Blow Up Ship THE GREATEST EFFECT WAS MADE BY BREACHING into the individuals personality.

I touched the mans temples. He was lying on a flat hospital bunk, in the throes of death by appendicitis from radiation exposure ten years previous. Breaching was impossible through mere observation. The psychopomp must insert his own mind into the realms of the other. That was my task. The job was risky. If I felt myself breaching and attempted to turn back, death would commence without an angelic host. A full breach, as instructed by the pruny Head Psychopomp of Terrestria Beta, required just a few minutes of unwavering acceptance. The human could be breached sooner, if he was closer to death. Then he would become a cherub of one of our heavenly neighbors in the outermost cloud of the Milky Way galaxy. I felt the man dying and accelerated the process, as I had been taught. First, he told me of his desire for the alien to leave. I removed the holographic image of the Head Psychopomp. The alien, in his true, rounder form, smiled as the picture went out. The man imparted to me his will to die. "Goodbye, then, I said, focusing on the fingers channeling the angelic host. Goodbye Turner. You were a good man," Sergeant ]ames said. As the sergeant lifted Turners head closer to the open window, the

body-killing chemicals reached Turners muscles and he began to seize. His heart stopped. Within three seconds I removed my hands from his forehead and reactivated the hologram of the Head Psychopomp. The alien signaled okay. Turner had made it to Terrestria Beta. The aliens entered the birth room in human skins, where the baby form of Turner could be seen in the pod crying hysterically. That was to be expected from the shock of finding oneself to be a baby on another planet, although indeed he maintained his full mental faculties, and more. The former body of Turner body was limp. A nurse carried it off to be preserved, interrupting the stillness of the white curtains in the window. The other methods of angelic hosting were used for those who were not dying, and were all considerably less draining on the psychopomp. For those transfers, the exercise was more of a personal learning process. Spirituality, as it was called, was not exactly on the top of Turners priorities. His transfer was most trying on my psychology. Before Blow Up Ship, psychopomps were unconscious of their roles. Ten years earlier... The formal winnings were scotched up into their accounts. I knew because I was monitoring their phone activity after the contest. I was across the world in my American science station. Call Concord, the leader said, The albatross is ours. Buy more koi, put them in more ponds, and let me prattle on at intervals to the effect

of our own congratulations! His name was Kreg. The line echoed from wall-to-wall of their open-ended warehouse. His colleague was on the pay phone outside. New Zealanders were queer. Oh, best friend. What a load of quid! his colleague said. No more ticking away the days to that insane carnival of a competition. Emily! Our automaton is motionless. Best you animate it? A woman on another line on a cell phone. Emily said, Im awaiting the intermezzo. It is quite strenuous controlling the humanoid animatrons! We must present our designs for the other crafts immediately. We will, Kreg said. Say something meaningful, you cloudy scientist! A fundraiser for our tank! she said. We must begin to raise money. I feel a strong state pride at this moment. We shall outlive the foreign robots in the sky which have made us tremble! Their voices echoed in the open science complex. She said, Let me go outside where the koi live. A door slammed shut on the line. Floating among the fish is scum illuminated in stratified sunrays. It will be a beautiful home for our new fish. For the other employees and researchers at their New Zealand complex, Blow Up Ship was the catalyst for a cumulonimbus careera future of greatness was their concern. After peace and harmony the other natural goals were to improve their remote control technology. Also, they wanted more money; yet it seemed as if they had made their mark upon the

entire course of history. Despite the historical significance of their work, the Society for Under-Estimated Technologies felt their invention was missing something. What could it be? They had no insider sources or connections, and therefore no way to follow fads or to develop another winning consumer product. I checked the satellite images of their complex. It was small. Their budget was low for such a development as Blow Up Ship. How could they improve the apparatus when they hadnt a clue what the world could possibly need in addition to their device? Spaceship controls could now be shrunk into apparel and activated by commanders on the ground. A launchable tank was in development. Children were found to learn the controls. The entire scientific community was booming about their creation, Blow Up Ship. Their winning marked the beginning of the end of Americas obsession with aesthetic science. The team was too successful without it. They deserved the prize. Each technology which was entered into the contest sought to achieve one goal or another. My specific goal was ideologically different than the other teams yet pursued doggedly in order to find a solution to the same issue: the spaceship problem. The conclusion to one of the last aesthetics contests was reached, and I was on the receiving end of a long line of co-morbid pilot clients.

When the Russians launched their enormous Mecha units to capture our space territories, the Americans were forced to protect space travel for the entire world. My home in Britain was being stormed by ground troops from Russia, including tanks and mechanized units, yet the American front was safe. Except not the Americans, nor the world, were safe in space. I spaced out my curious grunts as I checked a mans pulse with a stethoscope. The Mechas would strike down craft indiscriminately, and attack the pilot with radiation weapons even if they managed to escape. No space vehicle had returned without seriously injured pilots since the start of the Space Mecha War years previous. Turner had just returned from a mission and I spoke to him quietly in my American lab. You have ten years, I said. He seemed to not understand. Ten years of life, I said. He replaced his shoes and checked out with the receptionist. He was another victim of the Space Mecha War that the world sent to die at the hands of the Russian Mechas. Although I had lost the contest to Blow Up Ship, I would still demonstrate my Holographic Automatic Man to fellow scientists in between patients. My attempts at earning grant money were proving fruitless, and I wanted to be removed from ward duty to work on my teams solution to the spaceship problem. At the ebony boardroom table, I had an audience of just two. A projector delivered my electronic slides

behind me. The heads-up-display, as you must realize, is the key to the future of humanity. Without knowledge of your surroundings, or even detailed data processed directly into our field of vision, we will be powerless against the enemys Mecha units. My shadow blocked the slide and the assistant motioned me to the side. Sorry. The Mecha devices by their nature utilize heads-up data. My system renders the information by connecting to the users brain through the skin. Its all very interesting, Dr. Redplay. How can you prove to me the technology is even possible? asked the Director of Personnel Training. What a frustrating question! The technology was already developed. The Director was simply deflecting my proposal because he knew I was unable to demonstrate the Holographic Automatic Man without a pricey license. For that reason, I didnt even have the product with me. I can demonstrate the device to you with the help of funding from your group. Youve mentioned you need money, the Director said, leaning back in his chair and checking his watch. Well, we need you in the hospital ward. Tell me, how does your technology work towards a solution to the spaceship problem? Ive seen the other competitors work. Their product seems to fix our predicament more easily. For instance, a spaceship of any size may be taken into orbit with a single Blow Up Ship while the human remains on the ground.

I had prepared for this question. The answer wasnt obvious. I began to pack away my things, a maneuvering strategy I thought might help build suspense in the mind of the DIrector. The Holographic Automatic Man will herald a new race of human. One that will be able to transmorph into a being capable of living in space; one that will find peace among the stars; one to whom the spaceship problem is known only as a historical dilemma. The Holographic Automatic Man will bypass the abominations of genetic aesthetics, and remain true to a more rational version of beauty; to help man choose his own physical vessel to the stars. That is, the holographic display is completely customizable. It is a revolution of choice. The Directors assistant grumbled and said a joke, as I was used to him doing. The goal of aesthetic genetics appears to make us so small that we might slip through the Mechas fingers. We laughed in an organized way. The demonstration was complete. I told them I must leave. Then leave. We will consider your proposal for a more human approach to the spaceship problem, the Director said behind the huge table in his mostly empty boardroom. Thank you, Dr. Redplay. But please, tell us, do you plan to follow the principles of hard aesthetic science if you are able to develop your system? I had prepared another answer for this question as well. Aestheticism is nearly dead. Additionally, the world has taken the American method and corrupted it beyond recognition through the

technique of aesthetic genetics. I will no longer associate myself or my work with those corrupted principles. Very good thoughts. Thank you. And keep your chin up. We heard about Turners condition. He and his family were proud to have him sacrifice his life for the planets prosperity.

My team sought to understand the appeal of the Blow Up Ship concept at the lunch table that afternoon. Maybe it is because they live in New Zealand, Jerry suggested with hot pastrami in his mouth. And the American public has out-evolved our narcissistic traits. If that is the case, then we shall never find success, I said. I dolloped a bit of mayonnaise onto my sandwich buns. Even if we are in America, we must be able to capture the attention of an American audience. Then should we provide for the continued narcissism of our communities? Jerry asked. He had the right idea, but I couldnt agree with him. Our budget is too low for such a broad task. He grabbed the mayo as if I was trying to steal it. We must only hope the new mutations have not altered our collective personality. The changes appear only to be physical, and only to affect those who have come into contact with a Space Mech. Do you suggest we manipulate the genes of humans intentionally? That even more dangerous than leaving the mayonnaise out. I said. I stood up and

launched the pasteurized mayonnaise into the refrigerator tube. Thank you. Im not saying we need to delve into the world of aesthetic genetics, no. Of course not! We were all hoping it wouldnt come to this. Perhaps Admiral Narcheo of the Experimental Division will find some alternative, he added to the entire Internal Research team. They were munching in agreement on salads. We must win. The future of the race depended on us, the tiny research community. The Space Mechs were not Gods to us. We saw them for the radioactive robots they were. Yet they were so powerful, and so very far away. Jerry stationed himself back at the Alien Search in the Face of Danger building.

Blow Up Ship did pass through an aesthetic marketing phase, despite heralding the end of aestheticism itself. The delicate ego of the nation required special attention to the delivery of such a product. Without the tinkering of the image of Blow Up Ship, it could appear to the public as a contrivance of the enemy. It wasnt often that new foreign products were positioned to so utterly change the world. Since the Space Mecha War, the direction of national affection was towards Gods, who were to be seen as saviors from the Mechas in space. Thus, the marketing of Blow Up Ship focused on the new New Zealand God the proud people of that country worshipped in order to protect their strong homeland from the Space Mechas.

If the public found out the idea was developed by a team completely unversed in the complex rules of aestheticism, which determined whose products were to be sold in a seemingly random fashion, and instead was created out of utility and function, then Blow Up Ship would fail. Our PR team based in Baltimore was assigned with the coverup, and during this time I became familiar with the Blow Up Ship product. At my desk in Baltimore, my eyes rested on the plaque where my title was engraved. Top Science Head, it bore, of the Committee of the Saucer. Kreg sat happily in the chair across my mahogany desk. Why is the name of your group, the Committee of the Saucer? Kreg was of the Society for Under-Estimated Technologies as a liason. Must you know? I said. When we created the principles of aesthetic science, we noticed similarities of our movement to the flying saucer cover-up by our military. Essentially, the public perception of the event was guided by their motivations to unravel a conspiracy. Aesthetic science intended to capture the imagination of the public by totally controlling the marketplace. The public enjoyed feeling out-of-control. It systematically gave them a stronger delusion of being in control. The government community followed the energy of the alien exposure movement, which, as we both know, was completely misguided. Yes, the aliens werent aliens after all, Kreg said. But merely government test ships. So is that what the American aesthetics is about? Capturing the essence of conspiracy?

Aesthetic science may seem like a conspiracy to someone who does not understand it. But all conspiracies have some element of truth, I said. The alien scare predicted the Space Mecha War in a way. That is very real. Aesthetic science is a pseudo-conspiracy where the marketplace, and therefore the publics lives, are determined through secret research. Which brings us to the topic at hand. How can we use Blow Up Ship to end the war? Kreg asked. By the guidelines of our American system, which I must admit has less importance since your invention, the purpose to end the war is only an implicit job of Blow Up Ship. Politically, it must serve some other explicit purpose or we could make a flammable foreign situation totally explode. Because Blow Up Ship has won a major contest, and did not follow the rules of aesthetic science, and in fact totally ignored principles of popularity and attraction, aesthetic marketing may not be a requirement in this situation. Kreg became serious. By all means, we did not intend to change the American system of product development, he said. Is there any way we can continue the legacy of aesthetics with our product? That is what my team wants. I tried to comfort him. Your team has done nothing it should not have done. In fact, if you want to explore the aesthetic options for the promotion of Blow Up Ship, I do have some ideas Im willing to share. Please, go ahead, Kreg said. I explained to Kreg that the competition rules to create an

automatic man could be used to sell the technology. I understand the device is a wearable remote control? Yes. Through tiny movements in a users body, any machine, from a microwave to a Mecha may be controlled. After some practice, it becomes second nature, and the user will think of their machine as a part of their own body, Kreg said. The technique is known as muscularnervous control. The remote control takes the form of a piece of clothing, like a shirt or a high-ankled boot. A knock on the door was heard, and Kreg jump-started out of his chair. Please, stay, I said. It is just Admiral Narcheo. Sir? I projected my voice through the door. A military-suited man, with badges of different sorts, entered the small office. Thank you, Dr. Redplay. I wont take much of your time, Admiral Narcheo said. I wanted to remind you that phone duty has passed on to you, with Marys passing. I sighed. Yes, the tragic consequences of the Russian radiation attacks are both that we lose our friends, and our work is spread even more thinly than before. May she rest in heaven. Her mother was bedside for her passing. It was a trying experience for her entire family, he said. It is trying on us all. Thank you, Admiral Narcheo. I will monitor the lines at my scheduled time. Is this the man responsible for inventing Blow Up Ship? Admiral Narcheo asked. I responded with a briskness that surprised Kreg, who

attempted an answer. Ah, just one of them. The admiral left, smartly closing the door behind him. I motioned for Kreg return to sitting. I believe you still have a working humanoid prototype from the contest to use with Blow Up Ship controls? I asked. Yes. It is a more advanced device to use in conjunction with Blow Up Ship, but with some practice, even a child could master full control of the humanoid. Good. Then most of the development work is already completed for our first product, I said. His eyes widened. This sort of thing usually took years. Because of the great promise of Blow Up Ship, we should move forward very quickly. The automatic man will be sold as a personal assistant as soon as possible. He started to interrupt. I do not think you understand the nature of Blow Up Ship. It would be difficult for a robot assistant to, for instance, file paperwork. The tiny movements of the hand would need to be mapped by the device. Its possible but redundant in the case the person could just do the work themselves, without the difficult manual control required by Blow Up Ship. Not only that, but the user would have to oversee the work to get visual feedback on what the robot was doing. Shouldnt we begin by tackling the spaceship problem? I believe he suspected me of attempting to sabotage his product. Yes, it would seem obvious to begin by sending unmanned spaceships into

space to attack the Mechas without human casualty or contact mutation. However, through the process of aestheticism, the plan must follow the course of the competitions automatic man. Research was determined semi-arbitrarily in aesthetic science. The topics and ideas pursued were based on research that followed what the public wanted, and found attractive. Automatic men were the focus of the day. I do not think you are in full understanding of my idea, I said. My idea is not to create an office assistant. No, the automatic man will be led by our people to stand behind the great causes of the American public. The pickets, the stand-ins, any sort of public event will now have the peoples support. Even the busiest of women can hold a sign for feminism with Blow Up Ship. Simply send your automatic man to the front lines of activist causes, and identify the robot as being yours. He responded by opening his fists. Excellent. We will lobby for support from politicians and government officials who must speak publicly. Blow Up Ship could limit danger somewhat by allowing for a robotic stand-in to deliver speeches. Who knows, maybe through activism, the social monstrosities of Russia and its confederation will be reversed one day, I said. Wonderful! We have often lamented that we could not picket at the local anti-war demonstrations in New Zealand. Now, we may be the first to continue daily research and work towards change at the same time, Kreg said. I gave him the contract to sign and we moved forward with the plan.

I reminded him that ending the war was still our number one priority, and Blow Up Ship could be integral to our latest effort. He modestly brushed it aside with his pen as he signed his teams names. The American subconscious was a difficult lover to woo, and he was correct in choosing to move forward with an aesthetic kind of marketing. When he left, I dialed the Director of Personnel Training to ask for money for the Holographic Automatic Man. Absolutely not! he exclaimed over the phone. But you havent heard my idea yet, I said. Idea? You are known for your ideas, Dr. Redplay. Call me back in two hours and Ill hear it out. Ive got to attend a rally for the union just at this moment. I smiled. Blow Up Ship could serve a much greater purpose indeed than to be a stand-in for the Directors wages demonstration. I told him I would make some notes and get back to him.

Two Russian spies were being monitored by the scientific community in Baltimore, including by my own phone tapping. Their codetalk was immediately decipherable. The Mechas shall comfort us in our old age, one said. Yes, have you noticed the tendency of Americans to grow into hangers-on? the other responded. I suspected the two were planning some kind of deadly attack and began the recording. What the Russians did was to the benefit of a world lost on its

own, the first one said. What The Russians Did was the name of a building in the science complex. I was almost certain they had meant for that building to be the target. The Mechas will change the human race for the better. If the American people dont turn their back on their destiny in space, then we humans shall learn to master the genetic code. Did the second spy know the mutations caused by Mechas were random abominations, like third limbs and sightless births? The first one made create the strange noise of rustling paper over the line. The American people must accept aesthetic genetics as the future of the human race. Care to help them discover that with me? But how? These daft Americans can only see aesthetic genetics as being a Russian paradigm. In fact, the scientific community saw aesthetic genetics to be a publicity tactic which spun the radioactive properties of Mechas as a positive thing. Mechas were worshipped by the Russians, and they sought to encourage others to worship Mecha by altering the human genetic code, too. They were setting an example of irrationality. We could show the Americans the benefits of genetic alterations. . . the first one began, and I immediately dialed the Director. They could be planning a radiation attack. The Directors red light came on, indicating he was listening through my phone tap. To devote ourselves to the Mechas was an enormous move by the Archbishop Pelevin. He is the thought leader that has saved us all. But,

the second one said, he is now in space with the Mechas dining on fermented solar dishes. Truly a space God, the first one said. This circle-jerking was common of the Russians conversations. In order to clue them in that I was listening to end the conversation, I decided to echo the next comment. I also inserted a message in static to make sure they knew we heard them. So, when shall we meet to discuss the, ahem, demonstration to the American scientists? A ghostly echo of the words repeated themselves over the line. A pop of static interrupted them. Mecha war, came the static. They said their goodbyes and hung up, apparently alarmed. I was still on the line, and the Director came through it. Good catch, Dr. Redplay. Well increase security in the complex, he said. They may be targeting the What The Russians Did buildings. I suggest sending a police unit to their dwelling in Baltimore Sub D, I said. Will do.

A well-dressed woman arrived by taxi below the apartment building directly in front of its entrance. One of Admiral Narcheos officers waited in a bench to meet her. Oh, dont you look darling! she said and hugged the man, who wore an asexual tracksuit. Late twentieth century exercise gears is so in. But whats that you have?

The man smiled and picked up a black box from the ground. Its my devotion doll. A small crowd had gathered because of her loud voice and his late-century attire, looked on. The crowd was interested in the black box. What is a devotion doll? she asked. You arent in the traditional Mecha worship garb. A woman in the crowd cried aloud, as if she were fainting. However, she remained standing and squinted at the couple, arm covering her face. Not devotion to the Mechas, of course. It is to accelerate my devotion to the Archbishop Pelevin, he said gaily, despite the crowd. He was known for his tracksuiting. The two Russian men, having dined, were seen approaching the concept apartment. Yes, she said. He was. But didnt you know he became a God in the dark depths of space? The two men eyed her nervously. After submitting the human race to the Mechas, he ascended to orbit and placed himself in the Mutation Field. Most assume he developed a body designed for space travel and was carried far, far away by the Mechas. The Russian spies struggled with their keys to get into the apartment and away from Admiral Narcheos aesthetics police. Oh, right? But what if he has forgotten his identity and is now simply a jogger who believes himself to be a late-century American? the officer said.

Well then, perhaps youre archbishop Pelevin, yourself! the woman exclaimed. Thats the idea, innit? He removed from the box a plastic representation of a mutated baby. With three arms and sealed-shut eyes, the baby was a horrific sight. Have you met my darling doll? What a sweetheart, The men made it inside and the crowd dispersed, chuckling. It was just another demonstration by the talented aesthetics police. But what had those two strange men entering the apartment been up to? Having taken care of the Russians, I had time to devote my full energy to the Holographic Automatic Man. I had been approved for extra funding because of my new idea for the technology. The problem, Kreg had said, with Blow Up Ship was the problem of displays. I hoped to solve that problem. The holographic properties of my automatic man were all-psychic. All of the information required to operate the automatic man existed only in the rectangular prism strap-on which linked to the brain. Therefore, no one except the user could see the heads-up display. The problem with allpsychic technology, which could relay information of all kinds to the users brain, was that it became difficult to control oneself or ones thoughts when using the device. Thus, the automatic man was created to help limit the programming of the prism. The brain-link didnt work without the automatic man, and the automatic man prevented bad code

from going into the human brain. One could also simply remove the strapon to save himself from a particularly torturous bit of programming. The fear with all-psychic devices was that he wouldnt be able to. I lied to Kreg, but didnt intend to cause harm. The first device to be remote-controlled by Blow Up Ship would be an unmanned Mecha we had created for the war. The information was classified, and unranked Kreg didnt need to know. He was correct in guessing however, that the spaceship problem had been solved. My pilot was strapping on his boots and shouting into the phone. I will not be taken lightly! I need my eggs benedict in t-minus five minutes. SLAM. He crushed the phone with his gloved hands. Taking care of breakfast? I said as I passed him in the hall on the way to Mecha Deck. Dr. Redplay! I love your new idea. He needed a deep breath after shouting. Im proud to be the pilot for the merging of Blow Up Ship with your own technologies. Tell me, is it true that the psychic link to the machine is an instantaneous transfer of information, even over great distances? It is true, sir, I said, distracted. I needed to give the pilot my respect, but also needed to perform a calculation with the Mecha. Our Mecha also doesnt use radiation as a weapon. The Russians have truly crossed a line, and it is your duty to bring the first Mecha down for America. But, how did the Russians create Mechas in the first place?

I sighed. Were almost positive the Russians discovered the technology from an alien civilization through remote viewing and misused it to their own ends. Their purpose is to capture and guard valuable space property. I knew that, I think. You know, the Department of Mecha Research isnt very open with certain findings. It is to protect us all, I said. I must be going, now. Duly, sir. Duly. After opening the double-doors to the Mecha room, I started straight for the head-panel of the Mecha. The American robot was smaller than its Russian counterparts. The restless, spinning interiors would hum, protected by large translucent steel rods, all linking up in the sternum area. I tested the amount of computational power onboard. I hadnt been part of the design of the Mecha, yet my suspicion was true: it could handle my program. I retrieved the chip box from my suitcase and went over the specifications one more time. All of this wasnt my part in the war effort. I was just a scientist. In fact, I didnt want to be involved in any kind of destructive technology. My advice for merging Blow Up Ship with the Holographic Automatic Man in order to provide a heads-up display for the Mecha was my first military work. I discovered the human body would be able to transfer negative programming to the muscular system using Blow Up Ship and created the software to allow for conscious all-psychic information to be transferred to and from the Mecha. The technologies paired perfectly.

The other program I was adding was a type of collective learning machine. It allowed for the controlling of a Mecha by multiple users at once, which could be invaluable in the case of war. User habits could also be memorized by the Mecha and the Mecha could operate itself through automation. More importantly, the learning program might serve a commercial purpose. I intended to sell space-faring Mechas to the general public. Done, I whispered to myself, trembling. If there were only an aesthetics prize for this! I left the Mecha Deck, and saluted the pilot who would undoubtedly destroy a Russian Mecha today with a wearable Blow Up Ship remote-control device.

The Space Mecha War was over in the amount of time it took to create our own remote-controlled Mechas. Eventually, our Mechas had learned how to fight from the pilots, and destroyed enemy Mechas automatically. We began to teach the Mechas social strategies for solving problems, using multiple civilian pilots, to prevent another Space War from ever being started. We sold each Mecha for the price of two automobiles. Each family on Earth wanted their own. The slogan was, Go forth and Blow Up Ship! which really caught on with dying patients, who had seen what humans were capable of in their final days. Our Mecha counterparts would discover other worlds, and from

Earth, we would deliver message from our own brains to other races of peace and love. In the case of the insect race of Jobio Nine, it could deliver total annihilation. The ironic picture of a human and his Mecha made us seem quite threatening indeed, despite us being small primates. Another irony was that our exploration of the universe would be a remote-controlled endeavor. We had essentially created a second race of Earthlings: the Mechas. About 12% the size of the human race, the Mecha population was staggering considering how large they were themselves. We launched using Blow Up Ship at least five thousand new Mechas a day. People of all the cultures on Earth were represented in the infinite realm of space. The double-life of Mecha pilots was a great, late victory for aestheticism: the consumers had all gotten exactly what they wanted. It was their ideological blow-horn in the sky. Our minds were expanded and encouraged by new, infinite possibilities. We met distant and peaceful races. We led the galaxy in planet beautification projects--known as aesthetic terraforming. From Earth, we lived extra-terrestrially with the help of Blow Up Ship.

***

To the traitor Admiral Narcheo,

It was in a waking dream I rst became aware of the horrors of your department. You might call what you did the exact opposite of the aesthetic principle. It was not the learning of your transgressions in cohort with the shape-shifting aliens that terrified me. The continuous dreams are what got to me, as I analyzed the meaning of them all in the months following. This exposition may seem forceful. I had trouble knowing where to begin with you. It is my familys trait to show others how they should be. Perhaps it is not genetic, but learned. I can say that it is not a quality of aesthetic genetics. I have eliminated that misguided effort to classify spiritual disease as an anomaly in DNA. We have found that genetics trouble us only physically, and not mentally, because the brain develops procedurally. We are not troubled spiritually by flaws in the genetic code, as you must know yourself. I do not underestimate you. Despite the great wealth our nation accrued through terraforming other planets, our neighborhoods were still vulnerable to you. It is closer to the truth that it was our backyards that were the most open to your predator nature. When innocent family members would run without fear on the back porch, or among the grass, they met the invisible tubes that your aliens "gifted" to the human race. I know all of this because of the rst dream. In the next dream, our teens and young adults exploded when they met the ice. The nal dream revealed to me the essential nature of your foul. I determined you use a projected field to reach from the alien universe into

ours. It was the portal itself that motivated you. It was a product you developed for the entertainment of your colleagues. To us, the portal could only be described as a gateway to Hell. I passed earlier through such a portal, and reached its destination into the Backward Exploding Universe. You can undoubtedly understand my fear in expressing its name. How could we have such a fate at the hands of the shape-shifting aliens? Did we deserve this? The prospect of a world with Blow Up Ship was so great. I truly loathe you for destroying that, Admiral Narcheo. We had defenses in place for the backyard attacks.Through a unique system to evacuate communities in case of an insect attack, we could have alerted the population to your presence and emptied the neighborhoods. The effort to exercise such an evacuation would have been minimal and cheap. Collateral damage isnt a part of the shape-shifting aliens strategy. I had warned the communities in time. I also warned young persons of the danger of any ice ponds or icicles they may come in contact with. The announcement of rogue space Gods that could make you explode was enough to keep them off the skating rinks, especially coming from a top science head. But within days, I interpreted the dream about the portal and came close to admitting defeat. The only answer was to gather research data by stepping through such a portal, and I sincerely believed I would die on the journey between universes. It was a fate much worse than death, in fact. The portal would prove an eternal torture. I am still in this portal now, in my mind. It still breathes within me, like the second nature of a

war victim who runs from loud sounds. I found myself, the inventor of Blow Up Ship and the savior of the outermost galaxy cloud, to be nearly identical to your new alien form, Admiral Narcheo. I found myself to assume that form in almost every way. I am writing this letter to myself, in more ways than I can count. But should I finish this letter, which has been materialized in front of me and I have watched write itself accurately coding the page with information from my own brain, I doubt I will be alive much longer. An enormous death eel is heading straight for me. This is likely the very end for the human host of Dr. Redplay.

Sincerely, Nooooo!