TheScience.ca 2013
WINTER HIVER
Winter / Hiver 2013
Editor / RĂŠdacteur : Tony Lagana Design & Composition : istridia.design@gmail.com
Š2013, TheScience.ca
TheScience.ca - First issue
Description RCW 108 is a region where stars are actively forming within the Milky Way galaxy about 4,000 light years from Earth. This is a complicated region that contains young star clusters, including one that is deeply embedded in a cloud of molecular hydrogen. By using data from different telescopes, astronomers determined that star birth in this region is being triggered by the effect of nearby, massive young stars. This image is a composite of X-ray data from NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory (blue) and infrared emission detected by NASA’s Spitzer Space Telescope (red and orange). More than 400 X-ray sources were identified in Chandra’s observations of RCW 108. About 90 percent of these X-ray sources are thought to be part of the cluster and not stars that lie in the field-of-view either behind or in front of it. Many of the stars in RCW 108 are experiencing the violent flaring seen in other young star-forming regions such as the Orion nebula. Gas and dust blocks much of the X-rays from the juvenile stars located in the center of the image, explaining the relative dearth of Chandra sources in this part of the image. The Spitzer data show the location of the embedded star cluster, which appears as the bright knot of red and orange just to the left of the center of the image. Some stars from a larger cluster, known as NGC 6193, are also visible on the left side of the image. Astronomers think that the dense clouds within RCW 108 are in the process of being destroyed by intense radiation emanating from hot and massive stars in NGC 6193. Taken together, the Chandra and Spitzer data indicate that there are more massive star candidates than expected in several areas of this image. This suggests that pockets within RCW 108 underwent localized episodes of star formation. Scientists predict that this type of star formation is triggered by the effects of radiation from bright, massive stars such as those in NGC 6193. This radiation may cause the interior of gas clouds in RCW 108 to be compressed, leading to gravitational collapse and the formation of new stars. Source http://www.spitzer.caltech.edu/images/2064sig08-015-Massive-Young-Stars-Trigger-StellarBirth Author NASA/JPL-Caltech/CXO/CfA
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Table of Content / Table des Matières
My Name Is Ocean Peal
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Il était une fois la Terre
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Art
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Credits Textures: Snowy, by CrasyMadness Texture_7, by JadeReality
Concrete Wall, by mdpratt
Thanks to all for giving’em free
Backdrop vintage theater stage curtain, by Eveyd Textures from Deviantart.com
AND
this is how it all began, how I overcame my fears, and burst my bubble, to become the unlikely heroine of the High Frontier. Nobody expected a young woman to achieve what I did, and no one still does because I kept it all a secret – until now.
You’d never believe it what with my small frame, freckles and strawberry curls. I couldn’t intimidate a baby much less a hardened criminal. So how did I pull it off? I won’t hide anything, neither my failures nor my shortcomings. I caught crooks of every kind, and I had my share of glory, but at times, I failed to find the criminals and thwart their schemes. On several occasions, I came close to dying for my cause. A vigilante? Yes, I was, but it gave purpose to my otherwise self-serving life and I lived to tell about it. I decided to share my experiences with the hope that they may benefit whoever has inner conflicts to resolve or just the desire to right things wrong.
My name is Ocean Pearl
Welcome to my office. Feel free to explore as I write this story at my mahogany desk. I water the plants every day. Their colourful petals and fragrances remind me of faraway Earth. Pull up a chair if you’d like, make yourself at home. I’m really happy to meet you, and I hope you enjoy my old-fashioned decor. I was never one for new-age fashion or sleek modern designs. Don’t think I’m totally against style, though. This pantsuit I’m wearing is part of my collection of designer clothes. Black is my colour for business, red for romance, blue for fun. My office is atop the Constellation Tower, the tallest skyscraper in Sky Land One and the headquarters of Cyborn, the corporation I unwillingly inherited from my father, the renowned Maxwell Pearl. Cyborn is the main supplier of cybernetics and robots for all the space habitats, the Sky Lands. I’m athletic and the outdoorsy type. I’ve travelled to Earth, hiked along mountain trails and climbed its high peaks. So, I love an office with a panoramic view. To wind down from the excitement of adventure, I love dining out and dancing, what a girl like me can’t get enough of. Look out the window, at the city below. The houses, streets and pedestrians are so tiny from way up here. There are trees and grass among the homes. You could even see the full length of a river. It flows from a hill far off in the distance to the lake down below. Traffic clutters the street flanking each shore. Maglev vehicles leave no trace after they’ve passed, and at night, when one could hear a pin drop, there is no evidence of the hectic day. It’s hard to believe that such a thriving community could flourish in space on the inner surface of a gigantic cylinder. The sun lights up the hollow chamber of our world through the giant skylight
A contribution from the editor to kick start TheScience.ca and create a flavour for upcoming issues. If you like Ocean Pearl, she’ll be making more appearances in the pages of our magazine. Take a moment to get to know her. 5
that vaults our strip of land. The skylight comprises one half of the cylinder while the cityscape sprawls over the opposite half. At dusk, giant mirrors in space close and daylight surrenders to the sparkling night. The stars streak through the sky as the cylinder rotates quickly enough to create gravity, but we don’t feel like we’re moving. The sky looks like it’s turning around us. Life is strange on the high frontier. Some say it drives men crazy, but somehow several generations have survived up here while Earth spiralled into chaos. The name of our space habitat is Sky Land One. There are hundreds of other Sky Lands, each with millions of inhabitants. Most are orbiting the Sun near Earth. Ours was the first and my father was one of the pioneers who built it. He then founded Cyborn on reputation alone, and excelled where nobody else could: cybernetics and nanotechnology. That’s why, an only child, I became a spoiled girl. And I was certain that I wasn’t competent enough to direct this corporation. So there I was in my office, more than thirty years ago, when I had inherited all of Cyborn’s power and resources. I had become a loner and a recluse, and though I longed for it more than anything else, I had given up all hopes of starting a family. I was sitting in the same office the day after my parents’ untimely death, naive, frightened and unsure of how to fulfil my duties as its new president. What helped me figure things out was my first case. It taught me to never trust appearances and opened my eyes on the dark side of human nature. It wasn’t my parents’ untimely demise that had made me grow up and gave me all this courage, though. They had lived fulfilling lives, and the death of loved ones comes always too early. A part of me wanted to imitate my father, renowned entrepreneur philanthropist, but that wasn’t it. Neither was it my first case that I shall now recount. Nor was it the fact that a crime wave was sweeping the Sky Lands. Something else, that could have had irremediable consequences, made me turn myself around. I’ll leave that aside for now, however. One thing at a time. I’m an old-fashioned kind of gal. My office hasn’t changed a bit in the thirty years I’ve been here. The same old hardcovers adorn its matching bookshelves and I always insisted on receiving a printed copy of the news paper. Every morning, it came in the dumb waiter by the corner of my office. I remember devouring the first story impatiently. The front-page headline had made me forget the coffee that simmered in the pot on the counter by the window. It read, ‘‘Accidental Explosion on Flyby-Asteroid Sets it on Collision Course with Sky Land Twelve.’’ The article stated that the asteroid would hit the habitat by noon tomorrow. There was no time for a general evacuation and they were bracing for untold deaths and human suffering. There was a forced labour camp on the asteroid, where convicts mined metal ore, and their equipment was supplied by none other than Cyborn. What could have gone wrong? If I knew, would I be able to help? But disaster was inevitable. Or was it? The article stated that the supervisors and some employees had managed to jettison after the explosion. Why had no inmates escaped? Their craft was to dock in Sky Land One within the hour, and I had the burning desire to find out whatever and help however I could. My life until then was a mess. I had come off a toxic relationship, but worse yet, I had known nothing else but the lap of luxury. In fact, I doubt that he had ever loved me. I needed to make something of myself, something that money couldn’t buy.
So, I had cancelled all my appointments until noon the next day, and I immediately requested an interview with the mine’s executives. Since Cyborn had designed all their electromechanical systems, we might be able to help. I had received a reply from the mayor’s office as soon as I had sent the text: ‘‘request accepted.’’ He knew that we were his only chance. I remember that morning so well. I ran out the door so fast my feet barely touched the ground. I had been granted ‘‘foremost priority’’ which meant that I could interrogate those bigwigs even before the doctors examined their wounds and trauma. A police escort was already waiting for me outside before my elevator had reached the lobby. I rushed out, the swivel door spinning behind me. No time to waste. I slipped into the passenger seat and the car lifted off while its door was still opened. I slammed it shut and we were off toward the space-port. I buttoned my jacket and brushed my hair. ‘‘Frightening day, isn’t it?’’ He didn’t answer. ‘‘You’ll get us there in one piece, won’t you?’’ ‘‘Yes, ma’am,’’ he said curtly. The patrol car retracted its wheels and floated just above the roadway, and I held my breath as he weaved aloft, through the rush hour traffic at break-neck speed, sirens blaring.
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survivors emerged, worn and dazed, from the airlock as medics hurried to their aid. They helped them into the seats of the passengers’ lobby. The space port had been evacuated for the ambulances, and the lobby was converted into a makeshift infirmary, but my investigation had priority. ‘‘I want to speak to each one alone,’’ I said to the constables. ‘‘I’ll see them one by one in the adjoining room. The doctors could examine them afterwards.’’ I went into the room where the custom officials prepare for duty, sat down behind the desk and waited for the first man to be dragged in. They promptly cooperated, and sat him into the seat before me. The man dropped his elbows on the desktop and bellowed a sigh, running his fingers through disheveled hair. ‘‘State your name and function, please.’’ ‘‘Samuel Worthington. I was the master foreman of the facility.’’ ‘‘So, what happened over there?’’ I asked him. ‘‘Let me go to infirmary.’’ He clasped his head, arched his back. ‘‘Can’t you see I’m in pain?’’ ‘‘No! Lives are at stake. The sooner you answer, the sooner you’ll go,’’ I snapped, disregarding the weariness in his haggard face. He recounted with a raspy voice, ‘‘Everything was functioning well. The convicts were at work. We were all in the offices. And then the explosion happened.’’ 7
‘‘Were there convicts space walking?’’ ‘‘Some were outside, some were in the mines. There was a nuclear blast, the reactor overheated and blew. Can I go? Aren’t you afraid I may be contaminated by radiation?’’ ‘‘Don’t stonewall. There were radiation shields in your walls. I know. I worked there. We need to know what went wrong. Tomorrow millions of people will die.’’ He wiped a smirk off his face. ‘‘They tried to kill us, those dirty rats.’’ ‘‘Who?’’ ‘‘The convicts. A convict is just that, a rat and a pig. But their plan backfired.’’ He ticked me off. ‘‘Shut up. Calm down.’’ Long silence. ‘‘So they set explosives?’’ ‘‘You said it,’’ he answered, grudgingly. ‘‘How did you escape?’’ ‘‘The offices are on the other side of the asteroid. We boarded the towing ship docked in cargo bay and launched. We flew as far as we could, but the ship had been damaged by the tremor of the explosion, so we jettisoned in the escape pod. We were lucky to be close enough to the space habitats to land with whatever fuel we had.’’ ‘‘Don’t dramatize. We would have come to pick you up if your pod had run out of fuel. Did you check for survivors in the mines before taking off?’’ ‘‘There couldn’t have been any survivors. It was a hundred megaton explosion!’’ ‘‘How could you know?’’ I retorted. ‘‘They were protected by kilometres of solid rock.’’ He grunted, and blew his nose on his sleeve, shaken and worried. ‘‘Okay, get lost. Go mind your bruises.’’ I was really turned off by his callousness, and doubted he was truthful. ‘‘You can’t talk to me like that. I’ve received commendations, employee of the year several times-’’ ‘‘Please bring in the next one, officers.’’ I interrupted him. There was so little time, and I was scared out of my mind. The constables helped him out and another waddled in. He slumped into the seat and looked at me reluctantly. ‘‘State your name and function, please.’’ ‘‘Mikael Hapsberg. I was the Director.’’ ‘‘Oh? So, how did this all happen?’’ ‘‘I was sitting at my desk, drinking my coffee when a powerful quake rocked our building. External walls cracked on some floors which began depressurizing. There was major panic. I didn’t know what had happened until I saw on the computer that the main reactor blew up.’’
‘‘Was it an accident?’’ He bit his lip and eyed me suspiciously. ‘‘Yes,’’ he said, ‘‘it must have been.’’ ‘‘Okay, so, how did you get out?’’ ‘‘We scrambled for the cargo ship and launched on one engine. It too was failing. The jolt had rattled it some, but we managed to fly a good distance before it gave out. We then used the escape pod.’’ ‘‘Did you check for survivors in the mine?’’ ‘‘Uh, yes, we tried to reach them by radio. No answer.’’ ‘‘How about the monitors on their space suits?’’ ‘‘Oh, all their vital signs flat lined.’’ ‘‘So, you assumed they were all dead.’’ He scratched his face nervously. ‘‘Uh, there was no chance of survival.’’ ‘‘Your master foreman said that you didn’t check for survivors.’’ His scratching became frantic. ‘‘He couldn’t know. He panicked more than me!’’ ‘‘He lost his temper when I asked and insisted they were planning an uprising.’’ ‘‘I don’t know about that. We had problems with unruly inmates. Most of them were in there for serious crimes, dregs of society. But it wasn’t that bad. Maybe the Master Foreman is paranoid with post-traumatic stress.’’ ‘‘Those dregs still did a lot of work for you. They were disciplined enough to be employed in a mine. I’m sure you have an executive dwelling in an upscale community thanks to them. We all make mistakes in life, you know, some worse than others. Did they make any threats?’’ ‘‘I received verbal threats only.’’ ‘‘Okay. Thanks for your time. Here’s a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off your face. A doctor’s waiting for you. Please bring in the next one, officers.’’ Continued on page14
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Effervescente chair d’astre, or-ange bleue de l’espace suspendue à l’arbre des soleils.
Il était une fois, entre nous, semences et semeurs de mondes qui peuplons ces milliards d’univers les arcs-boutants d’un pont d’étoiles aux influx d’amour sidéraux inédits.
Il était une fois en nous, dans le Jardin de la Création, l’étincelle-semence du feu de la vie, oh ! cette puissance d’énergie formidable qui ne cesse de nous projeter, frères et sœurs de l’Unique, sur les rives de la re-naissance.
Il était une fois, ici même, sur cette Terre des Hommes, ô Bâtisseurs de Lumière! l’émergence d’un chant de paix éternellement neuf et vivant…
Robertom Lessard, Québecois poet and author of L’Appel des temps nouveaux (poetry), charms us with this gentle ode, invites reflection and entreats the heart.
Artiste Québecoise, Giroflée Ash, accompanies us on a séjour through her feelings and thoughts with the strokes of her brush.
The last portrait invokes the lyrics of the famous Beatles song Blackbird. Bon voyage !
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Continued from page 9 the hour, I had interviewed all the people who were in the escape pod: first the director, second the master foremen, and then the managers, technicians, nurses and administrative clerks - the fifteen that had escaped. Their stories didn’t jive; there were contradictions in their accounts. They were hiding something.
WITHIN
The mayor’s office wanted to know if Sky Land Twelve stood a fighting chance. They didn’t think the executives were guilty, but they couldn’t care less as millions of people were holding their breaths. I didn’t know what to say, and I told them that I’d call them back after studying the situation. The next call I placed was to the lab at Cyborn. I asked my people to scan the asteroid and analyze whatever signals they could pick up. I then closed my cell and rushed out of the interrogation room. I was back in my office before noon, despondent and lost in my thoughts. All the convicts were lost. We had no contact with them, we were receiving no distress calls, and no one was acknowledging our hails. Or weren’t they? I called my assistant over the intercom. ‘‘I was just about to call you he said,’’ his voice trembled through the receiver. ‘‘Oh? Most of the equipment in that mine is from Cyborn. I wanted to know what footage our cameras had transmitted before the explosion,’’ I said. I flipped open my mobile computer as he spoke. ‘‘It won’t show you anything besides some miners at work until a bright flash blows them out,’’ he continued, load and clear. ‘‘There’s something much more interesting coming in, though.’’ ‘‘What?’’ ‘‘We’re picking up a weak transmission from the asteroid, too faint to decipher.’’ ‘‘Can you amplify it?’’ I couldn’t hide my anxiety. My heart skipped a beat and my breaths shortened until I gasped for air. ‘‘We’re doing it right now. Just give me a moment.’’ After the most intense minute of my life, he said, ‘‘There you go – it’s done. You’ll never believe this.’’ ‘‘Send it over.’’ A blossom of hope sprung inside me. ‘‘It should appear on your screen now.’’ ‘‘Oh, God-’’ ‘‘We’ll need Him. These are letters to loved ones.’’ They read: ‘‘To Jillian Gill, of Pine Borough in Sky Land 18. I love you, honey and the kids too, more than anything. Tuck them in at night, will you? We’re going to try to steer the asteroid off its collision course. If I don’t come home, I love you and the kids more than anything. Sorry for my mistakes. Pedro. To Samuel, Jean-Marc and June Tiffani in Sea of Tranquillity, Moon Colony. Daddy will
make it all up to you now. You’ll see. They’ll talk about us on the news. We’ll save millions of people. And I’m doing it for you so you could be proud of me again. Kiss mommy for me. To my wife Ingrid. I love you more than life itself and the children too. I always did, always. Please don’t worry. Who knows if we don’t get lucky. We may be together again sooner than you thought. Have to go now. Everybody’s minutes are counted. François. Heather, Sky Land 12, 890 Soy Street. Please forgive my misgivings. I won’t disappoint you now. I’m going to save all your lives, baby, even if it costs mine. I could see the habitat approaching fast, looming over the starry horizon. Love you. Love you. Love you. I have to go now. Drew.’’ Mom, Dad, I’m still alive on this wandering rock in space. Please don’t worry. I’m sorry I hurt you so often. I won’t let you down this time. We plan to be home soon. I’ve made stupid mistakes, but I’ve grown a lot in the last few years and especially in these last few hours. Just in case I don’t come back, I’m sorry for all the times I hurt you and all the times we fought. Please know that I’ve always loved you. Jamie Stern, Sky Land 72, 1992 Parkway.’’ ‘‘They’re still alive!’’ I shouted slamming my desk with my palm. ‘‘That’s at least four survivors. I was right not to trust those execs.’’ My assistant said, ‘‘But they don’t know what they’re doing. What do you think they’re planning in order to steer that asteroid off course?’’ ‘‘I don’t know yet, but they’re not even technicians. They can’t know what their doing! I’ll let you go now,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m going to call the mayor immediately. Try to establish a contact with them. Call me as soon as you succeed.’’
JAMIE
floated above the barren landscape. His three companions flew behind him. He stared at the deathly horizon and wondered. Would Sky Land Twelve survive? Would the plan succeed?
He watched its giant cylinder spinning against the backdrop of space. Through its long windows, he saw the bright lights of the city overlaying its inner surface. More than ten million souls, and one of them was his sweetheart. He fogged up the visor of his helmet every time he breathed. Sky Land Twelve grew larger with every breath, approaching fast. They had been working in the deepest shaft when the explosion hit. The tremor knocked 15
out all power and emergency generators. Nothing worked. They had two choices: do nothing and crash into Sky Land Twelve, or detonate the alignment thrusters. They were giant rockets embedded in its surface and designed to fly the asteroid closer to the ore’s destination. If its hydrogen fuel were detonated, the explosion would drive the asteroid off course and it might just miss the space habitat. ‘‘You won’t have time to escape the explosion. I can’t tell you to sacrifice your lives.’’ The lady’s voice had crackled through the receiver of their improvised radio. ‘‘But if you don’t detonate the thrusters millions more will perish, Ocean, over.’’ Their mine had been shaken real bad, but it still had afforded them enough protection to spare their lives, and give them a final chance at heroism. ‘‘Roger, Miss Pearl,’’ he had answered. ‘‘We’ll follow those instructions. You know what to say to our dear ones.’’ Her voice was faint, but Jamie could have sworn he was hearing that woman cry over the radio. That’s when they had suited up for the space walk, with the explosives. And now they were flying away from the rockets, in a desperate attempt to prolong their lives. But in five, four, three, two...That last second was a lifetime of flashbacks. The rockets, protruding from the rocks like monoliths of despair, vapourized silently. The vacuum of space muted the nuclear blast, but its searing flash engulfed them. Their last thought was redemption.
MY
next gasp for air was my first as a new woman. I pressed the intercom, buzzed the mayor.
‘‘It’s over. The threat is gone. You’ll see the asteroid deviate on your screens,’’ I declared forcefully. ‘‘You can’t imagine how it happened,’’ I yelled, while he marvelled with an old man’s voice. ‘‘How did you pull that off?’’ He asked, disbelieving. ‘‘I didn’t. The convicts, that had survived the first explosion, did. They’re no more. Put the mining execs under arrest.’’ ‘‘What are you saying? Survivors?’’ ‘‘The execs lied. They had abandoned the surviving convicts on the asteroid instead of remaining behind to blow up the alignment thrusters themselves. That’s what steered it off course. Those people the execs called dregs saved the millions the execs don’t care about. Arrest them for criminal negligence and grand reckless endangerment.’’ ‘‘You have the proof?’’ ‘‘I’ll send you all the recordings. You know, some people make one mistake and suffer a lifetime of consequences. Others are corrupt for a lifetime and get away with it. I’ve learnt today that anybody can change, and that someone that has done something bad during a moment of weakness may not be a bad person. But true evil can hide anywhere. Within the hearts of reputable men is the hardest place for it to be found.’’ The mayor was speechless. ‘‘They could have stayed behind to steer that asteroid themselves,’’ I continued, furiously. ‘‘Despite their damaged ship, they still may have made it out on time, but they chose to run, not to take any chances, sacrificing the lives of millions. I’ll send the recordings to the police as well and you’ll be hearing from me again. I’ll try to walk in my father’s footsteps from now on, and those are big shoes to fill, but maybe I can do even more. Ocean, out.’’ I didn’t give him the chance to ask what I meant, and turned off my receiver. I had had enough that day. My hands were trembling, but more from anger than from fear. I had to find a way to relax.
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