Reference to a Post about how to Protest the Pestilence Probably successfully (Perservere) & 49th episode of the Amanda Saga: Memory Transfer

Good Morning Ted and Jody:

Yesterday I read a post suggested to me by a fellow I know in Poland from whom I get my soap (his wife makes it https://winkos.wordpress.com/soaps-autumn-2016/   . Is that convoluted enough for a connection?  The post basically presents strategies for keeping the protest against the pestilence going.  However, most protesters will dismiss it out of hand because the piece starts out with his position on protests—it depends upon the protest inconveniencing him or not.  Hence, he may alienate huge chunks of his audience with his opening.  However, I present it here as something worth reading if one wants to make the pestilence uncomfortable (which, after all is the basic purpose behind most protests—if you can’t make change, make the SOB uncomfortable). The post also has a whole string of flower images that he rendered in different ways with photo editing software—cool.  https://dispersertracks.com/2017/01/22/on-protesting-and-other-things/ .

I did get to play with an image this morning from three days ago.  It is two vertical shots Photoshop stitched together for a tall panorama.

This morning we are socked in with fog.  I could almost imagine Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce bounding out of the fog hot on the trail in one of the dozen or so 1940s Sherlock Holmes movies.  However, that would require time travel which we all know is foolishness.   

Speaking of foolishness, I am appending the next episode of the Amanda Sagas.

I trust this finds you happy, healthy, warm and making your protest signs.

Warmest regards, Ed

049 Memory Transfer

Fiction in 1388 words by T. Edward Westen, 2017

 

For a man who had to be everywhere at the same time Director Meacham liked to give the appearance of having walked to where he went. He thought of it as a sign of a control over one’s environment, studied responses to things and must plain more relaxing.  So, when he went anywhere he popped in near to his destination and walked the reaming distance. This worked only when there were corners involved that allowed him to round and shield his real entry.   Thus, when Director Meacham arrived in the vicinity of Special Agent Fleishman’s transporter base he was a bit miffed that it was in the middle of a long corridor.  ‘We really must segment these rows of transporter bases so they have some character.’  He though, knowing full well he meant corners and not character. However, since there was no one about when he knocked on the door to the Special Agent’s transporter base it was the same as if he had walked down that long corridor. That cheered Director Meacham up considerably. ‘appearances are 99% of the game.’ He thought.’  ‘For if one turned up at the battle of Hastings as Anderson here did in his everyday work clothes one is likely to get hacked to death on the spot or tied to a stake sticking out of a pile of kindling.’

As the door dissolved he was greeted by Special Agent Fleishman raising a vessel filled with steaming brown liquid with some dirty white stuff on top. ‘Oh, yes,’ the Director thought, it is a MUG’. “Having a mug of hot marshmallows with chocolate are we?  Jolly good.  I hear it is an acquired taste.”

“Yes, Director Meacham.  I acquired the taste after one sip.  This mug is fresh, untouched, would you care for a taste.”  Said Special Agent Fleishman.

“I hardly think it is untouched with you holding it by that loop on the side of it.  Looks like you are touching it to me.”  Said Director Meacham waving his hands dismissively. “Or, should I just say, no thank you.  But we have more important matters than that.  I just read the download from your last trip and see you are having some difficulty penetrating the, what was it you called it, let’s see.” The director put his right forefinger to his chin, looked up to the right and said, “er, yes, level 4 number 7.  When and where was that, exactly; and, why are you trying to penetrate it?”

Special Agent Fleishman took a sip from his mug, pointed to a row of white mugs on a shelf and finally said.  “I can make you one of your own.”

“Confound it man, I don’t need anything that puts that stuff on your upper lip.” Said Director Meacham.  “It looks revolting.”

Agent Fleishman licked the hot chocolate and marshmallow residue off his upper lip and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Director Meacham shook his head in disapproval.  “And that is revolting too.  Focus, man, focus, level 4 number 7.”

Special Agent Fleishman sighed, put his mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows down on a sideboard and stood up.  He reached up to feel the spot on his forehead that was almost completely healed.  He pulled his hand away and looked at his fingers almost as if expecting to still find blood.  “Well it is a bit more complicated than I first though.  I don’t think it is quite in this universe, at least not very often.”

“What a strange thing to say.  If it isn’t in this universe, where is it?  And how could it be in the universe sometimes and others not?  Asked Director Meacham.

“I only know one way in to level 4 number 7.  I get to a place on a specific date and time and sit in a swing and I end up in that place. I can get back to this universe from there.  However, I have only been there twice and for very, very short times so I don’t know if I spend a long time there if I can get back.  Having been there I try to transport back to that place, I simply go nowhere, I stay where I am.  No transport.  But if I sit on the swing on the right date, hour, minute and second they take me there.”  Explained Special Agent Fleishman.  “I should add that once there, while I can come back to the timeline, while there I can’t move in time there.  I don’t seem to have coordinates for doing so there.”

Director Meacham stroked his goatee as a frown formed on forehead and his mouth twitched ever so slightly.  He was quiet for ten to fifteen seconds then he asked “What is a swing?”

Special Agent Fleishman chuckled, “it is like that mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows.  A swing is fun. Children love to play on them.  Swings are call them playground equipment.  Swings are pendulums hung for children to move on; but, they are pendulums made as big as this room. Two sets of poles forming the letter A with a poll holding two of the letters together at their apexes and ropes or strings dangling with seats from the connecting pole for children to sit-upon and move in either a regular or irregular  pendulum fashion.” 

“And you say that one of these children’s whatchamacallits is a mechanical transport unit?” Asked Director Meacham.

“No, I don’t think it is any more than a point where our timeline periodically touches wherever and whatever level 4 number 7 is.”  Said Special Agent Fleishman.  “it may well be a Hawking Bane Universe or parallel universe.” He quickly added.

“Why do you refer to this place as level 4 number 7?”  Asked Director Meacham.

“At least six times in a 100-year period prior to our investigation starting, a little girl claiming level 4 number 7 as her home has, shall we say, jumped off the swing at one location.  All six at the same location.  I do think level 4 number 7 is a local address for the child,  but I have no other way to reference the place other than that.  So, I use it.   Oddly thee little girl seems to be the same child every time.  She now exists at the ages of 4, 24, 44, 64, 84 and 104 years old in the same time.  The six, shall we say, copies of the little girl at the various ages, all have the same DNA.  The odds against two people having the same DNA are 1 in 70 trillion.  Consider six with the same DNA would be 1 in 70 trillion to the 6^th power.  Only in a different universe could she be six different people.”

“Why only in a parallel universe?” Asked a puzzled Director Meacham.

Because, in a parallel universe the rules of physics could be different and prevent me from pivoting in 11-dimensions over there; and the rules of biology in a parallel universe could allow for multiple copies of DNA to be the norm.  But not in this universe, only in a parallel universe.”  Replied Special Agent Fleishman.  “But,” he added quickly, “I’m not a scientist, I’m only an agent, so I am, at best making an educated and experiential guess.  It fits the facts as I know them.”

“We’ll ask the scientists.  But first, why is it necessary to poke around in, er, damnation, level 4 number 7, anyway?”  Asked Director Meacham.

“The Agency motto, Sir.  ‘Everyone Deserves a Future.’  So far we have not found any place that Technician Bryon Mellon** has disrupted anything that can’t take place without him, and we have not found any evidence that he didn’t do something that should have been done without him.  And while we are still checking, I expect that to continue as Technician Mellon seems to have wanted to leave as little evidence of his existence to follow him back to this time.   But even if that all holds, there is the case of the six women from level 4 number 7.  We need to find out if they have done or not done something that would change if they are pulled out of the timeline where they are.  Besides, even they deserve a future.”

FOOTNOTE

**Judge Francis Belemany’s name in the 27^th Century