bauer, and proceeded to make other “nitro musks” with even more effective scents. Musk xylene, musk ketone, and musk ambrette revolutionized the perfume industry and made Bauer a rich man. The nitro musks became the cornerstone of the perfume industry, accounting foe the popularity of perfumes such as Chanel #5, introduced in 1921, and L<Air du Temps in 1948. They were mainstays until the 1980s when they were dropped because of concerns about their poor biodegradibility, neurotoxicity, and tendency to cause a skin rash when exposed to sunlight.

Marilyn Monroe apparently wasn't worried about exposure to sunlight in her bedroom. When asked what she wears to bed at night, she famously replied, “Why Channel #5 of course!” Quite an explosive remark in those days.

Marilyn Monroe, Heidi Klum, Farrah Fawcett. Photo by Elena.

Seventh Plague

Seventh Plague

By James Rollins


June 2, 9:22 p.m. EDT

Airborne over Baffin Bay

As the Gulfstream banked over the open water of Baffin Bay, Painter studied their destination. Ellesmere Island lay directly ahead, shouted in a haze of ice fog. The coastline was a craggy line of jagged inlets, small bays, jumbles of rock, and beaches of broken shale. Plates of ice had rues aground in some sections, stacking up like a scatter of playing cards.

“Not exactly hospitable,” Kat said, watching from her window across the cabin.

“But man finds a way nonetheless,” Painter said, having read up on the place on the flight here. “The island’s been occupied by indigenous hunters going back some four thousand years. The the Vikings arrived later, followed by the Europeans in the seventeenth century.”

“And no the pair of us,” Kat said, trying to lighten the mood.

Painter simply nodded, his stomach still knotted with anxiety. Back in D.C., he had not wasted any time coordinating the mission with General Metcalf, his boss ad DARPA. The man had questioned the necessity of an excursion a thousand miles above the arctic Circle, but Painter had been adamant. He and Kat had flown due north, pushing the Gulfstream G150’s engines. They had landed and refuelled at Thule Air Base, the U.S. military’s northernmost camp, located on the western coast of Greenland.

If Painter had any question as to the importance of the region, Thule answered it. Run by two different air force squadrons, the base was home to a ballistic missile early-warning system and a global satellite control network. It also acted as the regional hub for a dozen military and research installations peppered throughout Greenland and the surrounding islands, including Aurora Station on Ellesmere.

And that was just the United States.

Seventh Plague. Photo by Elena.

Canada had additional camps, including one on Ellesmere called Alert, a seasonal military and scientific outpost about five hundred miles from the North Pole.

Painter tried to spot the place as their jet swept over the middle of the island, but the distances here were deceptively vast. The pilot navigated a course between Quttinirpaaq National Park, which took up the norther end of the island, and the spread of glaciers to the south. Below their wings, the Challenger Mountains rose up in a jumble of snowy peaks.

“We should be getting close,” Kat said.

Aurora Station had been constructed on the northwest coast of the island, bordering the Arctic Ocean. According to his research, the site had been chosen for a number of different reasons, but primarily because it was closest to the magnetic north pole, which was the subject of several of the station's research projects. While the geographi north pole was relatively fixed, the magnetic pole had been drifting for centuries slowly sweeping past the coastline of Ellesmere and up into the Arctic Ocean.

The pilot radioed back to them. “We're twenty miles out. Should be on the ground in ten. And from the look of the weather ahead, we're lucky we made such good tome.”

Painter turned his attention from the ground to the skies. While there were only a few clouds above, to the northwest the world ended at a wall of darkness. Painter had known a storm was coming, but forecasts had been worsening by the hour. The region was predicted to be socked in for days, maybe weeks. It was one of the reasons he had pressed General Metcalf so hard. If he missed this window, the chances of rescuing Safia would grow grimmer with each passing day.

He couldn't let that happen.