USD

Its been awhile since I have posted anything, but this is an interesting article. In summary a UN report states that US dollar is an increasingly unstable currency and should be replaced by something else. The article has some scary stats for 2050.

Take a read

http://edition.cnn.com/2010/BUSINESS/06/29/un.report.dollar/index.html?eref=igoogle_cnn&fbid=s4G0x9U7lWy

God of War

God of War

by Morgs

I took my coffee and biscotti from the teen age assistant at the deli paying the 50 Euro; I remember when a coffee was 40 Euros. She called me a fascist. I said at least I’m somebody pointing at her pink I’m an Anarchist Hello Kitty T shirt.

I made my way across the floor and watch the sun rise. The atmosphere processors spewed a healthy blend of water vapour and O2 down the steep slope of the crater wall as the sunlight shone through it rainbows appeared and vanished framed with a red and orange halo just below the blackness of space like the God of War himself wishing me good morning.

I said hi to Silvia as I made my way to the elevator, she looked tired and handed me my days work. I work for the United Nations Armed Forces; it’s a good job for a triple Masters Degree death strategist like me. I work long hours, I get good vacation and can retire on a pension that most of the citizens of Mars would wish was their yearly salary.

When I sat down at my desk I frowned looking at the report that had arrived on the overnight print run. It was thick, dense, heavy, bound in plastic. The front page told me it had been carefully constructed with a summary to be handed out to the grunts and an appendix that would make the scientists salivate. It was perfect; United Nations Explorer Service had done their homework. The calibre of the writing was excellent, centuries of practiced Earth bureaucracy had honed the creation of documents of evidence down to a fine blade and all it needed was the stamp of my approval. The machine of Mars would go to war and one million highly trained genetically altered killing machines would board their ships and cross the galaxy to give it to any enemy we told them to. They would ask questions, and they would be answered by the document.

The scientific detail about the Osteo-Chords in the analysis showed clearly how to kill them, how to maim them and how to just slow them down. I imagined the soldiers fighting on the frontlines using weapons of mass death to blow the enemy to pieces. As I thumbed through the scientific analysis I paused. Nervous tissue surrounded with bone, decentralised motor control, brain split up into seven apple sized bundles. They were tough, build for combat; maybe Mars had finally met his match. Maybe Mars was paying a visit to Hades.

As I got to the strategic section, I was having doubts; not doubts that we wouldn’t win doubts about the accounting. The report didn’t speculate how our own people would react as much as I had liked. That made me worried it had happened before; Vietnam, Canada, Titan and Europa. Wars we had gone to and got the leash put on and then lost. Well, they won’t be able to call us back anyway, and after 20 years of mission the troops that are left will probably need to be segregated anyway.

Entry point photos showed herculean buildings on Venus millennia old, surrounded by ice. I frowned more, advanced technology. Nothing a good amount of nuclear ordinance won’t fix I figured. I could imagine all the religious delegates at the UN talking about demons and judgement day and end of all things etcetera. I wouldn’t buy into that, I’m an atheist; science is real there is no room for devils and angels in my world, although I do admit they look kind of like devils. According to the brain boxes, they use those massive wings to fly through the other dimension we call hyperspace. That’s a problem, how do they pop out see page 1400 appendix Xx. Gradual amplification of electromagnetic and gravitic fields generated by a series of ceremonies they perform brings one of them from hyperspace into real space using their brains as amplifiers, during this time they are disorientated. That’s good news maybe we can sucker them all in I wonder. I pull the top of the red ink, get my solid gold stamp of my department seal and slam it down hard. I get the pen my niece gave me for Christmas and sign my name Markus Hawthorn Fleet Admiral of Mars. That was a pretty good day, the next few weeks with the UN would be a suck fest like nothing else.

I stand up from my chair at the United Nations Assembly Hall on Mars. I like my job, its cold it’s hard it’s factual although at the moment I’m a whore. In my best persuasive voice, I begin to clearly state the facts and my conclusions. I look out at the delegates and I’m immediately disgusted by the fear on their faces.

This report has been approved by the Mars branch of the United Nations Armed Forces. There is a clear and present danger presented by these hostile Aliens at any time. You have read the report and seen the footage; you know what must be done. I sit down, I look calm and collected ready to kick Aliens the out of the sky.

A Sufi by the looks of it stands his frail frame holding up his pointed hat, the man seems to grow as he speaks commanding respect. Obviously a practiced orator probably schooled for a long time in rhetoric. He speaks loudly into the microphone no malice or venom in his voice but the stern resolve I wish my superiors had. The Quran and the Bible has many writings detailing Djjin or Demons. This act will be catastrophic, plunging us into a war against the fallen, if you invite evil in it will come. The Collective will stand apart from the United Nations, Ala have mercy on you if you start this war.

I hear one of the delegates from Mars whisper something like shit maybe it’s a bad idea is it too late to pull out. I just keep thinking back to the report how I had to read that massive tome of knowledge and weigh up the probabilities in my own mind of wining loosing, causing a stalemate. These guys aren’t going to let me go. I’m thinking of my retirement plan to buy a place on earth on the northern tip of Australia. Not much I can do now, it’s coming down to a vote shit.

The delegate from the Anarchist colony on Europer stands up some queer looking guy in a turtleneck. I instantly don’t like him, he’s not the fake Anachist in the deli he’s the real deal born and bred die hard. Although we can’t speak in an official capacity as we have not received sovereign state status from the UN I speak for some of the Anachist movement and state we do not approve of any hostile action toward any alien regardless of how dangerous they appear. This report has no proof that they will attack earth, merely that they have the capacity to do so from their base on Venus.

Shit I say under my breath, for a weirdo from a busted up colony on a shitty moon of Jupiter he has a point. I knew the accounting section was fubr, sassy bastard must have read the whole thing.

Like biscotti dissolving in my coffee, the delegates start to separate and crumble. I see their resolve slipping from sullen faces. With all the pages of evidence and countless plans and re-plans they are going to vote No, I’m sure now. The God of War will have to go home and wait for the call. Instead of marching out and confronting the enemy, Mars will sit silent waiting, soldiers prepared and ready. I change my retirement plans and buy a large apartment in Tharsis Crater just opposite the Mars Military Academy.

Always Tomorrow

Very draft, but wrote this while I was deploying the server. Criticism is always welcome.

This story deals with the absurd idea that Anarchists need to have a seat with the UN. I always wonder what smaller countries do in the UN, they probably get pushed around or ignored equally.

Always Tomorrow an Anarchist tale by Morg

Wilson smiled at the sandy haired woman sitting opposite him, a sort of smile only an accomplished bureaucrat with centuries of genetic inbreeding could accomplish. No malice or emotion of any kind; the news would not be well received; it was his duty as Under Sectary to the United Nations Department of Special Concessions.

I’m sorry to tell you this, Cynthia but I have to once again reject this motion. I won’t be able to put this for a vote. This time though you did manage to get this far… you should be proud of yourself and your people.

Figures she said, with an angry tang in her voice.
So they sent you to Jupiter to tell me that?

Yes indeed, I always wanted to come here, ever since I was in school. Coffee he said real African Starbucks blend 407. No thanks she said, I don’t drink coffee.

Both of them were surprised by the loud explosion outside, the door the siren rang out as the air pressure dropped in the main thoroughfare of the Jovian Regency.

Hmmm looks like another bombing Cynthia scowled, guess they knew you were coming.
Who? He looked around fearfully, a rapidly expanding puddle forming on the floor.

The other Anarchists’ who else would have a reason for blowing up a UN delegate from Special Concessions?

Well, guess I better be gone; now that were done she said with a glistening smile her black teeth; of which she was so proud.

Wilson struggled to pull himself along the rail, the gravity had gone and his uncoordinated form lurched and leered its way down the promenade he panicked as he launched himself accidentally down the escalator.

Fucking Anarchists, they must have planned this all along he muttered to himself.

Micro rockets slammed into the office he had just vacated as he plunged down the second set of escalators using the handrail to pull himself along.

Wilson wondered why the Anarchists insisted on applying every year, just as the security office for the Virgin Aeronautics shuttle faced him.

Quick sir, better hop aboard who knows how long it will take them to fix this free dock up.
As Wilson sat in his chair, aboard the five star shuttle he gazed back at the orbiting station and watched as numerous ships escaped.

Rescue balls cascading towards bigger ships in all directions. A literal fleet of the most badly maintained, obsolete and downright dangerous space ships started scooping up all the inhabitants of the decrepit space station. Somehow, it worked; somehow their society was performing the rescue of more than one hundred thousand people simultaneously, last time the UN tried to rescue anyone half of them had died because the effort took to long the resulting legal actions had meant that private companies could never be contracted to perform rescues even though they were probably the best qualified.

Wilson smiled, maybe next time we will give them what they want; a seat in the UN a voice to make a point with. There’s always tomorrow.