(Source: progressivefriends)
This is one man, in one accidental situation, with one strain of HIV, but…wow.
If you read the whole article, you will see that it is not worthy of a “Cure for AIDS found!” headline, but it is damn close. It is also an exciting story of a happy accident in science. So far they have published in the New England Journal of Medicine and Blood, with a small army of other researchers pouring over the implications to see if they can make the implications of this situation generalizable/cheaper/dependable etc.
(Source: hannahlouisef)
Renewable energy championed - by the military.
I’m excited that the incredible difficulties of moving gass around the middle east (@ 1000 troops killed so far guarding fuel convoys) has spurred the military to use and fund energy efficiency and new fuel tech. Highlights:
Solar powered forward bases
Bio-fuel running fighter jets and Navy ships
The goal of 1/2 of all energy used by the Navy being renewable by 2020
The military creating a market and infrastructure for renewables, which can then more easily be distributed elsewhere
The military of the future will grow their own algae based bio-fuel, run their equipment on solar, and have energy military base feeding energy back into the grid, rather than being a huge energy sink. The war we fought over Oil is making our military reduce it’s dependence on it, and win this war for energy stability and safety a different way than we had anticipated.
Hear Ray Mabus (Secretary of the Navy) , and Steve Anderson (previous Senior Logistician under General Petraeus, Iraq) talk about this issue on Science Friday.
“The truth is out there! (It’s just that sometimes the truth isn’t all that interesting.)”
I think it is interesting, just differently. Just because we can “explain” something with science doesn’t make it less wonderful.
(Source: five5ter)
Quantum teleportation achieved over ten miles of free space
“When one of the items is sent a distance away, entanglement ensures that changing the state of one causes the other to change as well, allowing the teleportation of quantum information, if not matter.”
So. Cool.
Found it on Warren Ellis
2010 Short Story Challenge: Bitter Cold
Here is my entry into the 2010 Short Story Challenge from nycmidnight. The requirement is 2,500 words in 8 days after being assigned a random genre and topic. Mine was “Mystery” and “Astronaut”. You will notice that the story below is slightly longer. I had to chop some of the better parts to get it to fighting weight, but I’ll leave them in here for you.
There are a lot of obscure references to the Russian space program, if you are interested in trying to find them.
DO NOT RE-USE WITHOUT PERMISSION
Bitter Cold
by David Cybulski
The front door swung open. The man at the front desk looked up to see who had let the heat escape from its prison.
“Good afternoon Sergei.” said an old man.
“They should put in an airlock to warm the air before you let it in, Mr. Romanov.”
“As hard as it is to believe, space is much colder than a Moscow winter.” said Mr. Romanov with a smile, shaking snow from his coat.
They both felt another draft as a couple entered. She wore the vulgar outfit that seemed to be the uniform of prostitutes that frequented the area.
Sergei, after exchanging a look with the girl, grabbed a key from a drawer and passed it on. They paid, and made their way past Mr. Romanov, who quietly shook his head. The Vostok used to be nicer, but it, along with the neighborhood, had moved on. Now it rented rooms by the week, or by the hour if you had worked out an under-the-table deal with Sergei.
“Hey Mr. Romanov. This came for you.” he held out a small package.
Mr. Romanov smiled, nodded, and took the stairs.
He reached the fourth floor and passed through the hall, over its faded brown industrial carpet. He entered and began his evening ritual. After setting the water to boil in an electric kettle, he opened the box that he had received. He carefully measured the fine Russian black tea which it contained into a strainer, then poured the steaming water. He dressed this with a bit of sugar, a bit of lemon juice, and exactly one shot of Jameson Irish whiskey. He no longer had money with which to travel, but every he night entertained this one indulgence.
His cramped, sparse room had only a chair, a bed, and a small table; the bathroom was at the end of the hall. He sat and bent to turn on his radio, listening the voices through the faded orange cloth of the speakers. The news had ceased to interest him a long time ago, but he liked the noise.
After some moments, he heard something odd. He adjusted the set. Finally, he turned the radio off, but the voices continued. It was a man and a woman. They were arguing. He could make few words. He heard the word Деньги, or “dЕn’gi” meaning “money”. Then чистый , or “chistyjj” meaning “pure”. Then the voices rose, and there was a sharp cry, cut short. Then silence.
After some searching, he bend down and found a heating vent just under the table where the radio was sitting.
“Ah! Eavesdropping on one’s neighbors is no way to spend an evening.” he thought. His tea still too hot, he looked at the small shelf that ran along his wall next to the radio, and leaned over to pick something up.
It was a medal. A red ribbon sat above a lacquered pentagonal blue surface that showed a picture of the globe, and the letters CCCP across the bottom. Four missions, all canceled. Each time he trained hard and long, always believing. Each time, disappointment. He sighed, carefully placing the medal back on the shelf. Though he had remained on the ground, he had done his duty for the motherland (may she rest in peace).
He felt the call of nature, and so he opened his door and began to walk towards the restroom. He stopped short, seeing Boris Belonsuv standing in the hall. Mr. Romanov smiled and was about to greet him, but the look on his face caught him short. He looked shaken.
“I’m going to call the police.” he said, and left quickly, taking the stairs downward two at a time.
Mr. Romanov peered into the room Boris had been standing in front of. It was small, like his own, with a bed and little else. On the nightstand was a telephone, old and cracked, and a vase of fake flowers whose fabric petals fluttering gently from a draft from a small heat vent. A woman lay there, partially dressed, her eyes glassy, her face swollen and raw on one side. Her throat was cut; a small red halo had formed on the mattress. Mr. Romanov braced himself against the door-frame and stood in shock.
He was there when the officers came. The woman herself could tell them nothing; she had no ID or personal items beyond some cash. Mr. Romanov told the police what little he knew: that he had seen Boris just after he had opened the door.
Sergei was obviously in shock, and told the officers little Did he know her? No. Had he seen her enter? No. He knew nothing at all.
Boris was quite the opposite. The questions came rapidly.
What did you see? Well, this room is kept open by a businessman who only uses it when he travels to Moscow for work. He had been a good customer for many years, but since Boris seldom visits the property, the two had never crossed paths. That is why, when he saw a man coming out of the apartment, he introduced himself and shook his hand. The man seemed to be in a hurry, and left. Thinking that the man’s ill temper had been due to the state of the room, he entered to find the girl, a prostitute by the look of her. What did the man look like? Boris said that he was tall, had dark hair, a dark suit, and a tattoo. A tattoo? Yes, a tattoo on his hand. It looked like a church, with many spires. It had writing below it, though the whole thing was bluish and fuzzy. Do you know who she is? No, maybe a prostitute? Neighborhood is full of them.
At the mention of the tattoo, the interview quickly ended. This tattoo marked the stranger as part of the criminal world that now controlled his once great nation. Their sudden disinterest in further facts became palpable.
After it was over, Mr. Romanov needed someone to talk to. He made his way to 3B.
Galelena Amelkina looked much older than her 62 years, but she acted much younger. She and Valeri sat at her simple folding card table. As they played, Mr. Romanov told her of the scene in the hall.
“I always knew that Sergei would get in trouble, with that little side business of his.” She took a sip from her Vodka. Mr.Romanov knew that she always replaced the vodka she had poured from the bottle with water “to make it last”. By the end of the month, you could offer its contents to a baby with a clear conscience.
“The look on her face. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” he said, his eyes beginning to water.
She nodded sympathetically. As she arranged her hand, she asked “What did she look like?”
“She looked dead.” he replied.
“Come now Valeri. What did she look like? We see the girls who work around here all the time. Had you seen her before?”
“No.” he said. “She had dark hair, a delicate face. Thin but healthy. Beautiful.”
“Did she have a black fur coat?” asked Galena.
“How did you know that?” he asked.
“Well, from what you say, I’ve seen her with Sergei. She didn’t seem like one of the working girls, though Too proper. To healthy looking.””
After some time they said their good-nights, and parted. As Mr. Romanov made his way back to his room, he again began to feel agitated. Sergei had said he didn’t know who she was. Why had he lied? He should leave it alone, he knew, but it kept wearing on him like a hangnail that keeps catching on cloth. He had to speak to Sergei.
Mr. Romanov found him at the front desk, closing for the night. He invited Mr. Romanov into his first floor apartment.
“Boris treats you well.” said Valeri, indicating the spacious apartment.
“I don’t pay rent, of course, but he doesn’t pay much more than that.” They sat.
“I see. So your side business…” said Valeri.
“I have to eat. No harm done. Mr. Belousov figured it out, but never said anything.” said Sergei. He lit a cigarette.
“Does he know that you knew the dead girl?” asked Valeri.
Sergei’s weariness was replaced by a nervous watchfulness.
“Who told you that?” he asked.
Mr. Romanov told him that he had seen her with Sergei. He didn’t mention Galena.
“Listen. You can’t stay pure and get by, not in this neighborhood, and not with what I get paid. I do what I have to.” he said, voice tight with anger.
Mr. Romanov remembered the dead woman’s face, the little pool of blood at her throat. This is what it’s like today, the thought. Everyone is out for themselves.
He rose to go.
“Yes, take your sermon with you. You’re as bad as Yachistjinya.”
He paused.
“Who?” asked Mr. Romanov.
“Yachistjinya. Boris’s wife. He brings her around every year or so, when they vacation. I have to clean the place up and tell the girls to get lost for a week or so. I lose money every time. I don’t need her sermon’s, and I don’t need yours.” Sergei closed the door in Mr. Romanov’s face.
Mr. Romanov felt very tired. He walked to the front desk, pulled out the chair, and sat. So much had happened today. He sat back, and fell into a deep sleep.
“Concentrate Valeri!” a voice bellowed over a loudspeaker.
The air was thin, and getting thinner, being sucked out of the room in order to simulate high altitude. The box in front of him was the same size and shape as the two others that he had opened, examined, and completed quickly. They were training stand-ins for real experiments he would have to perform in space. This box held seven pieces of felt, each with a different shape. His vision was fading. What were they for?
He heard a bell ring loudly. He had failed, but felt only joy as the oxygen slowly returned to his lungs. The door opened.
“Very good, Valeri, but not good enough.”
Mikhail Rebrov was one of his many instructors. He regarded Valeri with a smile, his grey mustache turning upwards.
“Every moment up there costs us more money than you can believe. You have to learn to think! Without air, under many G-forces, in a strange place. You must learn to concentrate. Notice details.” He pointed to the low ceiling. There was a small red square. He pointed to the wall near Valeri’s feet. A purple triangle.
They were all around him. He was to match them up before time ran out. He had been so focused on the three boxes that he had failed to notice the room he was in.
Mikhail’s face grew pale, and a large gash opened itself in his throat. A second smile now grinned red, wet, and bloodless. Valeri turned away in fright, back to the test he had just failed to complete. Inside the box he found the face of a woman, her mouth moving in a whisper. A word? A name? He struggled to hear her, but could not. Mikhail again spoke loudly from behind.
“Concentrate! Details, details!”
++++++
Mr. Romanov awoke and sat up stiffly. Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.
“Mr. Romanov. It’s late. Is something wrong?” asked Boris Belonsuv, his eyes red with sleep. He peered out at Mr. Romanov from the apartment he kept open for his own use when he visited the building.
“Yes, Boris. I need to speak with you immediately.” he asked.
Boris grunted assent and unchained the door. He motioned Mr. Romanov inside. It was large, the carpet new, and the furniture of good quality.
“Come in. You are lucky I’m still here. I am leaving early tomorrow.” he said as he sat motioning to the chair opposite.
“Didn’t police asked you to stay in town?”
“Well, yes, but they all but told me the case was impossible.” he said. He poured himself a small glass of vodka from a bottle next to the couch and offered it to Mr. Romanov, who declined.
“Was there blood on his suite, Boris?” said Mr. Romanov.
“What?” asked Boris.
“It would have been all over. If this monster slit her throat it would create quite a mess.”
“Yes. Well, I think there was a dark stain or two. I only saw him for a moment.” said Boris.
“There was blood on his suite, you say, but there was very little blood in the room. The sheets were clean, with just a small puddle around her neck. I’ve thought of an explanation.”
Boris sat in silence.
“I think that he was in a rage and hit her with the nearest object, the telephone. The blow cracked the phone, crushed her skull, and killed her. After he had cleared away any fingerprints, taken her identification, and finally slit her throat, her heart had already stopped.”
“It’s possible.” said Boris.
“But if he had come here to kill her, why not just slit her throat and be done with it? Why the misdirection?” said Mr. Romanov “Tell me Boris. How is your wife?”
“What? What has that got to do with anything?” he asked.
“Well, I thought I overheard you talking about her this evening. You seemed upset.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Boris. It was less a question, and more of a command.
“There is something I had not told the police. I didn’t know that it was important. Not long before you saw me in the hallway, I was listening to my neighbors through the heating vent. I couldn’t make out the voices, but I heard the word чистый , or “chistyjj” meaning “pure”. Later I realized that is wasn’t “chistyjj”, but a name. Yachistjinya. The killer and the victim were talking about your wife.”
Boris stood.
“You leave my wife out of this!” he bellowed.
Mr. Romanov sat very still. This next part was very important. It made him feel sightly soiled to tell a lie like this, even a small one, but he would do what he must.
“Sergei told me how you would meet her here when you could get away from your wife. You wouldn’t let her be seen entering your own rooms, but instead you would use the rooms that were kept open by traveling businessmen. She kept making demands, but you had had enough. You killed her, made up your story, then call the police like an innocent man would.”
The expression on Boris’s face was one of imminent and terrible violence. Mr. Romanov could see that he had guessed correclty.
The glass Boris had clenched in his fist burst.
It was as if someone had taken a pin to a balloon. His face slowly drained of color, his hands unclenched, his body relaxed. Suddenly he seemed small and spent. He looked at his damaged hand, and slowly began to remove the glass shards from his skin. Red drops fell, staining his carpet.
“I was clear with Irina from the start, but she would not listen.” His eyes were wet, and he looked like a very different man than he had only moments before.
“Why should I let her ruin my life? Because we have sex in this shitty apartment every month or so? No. I should not have done it, but it is done.”
He walked to the sink in his kitchen, and spoke loudly so that Mr. Romanov could hear him over the running faucet.
“You are right about everything. You are right that the police will not investigate.” He came back in the living room, a wet towel around his hand.
Mr. Romanov sat in shock. He was not sure what he had expected from Boris, but it was not this.
“They will when I tell them.” he stammered “They can’t ignore this.”
“Yes, Mr. Valeri, they can. Why would they look for a dangerous man, when I can see to it that they would make much more than their pitiful salaries by not doing so?” There was no longer anger in his voice, only fatigue.
“Show yourself out” he said.
Mr. Romanov watched in disbelief as Boris walked to his bedroom and gently shut the door.
Later, he opened the door to his own apartment, warm and familiar, and flicked on the light. He considered: If he continued on the course of justice, he would most likely be kicked out onto the street. He smile when he realized that that was alright: he was not afraid of an adventure into the cold and dark.
As he settled into his chair, he was surprised to find his teacup full and untouched. In his absence, it had grown bitter, and cold.
Links for Today Jan 3rd, 2010
In no particular order.
1: Bruce Sterling: State of the World 2010
“Strange and Wonderful predictions of the future (and present) by Bruce Sterling, with input from Jon Lebkowsky and and early prodding by Cory Doctorow”
2: Kenyan witch-hunt targets elders
“The poverty-stricken western district, known as Kenya’s sorcery belt, has seen an increase in mob attacks on individuals and even killings.”
3. French aristocrats break free from sect leader Thierry Tilly
“He is said to have convinced the Védrines family – part of the Protestant nobility of south-west France for 300 years – that they belonged to an ancient order called L’Equilibre du Monde (”the balance of the world”) which has the mission of defending humanity from “supreme evil”. From September 2001, 11 of the Védrines barricaded themselves into the family chateau 100 miles east of Bordeaux, some abandoning successful careers.”
4. Photographs of people across the earth as they welcomed the new year
5. The Greatest Inventions Nikola Tesla Never Created
6. The 15 Dumbest Superhero Retcons Of All Time
7. Gordon Brown to launch £100bn wind energy programme
