Heck Week. Our Great March to Victory

Hello Troops,
We are on the eve of Heck Week (edited for the sake of our younger readers). As many of you know, every summer I have a tradition of picking a week in July and turning it into Heck Week. I fill the week with camps and private missions to the point where sanity is itself is tested beyond its limits. This is the week that nearly drives us to drink. This is the week that sends many of you to counseling. This is the week that tests men’s souls. By Saturday, I’ll know where each of your breaking points are. By Saturday everything about you will be exposed. You’ll be a blabbering idiot, barely able to form complete sentences due to a serious lack of sleep. Walls will be walked into. Monitors will be placed at the restrooms to help the semi conscious remember which door to use. Caffeinated soft drinks will pour from the drinking fountains (not an easy accomplishment but doable for the right price). I instructed Aleta to stop at Red Lobster and acquire a box of plastic bibs for staff use at mealtimes. I’ll assign a camper to each of you. He or she will wipe your mouths and chins as you eat and be ready to pound your back should you start to choke.

May I say at the onset of this seemingly impossible challenge that I have every confidence in our ability to end the week victorious. We will do what some say can’t be done. We will slay ignorance. We will vanquish poverty. We will end this recession and, by giving up one extra hour of sleep each night, solve our nation’s health care crisis. We will achieve all of this, and still complete our camps and missions by feeding off pure adrenaline and the inspiration that comes from standing at the partition that separates reality from fantasy. We can do all this and much more!
So, rest well tonight fellow Troubadours. Tomorrow at 10:00 A.M. the bugle will sound and the drum will beat. The whistle will blow and we will go over the top. We will fight until there is no one standing (which should happen at 6:00 P.M. Saturday when the last campers leave). If our flag falls another will stop and pick it up. We will go forward, never retreat.

When all is said and done, this week will go down in Space Center history as our finest. Tales of what we accomplished will be told for years to come as we sit around our fires and remember the day when everyone said it couldn’t be done and we did it.

Buckle up and hold on. It will be a bumpy ride.

Mr. Williamson.

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 4

This is just for fun. Any resemblance to people who work at the space center is intentional, although these characters aren't really them. Any resemblance to an actual mission is your imagination.

Aleta Clegg.


Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 4

LeGrange swore as he knocked his head against another pipe fitting. “I hate these tunnels.”

“That’s because you’re a marine, not a skinny engineer,” Fells answered.

“Quiet,” I whispered. “Sound carries too well through these conduits.”

Thumps sounded from farther down the conduit. I froze. LeGrange and Fells tried to draw their phasers. The repair conduits were slightly too small to allow it.

The thumping stopped. My heart pounded while we waited.

Three deliberate thumps echoed down the conduit. I grinned and thumped twice fast, then twice slow.

“No fighting room in here,” Fells complained in a harsh whisper.

“I think I’ve got my phaser free,” LeGrange whispered. “Move over so I have a clear shot.”

My thumps were answered by five rapid ones.

“They’re coming! Quartermaster, you are in the line of fire. You are not trained for this. Move!” Fells shoved my boots.

“It’s Turner,” I answered him. “But just in case it isn’t...” I squeezed to one side.

LeGrange passed his phaser to Turner. I tried to melt into the side of the conduit when Turner poked it past my hip. I didn’t want caught in the beam.

Turner cautiously stuck his head around a bend. “Stevens?”

“It’s me.” I nudged LeGrange’s phaser away. “And two trigger happy marines.”

Turner crawled closer. A thin woman crawled after him, her black hair straggling loose from the bun on her head.

“This is Vasha, comm tech,” Turner introduced her.

“Comm tech? I’ve got an idea. Head back to that intersection,” I called over my shoulder.

LeGrange and Fells muttered curses under their breath as they inched backwards through the repair conduit.

The intersection wasn’t much bigger but it allowed enough room for the five of us to crouch together and whisper plans.

“Vasha, how well do you know the comm system?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’m better with the main computer. I was computer specialist for a small ship for three years before they transferred me here.”

“Even better.” I rubbed my hands together.

“What are you planning? I hate it when you smile like that. You scare me.” Turner wiggled into a more comfortable position.

“Can you access the main computer?” I ignored Turner, for now.

“If you can get me into the captain’s quarters, yes. What do you want me to do?”

“Shut down the ship, lock them in the cabins, whatever you can dream up. LeGrange, can you get her there?”

He nodded. “It would be easier with at least five men. Those corridors have to be guarded or this Del’Brugado is a complete idiot. Which he wouldn’t be since he did manage to take over the ship from Captain Herring.”

“Not the hallways, LeGrange. Take the conduits. They’ll get you to deck four, near the forward shield generators. Be careful from there.”

“Don’t tell me my job, Quartermaster.” LeGrange’s tone was sharp. “Come on, Vasha. Stay close behind me.”

The two of them crawled down the conduit.

“They’ll be caught,” Fells whispered. His hand fondled his phaser as if it were a security blanket.

“Not if you give them something else to think about. Think you can stage a raid on the armory?”

”By myself?”

“You’re a marine. And you like big weapons, don’t you?”

A smile spread over Fells face, spelling doom for any marauders that weren’t paying attention.

“The two of us will get to the auxiliary controls and see what havoc we can wreak.” I pointed at Turner. “I know a few commands.”

“I don’t,” Turner said. “How about I see how close to the brig I can get? Maybe I can override the force fields.”

“And maybe you’ll get shot.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Stevens.”

Fells rolled his eyes. “You two lovebirds finish your fight, I’m leaving.” He crawled away.

“Go see what diversion you can create,” I said. “And try not to get caught.”

I didn’t wait to see him leave. I crawled through the conduit leading to engineering.

I climbed down the ladder to deck thirteen, listening for any movement below. The engineering control panel at the bottom of the ladder was for emergency use only. I figured this was definitely an emergency. I reached the bottom of the ladder and crouched, scanning the hallway outside the nook.

Two guards, wearing blue and yellow uniforms, talked at the end of the hall. They both carried weapons that looked far more deadly than phasers.

I pushed the button to release the controls. Air hissed as the panel slid open.

“Did you hear that?” One of the pirates turned, scanning the hall.

I ducked under the panel, scooting as far into its shadow as I could.

The intruder alarm screeched to life.

“Deck eight! They’re after the armory!” The two pirates sprinted for the nearest lift, leaving the hall clear.

I cautiously stood. The nook left me exposed to anyone walking in the hall. I quickly scanned the controls. Not as much help as I had hoped, these only controlled backup power systems. I yanked all the isolinear chips free, stuffing them into my pockets. I had to find a different node, take out the main reactor if I could.

I glanced up and down the hall. Still clear. I headed for main engineering at a run. If I moved fast enough, I could chuck something into the reactor core, pull the iso chips, something that would cripple the ship.

Faint thuds echoed through the ship. Eight, ten, more thuds followed quickly.

The alarms changed tone.

“Warning, life boats have been launched. Warp drive has been activated. All hands brace for warp speeds.” The main computer’s voice echoed through empty halls.

The floor vibrated as the engine power built.

I swore and ran faster. Wherever Del’Brugado was taking us, it couldn’t be good. If he’d launched lifepods, maybe he’d ditched most of the crew. And maybe they were dead. I couldn’t think about that now.

The door to main engineering slid open. I skidded to a stop. Five pirates leveled weapons at my head. I reversed course and ran madly down the hallway.

Boots pounded behind me. The guards shouted as they gave chase.

“At least you got your diversion,” I muttered as I slammed the controls for the lift.

Not fast enough, I thought. I darted into a cross hall, heading for the maze of the ship’s life support systems.

A shot ricocheted off the bulkhead. I dodged and slipped, skidding on my knees into a door.

One of the pirates grabbed the back of my uniform, dragging me to my feet.

“Not fast enough,” I said as he shook me.

“Who are you?”

“Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster. I don’t know my serial number.”

The pirate smashed me against the wall. “Search her for weapons then lock her in the brig with the others.”

The pirates shoved me through the ship to the brig. They lowered the force fields just long enough to push me inside. I staggered to a stop.

“If it isn’t the troublemaker,” Captain Herring spoke. “Enlisted personnel were supposed to be evacuated.”

“I think I missed the lifepod,” I answered.

Captain Herring sniffed. “You’ve spent more time in here than anyone else. Do you have any ideas how to escape?”

I fingered the isolinear chips still in the front of my uniform. “Maybe.” I noted who was in the brig. LeGrange lay on a bunk, nursing a bloody nose and black eye, but there was no sign of the others I’d sent. “Are they holding anyone else?”

“Major Yancy, main engineer, and three of his crew are in engineering.” The captain’s voice was crisp.

“Then they haven’t caught up with Turner or Vasha yet. We may still have a chance of escape.”

Herring nodded. “Then do what you can, Stevens.”

I pulled an iso chip from my suit. “Anyone here know how to open the force field generator panels?”

Thoughts on Transformers and North Korea.

Hello Troops,
I saw Transformers this weekend. Now I think I need to be careful not to hurt feelings as I describe my thoughts on this film, realizing many of you enjoyed it. So, without putting too fine a point on it - I thought the movie was pure unadulterated trash. It was a pure waste of my time and money.
I urge all that say they enjoyed the movie to reconsider your opinion. Tell me what, if anything, made sense in that poor excuse of spending several millions of dollars?

• Dialog? Inane. Trite. Elementary.
• Characters? cardboard. two dimensional. boring.
• Special effects? Brilliant. You see, I give credit where credit is due.
• Story? Beyond belief even for fiction. It is beyond fiction. It is a fiction not even fiction can understand.

I could fill volumes by writing on every point this movie failed. I slept through some parts, squirmed through others, laughed not with the characters but at the characters, and was amazed at the 300 pounder sitting behind me that seemed to enjoy the movie immensely. I knew he was an adult based on the growth of his beard and the fact he had a few small humans in tow. I wanted to turn around and ask him why he was enjoying the movie. Of course wanting to and doing it are two different things and, being a coward at heart, always take the safe road.

There were several times I found myself rubbing my forehead. Now, to those that would like to understand Mr. Williamson’s quirks, the rubbing of the forehead is my uncontrollably way of silently shouting “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO INTELLIGENT LIFE ON THIS PLANET. IS THERE ANYONE THAT CAN PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY?”

You’re asking why I didn’t get up and walk out of the movie? Good question. I've done it before to far less deserving movies like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. To be truthful, the special effects kept me tethered me to my seat. They were good. But had it not been for them I would have gotten up and walked out the first time the handicapped mother (born brainless) opened her mouth or when the dogs enjoyed each other's company on the couch.

Once again I ponder the use of the word professional when it comes to some Hollywood script writers. Professional, yes - when it comes down to the fact that they are paid for their work. Professional? No, when it comes to the quality of some of their work. My own Flight Directors, (and even some of the older volunteers) can write better fiction than Transformers.

I conclude this opinion post by urging you not to see Transformers. Don’t reward Dreamworks and Paramount for releasing this cinematic plague upon our houses right before the July 4th holiday. I promise that seeing it could potentially ruin your day, maybe your week (sorry Transformer fans). Listen, take my advice and read or watch some really good fiction and update yourself with North Korea's latest threats against the United States. They are threatening to launch a missile over Hawaii. Let's hope someone over there remembers to bring the matches so they get an ignition. Clearing the launch pad is a real plus for the North Korean Evening Propoganda Broadcasts. Making it over the Sea of Japan? That's priceless.

Speaking of North Korea. Can you believe a nation of millions under the delusion their leader is the modern world’s Messiah? They call him “The Dear Leader”. A more fitting title would be "Blood Sucking Vampire". He is a tin pot dictator and the head of the only political party in North Korea, The Korean Worker’s Party or something to that effect. He, and the others that are guilty of destroying the lives of millions, run that country like abusive parents. It is communism at its worst.

I visited Russia three times during the days it was ruled by the communists. I visited East Germany and Poland when they were also ruled by communists. I know what a communist state looks and feels like. I have a pretty good idea what’s happening in North Korea and I feel for its citizens. Many know better but are too terrified to speak out and the others are mindless drones, refusing to believe that their leaders don’t have their best interests at heart.

I say let North Korea launch a missile at Hawaii. Let them prove to the world that not only is their Dear Leader half dead with Stoke but also functionally insane, dimwitted, delusional, and (pray to God) on death’s door. I firmly believe that inborn urge to be free can be found in many of North Korea’s citizens. I hope something will happen, as it did in Europe, and the people will find their voice and hunt down the criminals that destroyed the lives of millions and let them experience true freedom by swinging in the Korean breeze from the end of a rope.

And now Its time for Sunday dinner.

Have a great week troops,

Mr. Williamson

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 3

This is just for fun. Any resemblance to people who work at the space center is intentional, although these characters aren't really them. Any resemblance to an actual mission is your imagination.
Aleta Clegg,
Space Center Educator
Space Center Quartermaster
___________________________________________________

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 3

“Quartermaster Stevens! Captain wants you in his office. Now!”

I sighed, rolling off the bunk.

The security guard, chosen more for his fighting skills than his thinking skills, frowned at the open door to the cell. “Why are you in the brig?”

“Lieutenant Bradley put me under arrest. So I reported to the brig. No one was manning the desk, though, so I checked myself in.”

“And them?”

“Turner and Quan’Li? Guilty by association. Let them sleep.” I brushed past him. “How bad was the damage?”

“Hit and run, but they took out the warp drive and a bunch of other systems.” He shrugged. “The ship is secure for now. When is dinner?”

“Ask Bradley.” I stepped around him and headed for the nearest lift.

Captain Herring sat at his desk, officers hurrying through his office in a steady stream. All signs of a crisis in progress, but one under the iron control of the captain’s steely gaze. He glanced up in time to notice me. He did not look happy. He waved the officers out.

I entered his office, dreading the lecture I knew he would deliver.

“Quartermaster.” Captain Herring waited for me to approach.

I glanced at an empty chair, then decided against sitting. I’d pushed too far already. “Sir?”

“Where is my dinner?”

“Blown up with the replicators, I expect.” So much for respect and talking my way out of trouble. Sometimes my mouth says things before my brain gets involved.

Captain Herring’s glare turned to pure ice.

“Sir, we’ve been working twenty hours a day trying to cook in a galley designed to serve no more than fifty. We’re running out of food we can cook that way. We need the replicators back online. We can’t keep feeding two hundred.”

“One hundred eighty three. We had seventeen casualties in the attack.”

His answer was milder than I expected.

“I need a full inventory of supplies,” he continued.

“Sir, we’re already stretched too thin trying to keep everyone fed. There are only three of us in the galley. I don’t have time to do a full inventory.”

“As quartermaster, it is your duty to keep me apprised of supply levels.”

I told him what I thought of that duty on top of everything else. I’d expected serving on the Voyager to be a breeze–top of the line equipment, plenty of staff, a relaxing break. I’d never been so wrong in my life.

Captain Herring merely lifted one eyebrow at my language. “I’m assigning Alpha and Bravo squads to you. I want the entire crew fed in the next four hours. And, I want a full inventory on my desk in the next two. We are meeting with the Lusitania in six hours. I need to know what supplies to requisition.”

The Lusitania was a huge support ship currently assigned with the Third Fleet. I knew too much about her. I’d spent two months cleaning all three hundred toilets as penance a few years back.

“If I may ask, sir, who attacked us?” I wanted at least a little information. Maybe I should have taken the posting to the prison kitchen.

“Marauders, we don’t know who.” Herring tapped his com button. “Get me a shipwide channel.”

I opened my mouth.

He lifted his finger, silencing me. “This is the captain speaking.” His voice echoed through the halls of the ship. “We have been attacked by marauders of an unknown origin. The ship has sustained damage to the warp systems and the shields. Repairs are underway. All stations will remain on high alert until further notice. That is all.” He touched the comm button. “You will open the auxiliary galley on deck two to feed the officers on duty. The inventory report will be on my desk in no less than two hours, the entire crew will be fed in the next four. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Unless I wanted shot and shoved out an airlock as a real mutineer, I had no choice but to agree.

“I’ll alert Alpha and Bravo squads to report to the galley for your orders.” He swiveled his chair, dismissing me.

“Great,” I muttered as I stalked back through the ship to the galley. “Fourteen marines in my kitchen. Lot of help they’ll be.”

Quan’Li and Turner both waited in the galley. It was a disaster. The pots had spilled during the fight. Food splattered every surface.

“We’ve got four hours to feed the entire crew,” I said. “And two hours to make a complete inventory of the ship. But,” I held my hand up to stop the complaints I knew were coming, “we do have two squads of marines to help. Turner, take four of them and open deck two galley. Take whatever supplies you need. Quan’Li, you’ve got the main galley. I’ll take two marines and get the inventory done. I’ll leave the rest with you.”

They both nodded. They weren’t happy, but orders were orders. And direct orders had to be obeyed.

Boots thumped in the hall, loud and in step. Our marines had arrived. We divided them up. Turner and his four loaded up supplies and left for the command galley. I took two with me. Quan’Li set the others to scrubbing up spills.

I sent one to the weapons controls to get a list from the officer in charge. I sent the other to sickbay while I went to the engineering sections.

They met me back by the main supply room half an hour later, lists in hand.

“That takes care of the easy part,” I said. “Now we get to count bins.”

“Yes, ma’am,” one of them, LeGrange, said as he saluted me.

I opened the door to the first storage locker. “You take the left, you take the far right, I’ll do the middle.” I tabbed through the clipboard to the proper page.

“What are we counting, ma’am?”

“Anything that looks more than half empty, make a note,” I said. Captain Herring could decide what was vital to requisition. As long as it included parts for the replicators, I’d be happy.

I started down the aisle, checking labels and boxes.

The lights flickered to red, alarms blared.

The marines thundered towards the door, which slid closed and locked just before they reached it.

“Standard precaution under red alert,” I said. “We’re locked in here until the alert is canceled.”

“Probably just a drill,” LeGrange said. “We’ll keep counting, ma’am.”

The ship rocked. The lights shut off, plunging us into darkness briefly. The emergency light glowed sickly green above us.

“Or not,” Fells, the other marine answered.

The alarms changed.

“Intruders.” LeGrange drew his phaser.

“They’re at the bridge!” Fells fingered his comm badge.

The overhead speakers crackled to life.

“Crew of the ship Voyager, this is Del’Brugado of the Fellucian Marauders. I have captured your ship. Further resistance will be met with deadly force. Surrender peacefully and we will let you live. As our slaves!”

Fells pounded on the door.

“Stop it, you idiot!” I grabbed his arm. “Come this way. I’ve got an idea.”

I led them to the back of the supply room. I popped the cover off an access panel.

“Repair access conduit. We can use it to get to deck seven, and from there, we can get into the main engineering crawl spaces.”

“And the three of us are going to take back our ship!” Fells clapped his hand on his phaser.

“Set phasers to maximum,” LeGrange said, thumbing the dial on his. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“No, but it is going to be fun.” Fells grinned like a maniac.

I rolled my eyes and crawled into the conduit.

EdVenture Camp 3. Continues.

Hello Troops,
Day three of our EdVenture Camp for this week. Our campers slept soundly last night. We wore them out with a five hour mission and seven hours of workshops. We swam from 8:15 - 9:15 P.M. and topped off the day with a video. Several the campers were asleep on the floor when I turned on the lights at the end of the video at 11:15 P.M. It was funny to see them struggle to their sleeping quarters, dragging their sleeping bags behind them. Oh, there were several pillows dropped along the way.

I thought I include a few pictures of the campers in their class session.


I slept very well last night. I can squeeze a good 4 - 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep during camp nights. It’s not enough, I know that. By camp’s end I’m showing several bruises from stumbling into walls on the third day of camp. I’m pretty much a walking zombie by then. My staff knowingly take advantage of my sleepless stupor by asking me to approve large spending items. I do my best to ask the difficult questions but most of the time just hold my hand out. They hand me a pen and direct my hand to the appropriate line and, if necessary, help me sign my name :) A day or two later FedEx delivers a package and one of our simulators has a new piece of equipment.

I calculated the number of nights I’ve slept at the Space Center on camps since our opening nearly 19 years ago. It comes to slightly over 3 years!
Wow, when you look at it like that even I feel sorry for myself. Someone suggested I should write a check to the school district for rent. But you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It's been well worth it for what we’ve accomplished, staff and volunteers.

And now troops I’ll sign off until the next update. We’ve got another extended flight rotation starting at 11:15 A.M. At 1:00 we enjoy our disco pizza lunch. The Cafeteria is illuminated in psychedelic colors. Campers enjoy an all you can eat pizza lunch to the disco music of the past.


Mr. Williamson

EdVenture Camp 3. It Starts.

It's 10:13 P.M. The Center's five simulators are in deep space. I'm at my desk listening to music from the original Star Trek series. In fact, its the music to The Trouble with Tribbles. That was a fine episode.

I had a few emails from two of our Blog readers asking for more information on the new Galileo. I had a word with Kyle Herring, foreman of the Galileo project. He says the interior is nearing completion. Today he ordered the aluminum to cover the exterior. Covering the outside frame with aluminum is one of the final steps to completing the ship. His goal is to have the ship delivered within one month.

I'm hoping that bit of news satisfied the Galileo hunger out there. We are waiting with growing impatience for our new simulator.

We lost two more campers to the Swine Flu before the camp even started. One mother called this afternoon to cancel her son. Another mother came to the Center with her sick daughter in the car. We arranged a refund and sent them on their way.
(I just remembered she handed me her daughters camp paperwork for the refund. This paperwork sat out in the car with them on the trip here. That means a possibility of virus on the paper? There is no way I can afford to get the flu during summer camp season. I left my desk for a moment to scrub my hands. Let's hope for the best.)

We have a great group of campers for this EdVenture. Many of them are our good veterans. I enjoyed delivering my Start of Camp Monologue to this group. They laughed at my jokes and looked like they really wanted to do well in the simulators and in the class. I know, I know.... time will tell.

We are heavy on staff and volunteers on this camp. The simulator's Set Directors all asked for extra help to run their summer missions and I brought them in for this camp. My fear is the extra help will become more of a bother if they are busy for most of the camp. The Flight Directors assure me they will keep them busy and so I'll take them on their word.

It's 10:28 P.M. Several volunteers just rushed by my desk getting in costume. Apparently the Voyager is getting ready for an acting scene. I'm wearing my noise canceling headphones so I don't know what's happening with the story. Thank goodness for these headphones. They allow me to keep my sanity while I attempt to work around this controlled chaos.

This bright yellow ball of light appeared in the daytime sky over Pleasant Grove today. We had to remind each other that it was the sun. We haven't seen much of it over the last three weeks. They say it will be our ever present companion for the foreseeable future, sending temperatures into the 90's for the weekend. Summer is here.

I'll end this update with some good news. We will take the campers and staff swimming tomorrow night! This will be the first camp this season that will get to go swimming. All are happy.

Now I'll say good night. I've got to put the tables down in the cafeteria for the late night snack.

Mr. Williamson

On Last Week

This may be the last day of rain for awhile. Most are happy. I enjoyed living in Little Seattle for the last three weeks. They say a change is as good as a rest so I’m feeling pretty rested and ready for warmer temperatures. I think all of us will agree that this cool June will be fondly remember when the temperatures inch over 100 in the next few weeks.

We had a really good Overnight Camp on Thursday. I’m sure all of the staff and volunteers will agree with me when I say that our one night overnight camps are soooo easy when compared to the three day camps. During the school year the Overnighters are THE camp of the week which makes them seem longer. In the summer the three day EdVenture Camps become the long camp making the Overnight Camp seem like an extended private mission.

We want to congratulated Megan Warner and the Phoenix staff for winning the Director’s Trophy for the Overnight Camp. Megan told “Dark Origins” for the first time. “Dark Origins” was written by Dave Daymont. It is one of two new Phoenix missions for the summer season. The other mission is Currahee, written by Megan Warner.

The Center is busy every day this summer with camps and private missions. We also have a few university students using the Center as the setting for independent movies they’re shooting as school assignments. The film crews arrive after private missions end and stay through the night shooting. They are gone in the morning before I arrive to open the Center.

This coming week will be much the same as last. We start with our third EdVenture Camp. Swimming is back on the agenda for day two of camp! That was the longest stretch of no swimming in any camp since we opened eighteen years ago.

Well, not much else to write about today. One small item I’ll mention and then close. I got a letter from the mayor of Salt Lake County yesterday appointing me to the Board of Director’s of Clark Planetarium. I know, it’s one more thing to add to my plate. Its not too bad though, there is a Board Meeting once a month and that’s about it.

Let’s have a great week at camp and I wish all of our kind readers a great first week of summer.

Mr. Williamson

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 2

This is just for fun. Any resemblance to people who work at the space center is intentional, although these characters aren't really them. Any resemblance to an actual mission is your imagination.
Aleta Clegg.

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 2

I swiped a rag across the metal counter, leaving a greasy trail. Why had I agreed to this? Two days into the flight the food replicators had failed. Completely and utterly. We needed parts to fix them, parts that were two days travel behind us at Starbase 74. My two assistants and I were stuck cooking with real pots and pans in a galley much too small. Exhaustion didn’t even come close to describing what we felt.

Leuitenant Bradley stuck his head in the door. “Quartermaster Stevens? Captain Herring wants his dinner delivered to the officer’s mess in exactly twenty three minutes.”

I told him exactly what Captain Herring could do with his dinner.

Bradley’s lips pinched, like a fish sucking lemons. “He expects you to be in dress whites for serving.”

“Then tell the captain I need functional food replicators. He’ll get his food when it gets cooked. We’ve been slaving over those pots for the last eighteen hours straight. He will just have to wait his turn.”

Bradley stepped into the kitchen, looming over me. His attempt to threaten me wasn’t going to work.

“I don’t own any dress whites. I will deliver his food when it is ready. It would help if he gave me more staff, but there isn’t room for more than three people in this galley. This ship is not designed for old style cooking, not for the full crew. You tell Captain Herring the crew will have to go on shifts for meals. And I want at least two extra staff for the other rotations.”

“You are in no position to make demands!”

“Go hungry.” I turned my back and swabbed my rag across the counter.

“You have been given a direct order by a superior officer.”

“And I’m telling you, Officer Bradley, I can’t do it. It’s physically impossible.”

Bradley tapped his comm badge. “Security, report to the galley immediately. Take Quartermaster Stevens into custody on charges of mutiny.”

Turner and Quan’Li, my assistants, both thumped their spoons down.

“You arrest her and you have to arrest both of us,” Turner said. “The two of us quit. Cook your own food.”

“You’ll regret this,” Bradley warned.

“Not before you do,” I answered.

Security arrived, uniforms a bit rumpled. Security detail was usually pretty boring, except for the few minutes when it was extremely exciting. I suspected they’d been playing cards.

I held out my wrists. “Arrest me. Throw me in the brig. At least I’ll get some sleep.”

Turner and Quan’Li were right behind me.

“What about our food?” the bigger security guard questioned Bradley.

“Mutiny is a serious charge. These three disobeyed a direct order. Take them into custody.”

The guards hesitated. “We put them in the brig, we won’t get food.”

“Another team will be assigned.” Bradley frowned. “Do you want to join them on charges of mutiny? I gave you an order!”

“Not a good way to make friends, Bradley.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm. It was my nature.

Bradley’s face burned red. I wondered if I could actually make steam come from his ears.

“Throw them in the brig!”

“Yes, sir.” Security didn’t look too happy, but they marched the three of us away.

“Have fun cooking,” I called over my shoulder. “And watch that pot of sauce. It will burn if you don’t stir it.”

“You shouldn’t make him mad,” the security guard whispered as he marched me through the halls. “He’s got the captain’s ear.”

“And I’ve got his food. Who do you think Captain Herring is going to listen to?”

“You’re going to be put on report.”

I shrugged. “And I might get a nap.”

The lights flickered, changing to red. Alarms blared through the halls.

“All hands, battle stations!”

Security ran away.

Quan’Li sighed heavily. “I suppose we need to lock down the galley.”

“Let Bradley do it. We’re still under arrest.”

“Adrian, you can’t just desert your post.”

“I was officially relieved of duty. You heard Leutinant Bradley. I’m going to report to the brig, like a good mutineer. My feet are killing me.”

“What about the Captain’s dinner?”

“Under red alert? He isn’t getting it now.”

“Incoming!” the speakers blared.

The ship rocked crazily. Lights flickered madly. Smoke poured from the air vents.

Turner grabbed for support. “We’re under attack!”

“They said it would be dangerous. I’m hiding in the brig. Are you coming with me? The walls are thicker in there.”

Turner and Quan’Li were on my heels all the way to the brig. We checked ourselves in and made ourselves comfortable while the explosions continued.

Day 3 in Camp. The EdVenture Continues.

EdVenture Camp 2

We are on day 3 of our second EdVenture Camp. The natives were quiet during the night except for two small disturbances. I was woken by a young man walking through the Briefing Room. He walked by my camp (a pad, my two pillows, my blanket, flashlight, alarm clock and whistle) and straight into the hallway.
RULE VIOLATION: No one is allowed to leave their sleeping areas without permission. He didn’t stop to ask me to use the school’s restrooms. I waited to review the rules when he returned. He came back several minutes later.
“Stop,” I said. “Come here.” He stumbled to my camp like a drunk after one too many.
“Remember to tell me if you need to use the restroom during the night. You’re not allowed to wander through the halls of the school.” With that said I dismissed him to return to bed.
“My mission, I’m worried about my mission,” he replied in an odd tone. The statement alone was harmless. I hear it all the time. He can’t sleep because he is in the middle of a tough mission and its weighing on his mind. The odd thing about what he said was in its delivery. Most boys will look at me when they talk. They also appear alert. This boy’s head was darting back and forth like a caged animal. He was agitated and couldn’t stay still.
“Go back to bed,” I said. He moved toward the Voyager's door. A moment later I heard a yelp. I jumped up and found him at hopping on one foot near the Voyager’s Control Room door.
“Did you fall?” I asked.
“I stepped on something but I don’t know....... but I stepped on something and I......... I don’t know what it was.” He was stammering. His odd behavior could be diagnosed as a stroke or sleep walking. I ruled out a stroke. The kid was 11. He had to be sleeping walking. I helped him to a bench and looked at his foot. He stepped on something but I couldn’t find what it was with a flashlight search.
“Are you awake or asleep?” I asked him. I know it was a stupid question but I was tired. I was also curious what a sleepwalker would say when asked.
“I’m not sure because my mission is Ghost Ship and I don’t know what to do because we are in trouble and .....” The stammering continued.
“Can you walk?” I asked.
He hobbled. That was good enough. “Go to bed.” I said again. This time I followed him with the flashlight. He walked onto the Bridge, found his area collapsed onto the pad, covered himself and was out.
I returned to my camp.

All was quiet again. Everyone, including the chaperons, were asleep except for me. “The calm before the storm,” I thought to myself. The silence was broken by coughing from the Odyssey's bunks. There was also the constant sound of the forced air conditioning over head.

A moment later I heard feet shuffling across the carpet. Someone was approaching. I sat up. At the foot of my pad I saw one of the 14 year old campers. He look foreboding in the faint light from the green EXIT sign over my head . For a moment I thought it was Ye Old Grim Reaper come to carry my soul away. The thought passed when I recognized the unruly hair. It was one of the campers.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I filled the Happy Bucket,” he replied. The Happy Bucket is a gray cleaning bucket given to children when they shows signs of imminent explosion (vomiting). They carry the bucket with them until the eruption subsides or the feeling passes.
“Bring me the bucket,” I said. He went to fetch it. “I got back up and waited. He returned a moment later. I took the bucket. It sloshed. He had indeed made a good deposit. I wanted to say “Good Boy." He deserved recognition for getting it all in the bucket and not on the carpet, floor, shoes, sleeping bags etc. (all of which has happened in the past). I let the moment pass and told him to wait while I cleaned it out.

I’m good with body fluids. They don’t bother me. I can even deal with blood - but not my own. Cleaning and sanitizing the bucket took a few minutes. In no time he was back to bed and all was well. I returned to my camp. It was nearing 2:00 A.M. I dozed off, waking up several times during the night to the various sounds of an old school. Mixed in were the melodies of children dreaming of starship adventures in places far away.

Wednesday Morning.

The kids are up and fed. Mrs. Houston and Mrs. Powell have them in the last two hours of their class session. It’s 9:05 A.M. One of our younger sixth grade volunteers just emerged from the Phoenix. He slept there last night. The staff go on duty at 11:00 A.M. Wednesday then is a happy day for them. They get to sleep in.

It’s spitting with rain. I’m not sure the campers will be able to launch their rockets. I could worry about that but won’t. It is the responsibility of Sheila and Lorraine and I really like that. I’ve enough on my plate. Its good to share the load with a great staff that are more than capable of dealing with hiccups in the schedule.

OK, now I’ve got to get back to work. There is a growing list of things to do and they won’t disappear without my attention. I’m good with that. I call it job security. I’ll update the Blog throughout the week to give you readers the taste and feel of summer life at the Space Center.

Mr. Williamson

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster

Hello Troops,
Aleta is a teacher and curriculum specialist at the Space Center. During the summer she is kind enough to manage the kitchen. She refers to herself as the Starship's Quartermaster. She created a fictional character called Adrian (her Avatar so to speak). This is first of several updates about this character and her interactions with others aboard our fictional ship far into the future.

And now, Aleta's first chapter...............

This is just for fun. Any resemblance to people who work at the space center is intentional, although these characters aren't really them. Any resemblance to an actual mission is your imagination.

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster

"Admiral?" I cautiously stuck my head in the door. I hated having to deal with command officers, but my orders were specific.

The chair slowly swiveled, revealing a slightly balding head of dark hair.

I swallowed a nervous lump as I held out my orders. Fleet Admiral Williamson, the sign on his desk read.

He took my paper, barely glancing at it before letting it drift into his disposal unit. He leaned back in his chair, bouncing slightly as he looked me over. "Quartermaster Stevens, your reputation for trouble precedes you. You do know that you're on the short list for dishonorable discharge? One more incident and you may even be doing prison time."

I nodded, keeping my mouth firmly shut. This was my last chance. Another few years and I'd be able to leave Starfleet honorably. I'd spoken too freely in the past. I'd taken a few too many liberties. Admiral Williamson was the last officer willing to even consider me for a posting.

He tapped his chin as he thought, his chair bobbing back and forth. He swung one foot, the polish on his boots catching the light.

I shuffled my scuffed boots on his dark blue carpet. The window behind him showed space dock. A gleaming white ship rested gently in the cradle, shuttles swarming around her. The USS Voyager was a beautiful ship, graceful and elegant with enough firepower to intimidate just about anyone. I could only dream of a posting on such a legendary ship.

Admiral Williamson's chair thumped forward, his boots thudding dully on the carpet. "I need volunteers for a dangerous mission. Classified, of course. I'm looking for those willing to risk everything if necessary. You have a choice, Stevens. Prison cook or Quartermaster on the Voyager."

I stared at him, my jaw dropping. "Quartermaster on the Voyager, sir?" Had I heard wrong?

"Not glamorous. You'll be on skeleton staff. You and two others will be responsible for all supplies, food, and the equipment to prepare it. I'm afraid the food replicators have been a bit off so you may be actually cooking for two hundred."

"I thought the Voyager had three hundred crew, sir."

"The support crew won't be the only ones on short staff." He smiled, benevolence with an edge. "You may not return, Stevens."

"But it's a chance to serve on the Voyager, sir. I accept. I've got no family, nothing to lose."

"Except your reputation." He stamped a paper and slid it across the desk. "Report immediately to the shuttle bay. You have less than four hours until the ship undocks."

"Sir." I snapped a salute then collected my new orders.

"Dismissed." He turned his chair away. "I suggest you hurry, Quartermaster."

I practically ran from his office, headed for the shuttle bays at a run. I couldn't help grinning. So the mission was dangerous, that didn't matter. I had a posting on the legendary Voyager!

The shuttle was crowded with officers headed for the ship. I hugged my duffle at the back, doing my best to avoid eye contact. I eyed their uniforms jealously. I wanted to be an officer but I couldn't stay out of trouble at the Academy. Quartermaster was the best I could hope for. I shifted my feed, impatient to board.

The shuttle docked, landing gracefully in the shuttle bay. The hatch opened. The officers filed out. I followed, breathing deeply of the recycled air of the Voyager. Glory tainted every molecule. I stepped off the boarding ramp.

"Papers?" The security guard glared at my blue service jumpsuit.

I handed the papers Admiral Williamson had just stamped.

"Captain on deck!"

Everyone snapped to attention. I dropped my duffle, standing rigid.

Boots thumped on the metal decking. I risked a single glance, rolling my eyes to the side. My heart sank. Maybe Captain Herring wouldn't remember me.

He stopped in front of me, breath whistling through his nose as he glared. "Adrian Stevens? You're what they sent for my Quartermaster?" His lip curled. He leaned very close.

I swallowed hard, staring at a pulsing vein in his forehead.

"Don't think I've forgotten the spaghetti incident. I'm watching you." His eyes drilled into mine.

So much for wishful thinking. Which would be more dangerous? The mission or the captain? Only time would tell.

A Quick Review of the Past Week. A Few Stories (a bit exaggerated) and a Comment or Two for Good Measure.

The end of our staff meeting. Most already left.
Some still asleep along the back wall (not shown)

Hello Troops,
What weather we’re having. You’d think Utah suddenly shifted its position on the globe and ended up along the Pacific coast . I’m not complaining. I enjoy the rain and clouds but I know many of you are fair weather creatures and thrive on sunshine and heat. I’d like to say I feel sorry for you but I’d be lying and, because this is Sunday, I can’t bring myself to do it.

For our readers outside of Utah I thought I’d show you what our desert kingdom looks like from my deck. Utah Lake is in the distance in the first picture and the other picture is looking northwest toward Point of the Mountain. Beautiful isn’t it? Well almost. This weather did cause some grief during this last week’s EdVenture Camp.

This was the condition of my office before the Camp started. The Odyssey and Phoenix staff were using it as a dumping ground as they prepared their ships. I had a fit. The staff had to hold me down and administer Diet Coke to calm me down. Once calm they rolled me into a corner and did a quick clean up. I was groggy but alert by camp's start.

The camp started on Monday. Everything went well but I was concerned about the temperature. It was cold and didn’t show signs of warming. Taking the campers and staff swimming Tuesday night would be questionable. I became a temporary sun worshipper and took every occasion to step outside to see if my newly found faith was producing the desired outcome. It wasn’t.

Tuesday morning was clear, but cold. I hoped for the best and the day proceeded. The flight rotations ended at 2:00 P.M. The staff were free to go home. The campers went to class with Sheila Powell and Lorraine Houston. I was exhausted. Not a good thing considering I had half the camp still to go and another Overnight Camp on Thursday - not to mention a couple dozen private missions filling in the non camp time slots. I wanted to sneak into the library where we keep the pads and take a quick trip into unconsciousness. The phone rang. It was Pleasant Grove’s swimming pool.
“Hello,” the voice of a young teenage girl came from the answering machine. She sounded like she had just removed her chewing gum to make the call. Her voice was unusually apologetic. I expected bad news.
“I’m calling to tell you that the pool will be closed all day next Tuesday. We are changing the pump. Sorry. There are a few other days available if you’d like to reschedule your private swimming party. Sorry. Thanks.” I’m sure her regret lasted as long as it took to hang up the pool’s phone and pick up her own cell phone to continue texting her friends.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said out loud. What was I going to do with 60 kids next camp if I can’t take them swimming? I remembered I was exhausted and decided to leave the matter for a day or two. Again the phone rang before I could make my retreat to the relative quiet of the Library.
“Hello. This is Pleasant Grove Pool. There’s lightening. We can’t open the pool if there’s lightening. What would you like to do about your private party tonight?” It was the same girl. What I wanted to say and what I actually said were two different things.
“Can I make the decision in a few hours. It may clear up?”
“Yes. That will be fine.”
“Thank you,” I hung up. I walked passed the school’s library and went outside to examine the clouds. They were gray and ugly. Normally I’d be doing a Snoopy Dance with weather like that but not today. I didn’t need the hassle. My temporary conversion to sun worship wasn’t working. Perhaps my devotion was transparent and instead of a blessing a curse was assigned to my case. I returned to my desk and took out the phone book. I knew from my years living in South Dakota that Indians had rain dances. I wondered if they also had sun dances. It was a long shot but desperation can force a man into desperate actions.

To make a long story short I had to make the decision at 7:00 P.M. It was raining. It didn’t look like it would clear in one hour. It was cold. I called the pool and told them we wouldn’t be coming. I removed the Sun ornament I fashioned out of paper clips I was wearing around my neck and returned to the faith of my fathers. I went from simulator to simulator asking the staff to stay on passed 7:00 P.M. and run a special short mission for the campers to occupy the time normally spent at the swimming pool. The staff agreed. They are great! These are people you can trust in a pinch.

This is Rachel. She is Special. She flies the Galileo. Be nice to Rachel.
Those who aren't regret it. Honestly - they do.

To make a longer story shorter- the night went well. The campers had supper and then went into the ships for another mission. They were very happy to get the extra flight time. At 10:00 P.M. we gathered in the cafeteria for a video and then bed at 11:00 P.M. A crisis was averted.
I expected a restful night’s short sleep. I was almost right. I got a very short sleep but it was interrupted by a camper with a sore throat. He wanted to go home. It was 1:00 A.M. I sat up with him while we waited for his mother to arrive to take him home.

The camp ended Wednesday at 6:00 P.M. We survived!

Overnight Camp.

We had a one night Overnight Camp on Thursday. All went well. Braydn Lystrup ran the Voyager’s new mission “A Matter of Honor”. He did well.
I feel good about our summer stories. They are coming together nicely.

Private Missions.

We had a slew of private missions all week. I spent most of the day at the Center on Saturday.

There was a real storm burst Saturday afternoon. We have been trained to expect power outages in storms’ like that. I’m happy to report Rocky Mountain Power held it together and we got through the wind, lightening and pounding rain without an interruption.
I took advantage of an hour’s break and took my car (The Lincoln Battlestar) into Jiffy Lube for a safety inspection. It failed. Something about a belt that needed replacing and a dash light not working. I didn’t need to hear that. I offered the technician a $10 bribe with a wink in hopes of a quick resolution to the matter. I believe he misunderstood my intentions and backed away from me, nearly tripping over the shop vac. I explained the concept of bribery. I explained that this was the accepted practice in third world countries and if it worked there - well why not here? He wasn’t moved by my argument.

I then attempted to illicit pity and claimed poverty. It failed. We compared income. I lost. In the end I gave him the $10 out of pity and he gave me the rejection notice.

So ends the week.

The Troubadours Worship and Rest on the Sabbath

The road into York was dusty and well traveled. We walked slowly, enjoying the fresh morning air and the song of birds. Our troupe delighted in the joy of a day free from our tents, stages, and instruments. The past week was long and we were weary from the persistent needs of our audiences.

This Sabbath day gave us time to pause and reflect on the needs of our souls. And so, being good Christians all, we walked to the Cathedral for Mass.

The sky spoke of rain. It was preoccupied with the subject based on its temperament over the previous days. Our stories and song were interrupted incessantly by thunder’s booming. On several occasions startled horses broke free of their moorings. I was nearly trampled myself had it not been the watchful eye and a forceful push from a visiting blacksmith to whom I offered free admittance to an afternoon performance.

The farmers are pleased with the rain and their crops grow true. Because of the forecast of a good Fall harvest the people are generous with their gold and silver. This generosity fills our tents. Full tents means food on our table and clothes on our back. So we, by reason of necessity, join the farmers and show gratitude for the rain.

The younger in our troupe fell behind as we continued down the road to York. They seemed more interested in whimsy than matters spiritual. I saw several in Farmer Lloyd’s field. I beckoned them forward with haste. The Cathedral’s bells were calling all to Mass. We were joined on the highway by many others. They rushed to our side and occupied our time with praise. This gratitude was well received by our assembly and we, in return, thanked them for attending.

The city’s walls rose before us. We gather at the gate and waited for the last of our troupe to arrive.
“Remember who you are and act accordingly,” I reminded my fellows before we entered the city. I positioned our older Troubadours so the younger were well supervised.
“We are missing two,” Lorraine said while doing a second count. “ It is young Zach and young Merryweather.
“They returned to camp,” Megan reported. “Young Zach once again forgot his belt, even after your admonishment. Young Merryweather accompanied him. I believe neither have an interest in the Bishop’s words today.”
“They will attend presently,” Metta said while looking down the highway. “There, you see them in the distance.” Off in the distance two boys approached. One with fair hair and one with dark.
I sent the troupe forward into the Cathedral and waited at the gate. Both boys were quiet as they passed.
“Zach?” I questioned.
“Sorry. It won’t happen again,” he replied to my unstated question.
“Then all is well. Make haste. The service is about to begin.”

We walked with reverence passed the large, ornately carved oak doors and into the Cathedral to find our fellows. After Mass a fine meal waited and then a day of rest. Tomorrow we take to the stage and it begins anew.

The Troubadours Prepare for Tomorrow's Performances

Tis the Sabbath and the rains are upon us. Church bells are heard in the far distance calling all to mass. Clouds hang low over the Shire’s fields. The mountain tops are obscure and the temperatures speak of fall even though it is summer’s eve. Our merry band of troubadours share a lunch of crispy bread, veal and a warm soup beside a crackling fire. Lady Aleta pours, filling our wooden bowls to the brim. Master Kyle wasn’t mindful of his steps. His lunch spilled from his bowl into the fire causing a great cloud of steam and a hissing reminding us of a snake with a sour temperament. “Perhaps one should be mindful of one’s steps when carrying a fully charged bowl of Aleta’s fine cooking,” I reminded him. His look in response to my kind reminder was not gentle.

All laughed. Lady Megan placed another log on the fire to restore it to its previous strength. “Move along...... move along,” I said to Kyle pointing him back to the boiling pot. “Lady Aleta will fill your bowl and your stomach as long as you swear an oath to be mindful of your step,”
“Take no notice of him,” Aleta said with a beckoning hand welcoming him to the front of the line. Our younger troubadours, in unison, took a step back to allow this much older and wiser member of our troupe to return.

I took pleasure in watching the faces of our youngest at the back of the meal line. Masters Adam and Benjamin seemed concerned the pot would empty before their bowls could be filled. A look of starvation was present in their expression. After all, it had been four hours since their morning meal. They are growing boys and worked diligently pitching the tents and stages set for the first of the season’s performances on the morrow.


Lady Sheila followed my gaze and saw the same concern on their faces.
“My, wasn’t that a delicious meal,” she called out over the fire and heads of our fellows. The volume of her voice, unnecessary due to the proximity of the gathered company, drew our attention to her and away from the fire and contents of our bowls. “Tis a pity it is nearly gone. Dear Aleta, Lady Lorraine and I did warn you of such a turn of events. We offered our services to help in this meal’s preparation after our tent was pitched and wooden benches and tables in place but you refused. Now we see the result of your stubbornness. So many mouths yet to be feed with so little with which to feed them.”

Ladies Aleta and Lorraine both queried Sheila’s remarks. Neither remembered the morning’s events the way she just described them. Before they could object to her obviously faulty memory Sheila stood and held a hand to quiet them. “Masters Adam and Benjamin. Come from the line and sit with me. There is perchance, a drop or two of nourishment in my bowl which I humbly offer to satisfy your hunger.”

Anger replaced starvation in the boys' expressions. A storm was coming. I could see the humor in Sheila’s tale and thought it best to let it continue for a moment longer. The troupe needed merriment at this mealtime and Sheila was providing it . “Boys, why this look of anger? Did I not offer my bowl’s contents to you? Do you feel it not enough? I beg to differ. Why look." Sheila drew her spoon from the bowl. “Look boys, a slice of carrot still warm and whole. I swear my teeth have not disfigured it in any way. Come and let us split it. There is plenty here.”

Master Adam spoke first. “We have pitched the tents and set the tables. We have set the stages and hung curtains. We have cared for the horses and tended to the wagons all through this cold and wet morning. We have done your bidding without a wisp of complaint and what thanks are given? An empty stomach. That is payment for a half day’s labor?”
Benjamin nodded in agreement with and spoke, “We will retire to our tents and not be seen again unless and until a call comes forth beckoning us to this tent to satisfy our hunger and exorcise our foul mood.”

With that both boys turned to leave the meal tent. Lady Aleta spoke out. “Masters Adam and Benjamin. Lady Sheila speaks nonsense. There is plenty in this pot. She is having you on and I’m afraid you surrendered to her wit..” The tent erupted in laughter. I felt it my turn to speak. “Boys, your work is legend with us. All gathered are indebted to you for without your service we could not entertain the people from the surrounding villages and hamlets. Forgive Lady Sheila this moment of merriment. She is an old woman and her mind, once as sharp as the blade of an ax carried into battle, is now a suspect of dementia. Can you not see this levity was sorely needed? Come boys, move hither to the front of this line. None will object. Come and eat .”

All was forgiven. Masters Adam and Benjamin filled their stomachs with return trips to the pot. All present laughed and talked of old times and our hopes for this new summer of 1309. Our five stages were ready. Our plays written and practiced into memory. Our music scored to produced emotion fit the quality of our tales of heroism in the face of overwhelming odds. For a moment in time all was perfect.

I sat closer to the fire. My old bones needed the warmth. I listened as conversations danced around the troupe in circles of memory and prose. Our younger members were learning the trade from the older and wiser as this merry group of Troubadours bring light and magic to the people of the Kingdom. I was once again reminded of something told to me long ago. This band of fine souls I share the fire with are the finest troupe of Troubadours in the kingdom.

The sun reminded us that noon was passed. Master Alex rose from his stool and offered his thanks to Lady Aleta for preparing a meal fit for King and Pope. All stood in agreement. A cheer traveled from our hearts, over and around our tents and into the dark forest surrounding the clearing. Lady Aleta bowed in acceptance and, using her large ladle, pointed the way to the exit. There was still much to do before we slept.

An Update on the Summer's First Camp!

This is BBC Universal Service broadcasting from London. We interrupt this program to bring you a special report. And now, Sebastian Worthingham - Reporting from Starbase 74 near The Neutral Zone.

“From the large Transparent Aluminum windows of His Majesties Starship William IV we watch as the Federation Starship Voyager backs gracefully away from Docking Pylon 3 of Starbase 74. I see hundreds of small figures framed in the Starbase’s windows waving Bon Voyage to this legendary ship, now embarking on her final patrol of the border and then onto Starbase 45 for decommissioning and history.

The Voyager is turning now, adjusting her course for the Neutral Zone. The Saucer Section is now opposite our view. Her running lights blink a strong heartbeat as the mighty ship powers her warp nacelles. The lounge grows strangely quiet. Everyone is pushing against the windows, wanting to see this symbol of Federation power flash a pulse of blue light and disappear into hyperspace.

There, we see the blue glow and.......... she’s gone in a brilliant flash leaving the darkness of space in her wake. A few are wiping away tears, others bow their heads in reverence. I can hear a pleasant chime ringing through the William IV’s speakers. We were scheduled to return to Earth 30 minutes ago but our captain graciously bowed to our request to stay and witness the USS Voyager embark on her last voyage.

Our ship is powering her warp drive. Our journey home has begun. My signal will be lost in a moment when the Hyperspace portal opens and we.......”

This ends our Special Bulletin. We now return you to our regular schedule programme. This is the BBC from London.


Hello Troops,
I’m hoping you enjoyed that little flight of fantasy. It served a purpose. From my desk I hear the crew of the Voyager as they train in preparation for their Super Overnight mission - the Space Center’s first camp of the 2009 summer season!

Staff come and go between the hallway, the Odyssey and the Voyager as they work to complete all the tasks given to them by Kyle Herring, tonight’s Voyage Flight Director and author of our camp’s story “A Matter of Honor” .

Aleta Clegg, the Voyager’s Quarter Master readies the food on Deck 2. Soon they will enter our universe of imagination and leave Starbase 74 for the Neutral Zone. Their mission is to take one last patrol of the border and then on to Starbase 45 for decommissioning. The Voyager is an old ship. This is her last mission. Once they reach the Starbase the crew will help strip the ship of her computers and equipment and disembark. The tugs will move the empty Voyager to the maintenance bay for dismantling.

Have you booked your camp yet. If not, there is still time. All EdVenture and Super Overnighters are full. There are openings on the Overnight Camps from July 24th to the end of September.

Now, I’ll return to my work. If time permits I’ll give updates on the camp as it progresses. Don’t expect further story updates. Everything in the mission from this point on is classified. We don’t want to spoil the fun for the hundreds still coming to do this new Voyager mission.

Mr. Williamson

The Quartermaster (Aleta Clegg) prepares the meals

The Campers are cleared through security

Kyle Herring, The Flight Director

Wyatt, One of the Ship's Medics

Spencer mans the security checkpoint

Taylor and Emily, Delta Force. Fleet Special Forces

My Dream for the Captain's Quarters

Hello Troops,
Its Sunday and I’m sitting in my second favorite chair composing this post. You may be wondering why I’m not sitting in my favorite chair. It is occupied by my nephew. He seems to think he has the right to sit in my chair whenever he wants. No other family members or friends sit in my chair so why him? I’m not sure. It might be because its comfortable and reclines and rocks and has a foot rest. No matter, I’ll be a good sport about it. After all, Chaz needs to see the rewards of good hard work. I’ve told him many times that a life of hard work and frugal saving brings rewards, like a Laz e Boy Recliner. If you say it enough people believe it, at least that’s what they tell me.

You’re wondering why I put this picture on the blog? It’s here because I like it.. Would I have a living room designed like this? Well, its clean but I like the way my own living room is decorated. I call it English Hodge Podge with a bit of “I don’t know what what I’m doing” thrown in for good measure. Besides, I have too much junk for a room like this. Set out one of my collectible Thomas Kincaid Seaside Village miniatures, and you’ve destroyed the whole feel of the room. So I guess the answer is no, I wouldn’t decorate my living room like this, but I know a place where this design would be spot on - our Voyager simulator!

Wouldn’t this make an excellent Captain’s Quarters? Our current Captain’s Quarters is a small room at the top of a ladder with a tiny balcony overlooking the Bridge's Security Station. It has a cheap carpet, a bean bag chair and a fold out love seat with splitting vinyl upholstery.

This is my dream Captain's Quarters. It is a place I could call my home away from home. During the camps I’d kick the command officers out of their own quarters, give them a few pads and tell them to sleep on the Bridge floor. This would become my personal sleeping quarters. I could seriously grow to like this.

Let’s get serious. Can we afford this kind of upgrade? Are you kidding! I’d have to sell both kidneys and still be short a thousand or two, but it doesn’t hurt to dream. So...... let’s dream, and if you happen to have several (and I mean several) thousands of dollars that you’d like to donate then please do. It will be your own sleeping quarters whenever you come to camp.

So, time to crack open your piggy bank and see what you’ve got. While you count your pennies I’ll get to work on duct taping the upholstery on our current Captain's Quarters old splitting love seat.... :)

See you at Camp!

Mr. Willamson

Our Long Journey

A Note to Praise the Staff and Volunteers of the Christa McAuliffe Space Education Center.

Dear Staff and Volunteers!
Our long journey is drawing to an end. It has been quite a trek. Our school year attendance was 16, 423! Wow, what an achievement. We worked many missions. We taught many classes. We can look back with satisfaction on a job well done. I'm pleased to work with the finest people in Utah County. Each of you bring a unique
perspective to your work. You flavor the Center with your personality and enrich the lives of our students. Your dedication and willingness to extend yourself and go that little bit extra has made the difference between success and mediocrity. We are unusual troubadours. We perform for our audiences without their acknowledgment. We create magic without their applause. We are the makers of smiles. We wave the wands of our voices to take our customers on fantastic voyages through the cosmos bringing them to a better understanding of themselves and the universe.

We sit at the back of our starships manning the rudder. We do all this unseen, for if we stood for recognition, some of the essence of the experience would be lost. So we hide behind our walls - surrounding our passengers with sound and lights and music and story. I acknowledge your work. I appreciate your efforts. I applaud your talent.

Some day when the history of space travel is written, I hope a there is a small paragraph telling of a place in Utah that, long ago, inspired children to take their eyes off the ground and look far into the distance to see what could be.

Imagination is our fuel and Wonder is our language. So troubadours...... we sit together around the campfire and plan our next campaign. There is a summer ahead and more children counting the days to their EdVenture. Let's sleep for a bit and rise refreshed. There is more to do.

Mr. Williamson

The 20,000th Mission's Virtual Celebration!

Hello Troops,
A milestone was reached last week and went almost unreported. Last Tuesday afternoon the Space Center ran our 20,000 mission! I’m not sure which mission it was because it happened during an afternoon school field trip when the Voyager, Odyssey and Phoenix were running. simultaneously. I intended to make it a big deal with some kind of celebration but didn't. I'm a bore, according to my staff. My idea of a party is staying up past 10:00 P.M. on a weeknight and 11:00 P.M. on a Saturday. A knock your socks off celebration is a good movie with diet coke and large, yes I said large, popcorn. My excuse for letting the event slip by uncelebrated was the Magellan projector bulb drama (posted earlier. Go find it and read it. It's too fresh in my mind to repeat it here). My attention was off the mark. You see, I like to worry about things. I especially like to worry about thing I have no control over. I plan on getting a good sized ulcer and taking some of my 180 days of built up sick leave. Anyway, the event came and it went. Two days later I realized the lost opportunity and felt bad about it, for a moment.

Forgetting things that should be celebrated is one way to trim a leaking budget. Yes, I said leaking. The Space Center's accounts sprang a leak. We are sending money into other people's pockets instead of the other way around, the way it should be. The new Galileo is the reason. I'd like to say it keeps me up at night but it doesn't. Come to think about it, the Swine Flu didn't keep me up either. I'm guessing the only thing that would keep me up past 10:30 P.M. would be an impending disaster capable of wiping out mankind. Of course, if that was going to happen I wouldn't go to bed. I'd invite family and friends over for light refreshments. Then we would have one of those interventions and tell each other what we really think about them. Once the air was clear we'd go out onto my deck, look out over Utah Valley and wait for impact.
There I go again, getting off topic. Forgive me. Let's get back to the 20,000th celebration.

So, in order to make amends and save a buck or two (we all know how I am with Space Center funds) I want to congratulate the staff and volunteers of the Christa McAuliffe Space Education Center on reaching 20,000 missions!

To start off the celebration I want you to sit down in your favorite chair. We are going to attend a virtual party. Visualize massive amounts of balloons, party favors, and noise makers creating a symphony of ear shattering tones. Imagine handfuls of confetti descending on you like a fog, some going down the back of your neck, others landing in your mouth and still others up your nose. While we're at it, lets conjure up a table full of your favorite snacks and a punch with a real kick.

Wait a minute, who is that getting out of the Hummer Limo pulling up to the front of the school? No way! It is!
Friends may I introduce you to the the cast of the new Star Trek movie - flown in from Hollywood for this very cranial event. Yes they want to talk to you. Yes Spock will find you fascinating. Girls, that young and handsome Captain Kirk really wants to dance with you so go for it. Boys, Lt. Uhura will be manning the kissing booth with the green Orion girl. Wait, what's that sound coming from the gym? They are setting up a replica of the Romulan ship’s engineering section. Everyone gets a phaser that shoots paint balls. Its every man for himself as we attempt to save Captain Pike.

Come on...... admit it. Isn’t this the best Space Center party you’ve ever attended? It’s awesome, and not costing me a dime.

Now visual that for several minutes and then consider yourself partied out. You can tell everyone you attended the Space Center’s 20,000th mission’s virtual party and had a great time.
I know you’re tuckered out and need to go into your bedroom, throw yourself on the bed and sleep for several hours.

Go for it........ and Congratulations to everyone on reaching 20,000 mission!

Mr. Williamson

Requiem for a Park City Class....

One month ago a class of gifted fifth graders from Park City’s three elementary schools were scheduled to come to the Space Center for a field trip. It was a select group. Only a few were chosen from each school to make up their numbers. Then........it struck.

Swine flu was found in one Park City school two days before their field trip. The day before their trip the Superintendent canceled school to prevent an outbreak. I got a call that day canceling the field trip to the Space Center. One week later we rescheduled the trip for May 20th.

Today is May 20th. Twenty very excited Park City students arrived at the Space Center at 3:15 P.M. with Boarding Passes in hand. They were ready for the EdVenture of a lifetime. I was excited to see them. I knew they had to go the extra mile to be chosen to attend this special field trip. It was an honor to have them with us.

At 4:00 P.M. I was finishing my Bridge speech. I was explaining their role as actors in our unscripted play. Suddenly I heard a snap. It was the sound an electrical breaker makes when its tripped. The main viewer disappeared along with the televisions. In a second I realized we were experiencing a power outage. Just as I understood the consequences the rest of the electrical equipment went out. We were in a partial dark. The only visible light came from the emergency battery lights on the exit signs.
“OK everyone stay seated,” I said to the class. I heard my staff laughing from the control room. The door to the bridge opened and my two Supervisors came up the stairs.
“The power went out,” Spencer explained. I look at him wondering if he realized the stupidity of what he had just said. Of course I knew the power was out. There was no question the power was out. Isn’t it interesting that people always state the obvious?

I told the class we were in good shape. Our power outages were usually short lived. They arrived early so we had a buffer zone. If the power was restored within 45 minutes we could still get through the mission. My plan was to take them outside to wait on the playground. My staff pointed something out I didn’t know - It was storming outside. Cancel plan 1. Move on to plan 2. We went to the gym. We gave them basketballs while we waited. Twenty minutes later they were getting board. The power was still off so we had to switch gears. We took out the Space Center’s Honor’s Night Bingo. Emily, Stacy, Megan, Rachel and other younger staff led them in several games of Bingo. The Space Center’s Candy Counter provided the rewards.

It was 5:00 P.M. The bewitching hour had arrived. The 45 minute buffer zone was expired. The power was out. A phone call to Rocky Mountain Power suggested the power would be off until 11:00 P.M. I walked onto the stage and gave them the bad news. We were sending them back to Park City. I was upset. First the Swine Flu and now a power outage. These poor kids couldn’t cut a break.

Oh Fortuna........... you are a crafty one. From your ruined temples you send the Fates to deal harshly with us. What have we done to incur your wrath? Last week it was the Magellan’s bulb. This week your mischief appeared in many places:

• The Magellan’s air conditioner broke on Monday. The repairman says the condenser was cracked. I had to close the simulator.
• Today I heard the crackled laugh of the Fates when I started the Voyager’s morning mission for fifth graders from Rowland Hall / St. Marks School. The Voyager’s primary CD player broke just before the mission. The Command Officer’s MP3 player went on the fritz. The Engineer’s MP3 player broke in mid training. Yes Fortuna, kick me when I’m down and then kick me again.

I walked the Park City kids out to their bus and sent them on their way. No one was happy about the turn of events but it was out of our hands. I can’t shake the feeling that some universal power has turned its attention to our little school and Space Center in the middle of back water Utah. My first concern is to find the mischievous Imp and send him on his way. Surely it must be someone else’s turn to be on the receiving end of irritating events. I hate to wish misfortune on anyone because of my Christian nature but when your back is to the wall, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Tonight I’m consulting my Roman mythology. Somewhere there must be information on appeasing the wrath of an forgotten Goddess. Maybe a sacrifice of some kind? I’d be happy to sacrifice an old computer if necessary. We could take one of the spare Imacs up to the school roof and toss it off while shouting “Fortuna is Blessed!” Or better yet let us find favor with another immortal. Perhaps we could persuade Jupiter to take up our cause?

Fortuna, Roman Goddess of Fortune
or in our case - misfortune.

I’ll work on this. A note to my staff and volunteers. Watch what you say and do at the Space Center. Don’t take our success for granted. There is nothing Fortuna loves more than to squash the hopes and dreams of any mortal feeling proud and boastful of his accomplishments. We will continue to do what we do best - provide the best field trip experience in the State of Utah and do it humbly. I stress Humbly.

Mr. Williamson's Quest. A Day by Day Account of my Battle with Fortuna, Goddess of Fortune.

The Quest. Day 1

Friday.
We had a Magellan mission arriving at 4:00 P.M. Brittney V. walks up to my desk at 3:45 P.M. That was the moment the Quest began. One minute all is right with the world. Then, in an instance things change - for the better or the worse.
“The Magellan projector is doing that flashing thing again and it won’t come on,” she said. The news itself wasn’t a deal breaker. We always keep a spare bulb for every Space Center projector. I went into the Magellan and tested the projector myself. The bulb was dead. In an effort to speed things along because of the impending Magellan crew I called Kyle and asked him to come down and switch projectors. The Space Center owns two of he NEC special projectors that throw a large picture from a short distance. One is used in the Magellan and the other is kept in the faculty room.

I fetched the spare projector, opened the cupboard and took out the spare bulb. My plan was to install the spare bulb in the bulbless spare projector and have it ready for installation when Kyle arrived. I opened the spare bulb and attempted to slide it into place.
Houston, we have a problem. The bulb wouldn’t lock into place inside the projector. Kyle arrived and confirmed the problem. The spare bulb was missing something on the bulb’s casing. I purchased a defective bulb off Ebay in an failed attempted to save money. We were in a pickle.

In came our superstaff! The Voyager was open. I started shuffling Flight Directors. I moved Taylor into the Galileo. I moved Rachel from the Galileo into the Odyssey. I moved Emily out of the Odyssey into the Voyager. Our missions would be unaffected by this mishap. I had other things to do to get things ready for the overnight camp. Alpine was sending just enough kids to run the Odyssey and Galileo. I had a test group coming in for the Phoenix. My plan was to get the camp started and then purchase two new replacement lamps and have them shipped next day delivery so we’d have them by Tuesday.

The Quest. Day 2

Saturday
Without the Magellan projector the two Magellan private missions had to either be canceled or switched to the Voyager. I successfully transferred the 11:30 A.M. Magellan into the Voyager. The 2:30 mission wouldn’t work. The Voyager was booked. I phoned the Magellan crew and explained the situation. It was a special mission for the woman’s husband’s 40th birthday party and they couldn’t reschedule. I told Brittney to prepare to fly without the projector. She assured me they could pull off ‘Death Trap’ reasonably well projector less. The crew was given half off. The Space Center operated that mission at a loss. What else can you do? Take care of your customers and keep your reputation strong in the community.

Later that day I found a replacement bulb from a company somewhere in the Eastern half of the US. I ordered it online and paid extra for next day shipping. I realized they wouldn’t get the order until Monday so expected the bulb on Tuesday.

The Quest. Day 3

Tuesday
The bulb hadn’t arrived when I finished the field trip missions. Realizing that many people are inept at their jobs and couldn’t give an owl’s hoot for customer care I called the toll free number of the bulb company and spoke to customer service. A young man’s voice answered. He spoke American English. That was a good sign. He checked into the order and discovered it had come in too late for a Monday ship out even though I ordered it on Saturday. He assured me it would go out that afternoon. I could expect delivery Wednesday. That was still OK. We didn’t have another Magellan until Thursday.

The Quest. Day 4

Wednesday
The bulb hadn’t arrived when I finished the field trip missions. Sound familiar? Now surprised someone could be THAT inept at their job I called customer service again. This time I spoke to a young man named Brooks. I explained the situation and made it clear I was getting hot under the collar. He blamed the situation on the warehouse, said there was a real clerical screw up and said he would resolved the matter personally. He gave me his direct line and said to call him on Thursday if the bulb hadn’t come.
“Brook’’s,” I said in a tone serious yet understanding, “I need this bulb, that is why I ordered it next day delivery. I have a theater out of commission and I need this resolved. May I trust you to resolve my problem for me? Will you look at this as your personal mission in life to make me happy?”
“You can count on me Sir,” he replied. “We value our customers and want their loyalty.”
I felt I had a friend in some office building somewhere east of the Mississippi. I looked to Brooks to restore my faith in humans.

The Quest. Day 5

Thursday
The bulb hadn’t arrived when i finished the field trip missions. Sound excruciatingly familiar? I was back on the phone. Brooks didn’t answer so I called customer service. I explained the situation to someone new. He said he would find out what happened and have Brooks call me. He also explained that the problem was never at their warehouse. They never had the bulb in stock. They were having it drop shipped from NEC and that is where the problem was.

I called Brooks back. No answer. I left a message telling him my faith in humanity was in his hands and to call and give me good news. I reminded him to leave a message if I didn’t answer. I hung up.

Now what would you do? I sat at my desk suffering through a record breaking foul mood. I had to make quick decisions. What would I do with a 4:30 P.M. Magellan mission. What would I do about a 4:00 P.M. mission the following day? What about the overnight camp? What about the two Magellan missions on Saturday? I know how upset people get when their best made plans of several months go down the toilet with one phone call from me explaining I don’t have a simulator for them and to find some other venue for their party - oh, at last minute as well. Yes........ I’m in the crapper covered in something hitting the fan over my head. You get the unsavory picture I trust?

The Voyager was open for that day’s Magellan’s crew. I had already done three missions that day and didn’t want to do a fourth but Kyle couldn’t take the mission and Emily was already in mid flight in the Odyssey. Suddenly my foul mood took a darker turn. Ask anyone about my pleasant nature last Thursday. You’ll see their face take a serious turn, their eyes enlarge to twice their normal size and their index finger drawn across their throat.
I had a few moments before the 2:00 P.M. mission so I got on the internet and searched for another company. Minutes before my mission, with my group waiting at the revolving door I found a company called CDW. Instead of placing an online order I decided to place it over the phone. I called sales.

A pleasant, faceless voice answered. Suddenly it seemed my luck would change. He asked if the Space Center was part of the Alpine School District. If so, they had a Utah State contract. I could buy the bulb at a discount - $100 to be exact. I told him at that price I’d take two. I reached in my wallet to produce the credit card. It wasn’t there. Kyle had it.
I put him on hold, went into the office and took the school’s credit card out of the safe. I charged the amount, hung up the phone and did my 2:00 P.M. mission feeling I had completed my Quest!

At 4:00 P.M. the mission ended. I sat at my desk regaining my sanity. A thought crossed my mind. It couldn’t be as easy as that. Something was wrong. Fortuna, the goddess of luck and fortune wouldn’t be cutting me a bit of slack would she? No, she’s been on my case lately with one thing and another. I had a sudden feeling that my contentment was false. Fortuna had lured me into the belief that she had caste her hook into someone else's pond.
“Think you got me do you?” I said to her under my breath. The room was full of staff and I didn’t want them to think I had reached level 5 on the Space Center Madness Scale. I reached for the phone to call CDW to confirm my order. The phone crew cold. She was unhappy I was on to her game.

I got a woman this time. I gave her my order number.
“Im sorry sir but that order is not placed. Your credit card was declined.” I put her on hold, walked into the office and asked the secretary why the school’s credit card had been declined. A few questions later I was back on the phone telling CDW the school’s credit card had a limit of $500. I was up the creek. The Space Center’s credit card was with Kyle and I had no way to pay for the order. I felt Fortuna’s staff jab me in the ribs. She thought she had me. Oh Fortuna, do you really think I’m that easily defeated? I pulled out my own American Express card and charged it to my own account. After all, what’s $750 when you’re at war with one of Olympia’s Gods? I hung up and went about my business. Victory tasted sweet.

Thirty minutes later an uneasiness found a place in my mind. What had she been up to in that hour? I called CDW again. I gave the agent the order number. She told me the order was placed and shipping. I was about to end the call when a thought crossed my mind.
“Please tell me where the package is being shipped?”
“No problem sir, It is address to Alpine School District Accounts Payable. The address is 575 North 100 East in American Fork Utah.”
My heart skipped a beat. Just at that moment a crack of thunder from Mount Olympus was heard across Greece. Fortuna was celebrating.

The Quest. Day 6

Friday
I got to school at 8:00 A.M. and promptly called the District Office. I explained the situation to the receptionist. She said she would watch for the package and notify me when it came in. At 1:40 P.M. I called back. No package. A panic set in. I called CDW and had them track the package. They confirmed it has been delivered. WHERE WERE MY BULBS?
I called back. The receptionist said to try Accounts Payable because they were the ones it was address to. I called Accounts Payable. The woman who answered assured me they didn’t have the package.
“Try Printing. They get packages delivered there all the time,” she suggested. I called printing.
“Only FEDEX delivers here,” Shelley told me. “UPS delivers to the warehouse in Lindon.”
“What if the package says the District Office?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “All UPS packages go there.” She gave me the number of someone named Clark.

It was 3:00 P.M. The Magellan mission was schedule to start at 4;00 P.M. The Overnight Camp was after that. The following day (Saturday) there were two Magellan private missions. I was back into panic mode. Fortuna had the knife in and was about to turn it.
I called the number.
“Is this Clark?”
“Yes,”
“This is Victor Williamson at the Space Center. I’m looking for a package that was delivered by UPS.”
“So its yours! What does it say on the package?”
“It says deliver to Account’s Payable.”
“Yes, I’ve got it. I was thinking that if someone wanted this bad enough to have it next day shipped they would call and come pick it up.”
“I’ll have someone there right away to pick it up.”

Bill was up and walking out the Briefing Room door volunteering to drive to the warehouse to pick up our package. Kyle was on hand to put the bulb into the projector. Bill came back with a package with two bulbs. Kyle took one and quickly put it into the open projector. A moment later it was mounted onto the wall and WORKING. My Quest was at an end. The week from heck seemed to be over.

A few minutes later Brittney came into the room and told me half the Magellan wasn’t reading the network. The Magellan crew was there getting briefed on their mission. It was Fortuna’s parting shot as she left Pleasant Grove looking for bigger fish to fry. Kyle spent some time in the wiring closet and resolved the problem. We were good to go.

And so my friends, that was my week. It wasn’t a pretty one. It caused stress and a few very unpleasant moods but we won in the end. The Magellan worked well as a ship and, to everyone surprise, took the Flight Director’s Trophy after the overnight camp. Perhaps it was Fortuna’s way of acknowledging the fact that I stayed in the battle and fought a good fight.

We are starting a new week. I’m wondering what challenge is waiting. Life at the Space Center means never a dull moment.

Mr. Williamson

News of the Week and My Thoughts on the New Star Trek Movie

Spencer D. at Star Trek

Hello Troops,
I’m writing from my sanctuary in Cloverdale. A beautiful hamlet in the Confederacy of Dunces.

Do You Know What Time It Is?
It was early Tuesday morning. The phone rang at 1:36 A.M.
“Mr. Williamson. This is Matt. We triggered an alarm or something and the police are here at the school. Can you come down and reset the alarm?”
I recognized the voice. I remembered Matt was overseeing the filming of a university student’s video project at the Space Center.
“What are you doing there at this time?” I asked in a semi lucid state.
“We finished early. We triggered an alarm while we were leaving the school.” he explained.
“You were suppose to be out of the building by 10:30,” I said trying to sound angry but controlled.
“Did you think I meant 10:30 P.M.? I meant 10:30 A.M. We were planning on staying here filming all night long. This was designed to be a twelve hour shoot. We finished early.”
“You didn’t say 10:30 A.M. I asked you when you’d be out and you said 10:30 at the latest!”

And there it was, another fantastic misunderstanding at the Space Center.
A film student at some university wrote a space story and needed a place to film. I gave permission and arranged to have the Center staffed by one of our people during the event. Matt knows the world of film so I asked him to ‘baby-sit’ them during the shoot. He agreed. When they arrived Monday late afternoon to set up, Matt and I had the conversation on the length of the shoot. If one of us had added an A.M. or P.M. in the conversation I would have been spared a call at 1:36 A.M. and a trip down to the school to reset a security alarm. There is a lesson to be learned here. It is obvious so I won’t spell it out. Let’s just say I learned it and I hope all of you do as well.
Oh, and thanks to my former 6th grade student, Ryan Armistead, for being understanding. He was the policeman waiting from me at the school. Small world isn’t it.

Small Overnight
On Wednesday Alpine Elementary called to report their overnight camp numbers. I expected lower numbers. This recession is taking its toll and families are watching their spending.
“Mr. Williamson, we have eight students signed up for this weekend,” the teacher reported. I tried to contain my surprise. It wasn’t just the recession, it was also the Swine Flu that concerned parents as well. I made a decision to cancel the overnighter.

The next day he called back and said the number rose to 13. I told him we could do it for 13. The camp moved ahead as scheduled. By Friday the number hit 14. I added six of our staff to crew the Phoenix and went ahead with the overnight camp planning.

I was tempted to cancel the camp but tradition got the best of me. I’ve never canceled a camp due to numbers in the entire history of the Space Center. That’s 18 years of camps! I wasn’t about to let it happen now. GM may be nearly bankrupt. Companies nationwide may be going out of business and homes foreclosed but by golly the Space Center will continue as normal come recession or depression.

Brady Young Married
Yes troops, our very own Brady Young got married on Friday. Brady is a flight director in the Voyager, a student at UVU and a member of the Geek Squad at Best Buy. He recently returned from a mission in Florida.
The reception was held at the Alpine Center on Friday evening. I couldn’t attend because of the camp and one hundred other things but I’m told it was fantastic. Congratulations Brady and may you and your new misses live long and prosper.

Bulb Woes
Brittany V. gave me bad news Friday afternoon.
“Mr. Williamson, the Magellan’s projector is flashing red and yellow again,” she said while I worked on my computer. It was 3:45 P.M. and the Magellan had a private mission coming at 4:00 P.M. I knew that combination of flashing indicated a burned out bulb. I called Kyle and went to work looking for the spare bulb.

Kyle arrived and pulled the projector off the ceiling. I found the spare bulb , unpackaged it but couldn’t get it to fit into the projector. It was the right bulb but was missing a small plastic piece. Kyle did some switching of housing and got the new bulb to fit into the projector. He hit the ‘on’ button and waited. Nothing but the red and yellow flashing indicator of death. The bulb was defective! I cussed under my breath. That was the last time I purchased a bulb from Ebay. Yes, I saved money on the purchase but lost out in the end.
“You get what you pay for,” I was told by more than one person in the room. You know, being responsible for the Space Center really sucks sometimes. Its really bad when you have a simulator without a main viewer and a 15 person party waiting in the lobby for their mission. In situations like this you rely on your fantastic staff. I starting reassigning people.
Taylor took over for Rachel in the Galileo.
Rachel took over for Emily in the Odyssey.
Emily started the Voyager and we switched the Magellan crew into the open Voyager. That solved that problem. Then I had to deal with the Magellan crews on Saturday and Monday.

In the end all groups but one were reassigned to the Voyager. The one group that I couldn’t rebook came on Saturday and flew a Main Viewerless Magellan at 2:00 P.M. It was a 40th birthday party. I gave the group a 50% discount. I believe they had a good time.

I ordered a brand new bulb. It will e delivered on Monday or Tuesday. Wow bulbs are expensive. Nearly $500!! This place costs a lot of money to run.

Star Trek Laughs and Woes
We went to see the new Star Trek movie Saturday evening at Thanksgiving Point. My sister Jilane and her husband came along. My mother wanted to come as well although she knows nothing about Star Trek. She likes getting out of the house. I laughed when she called me at the Space Center.
“Can I come to that Space Battle ...... ah....Star Wars movie you’re going to today?”
“Mother, its called Star Trek. Yes you can come as long as you behave and refrain from talking to me during the movie. Remember, this will be a religious experience for me and all the other Trekkers in the theater so I’ll trust you’ll be on your best behavior.”
Mother agreed to be good. I actually enjoy taking her to the movies. She buys the drinks and popcorn for everyone. Then on the way home we get to review the movie as we explain the plot and characters to her. She can get a bit lost with the digital sound and pictures, not to mention the jerky camera movement they use these days.

I gave mother the seat at the end of the row. Its easier for her to get out to use the restroom halfway through the show. Bradyn L., Spencer D., and my nephew Brock occupied the end of our row. Spencer D came in after we were all seated. He rushed to the theater after his Voyager mission.
He warned me he was going to do something stupid. He didn’t disappoint.
He came into the theater wearing somebody’s nerd glasses and a pointed aluminum foil cap fashioned after the ones the kids wore in the ‘Signs’ movie. We had a good laugh. He has no fear of people. That is a real sign of someone very confident of himself. I admire that.

OK, what did I think of the movie? Well, I ‘ll start by warning everyone that I will be talking about the plot so if you haven’t seen the move and don’t want me to ruin it for you then stop reading now.

I’m going to go through the movie point by point. If you disagree let me know.
1. The USS Keplar scene. OK. Good effects but I don’t like the jerky camera.
2. I’m sick to death of the time travel trick Star Trek uses to change history or bring back characters from the original series. Enough is enough.
3. Having said that, I like the feel of this new incarnation of Star Trek in a timeline change.
4. Young Jim Kirk and Spock are very well done.
5. Problem 1. Why are they building a Star Ship in Iowa?
6. Problem 2. Why are they holding a disciplinary hearing for Jim Kirk in front of the entire student body of StarFleet Academy?
7. Great job with Dr. McCoy.
8. Problem 3. Why do Academy Cadets need to staff the starships leaving for Vulcan? Going along for experience? Perhaps but wouldn’t the ships be staffed by members of the fleet?
9. Problem 4. Was it just be or was travel time to Vulcan done in minutes?
10. Problem 5. The Enterprise got behind the rest of the fleet by a minute or two because Sulu forgot to turn on something. Yet when they arrived at Vulcan the entire fleet was destroyed. Now, how did that happen when they were a couple minutes behind the fleet in take off?
11. Problem 6. WHERE ARE VULCAN’S DEFENSES? Doesn’t the mighty planet Vulcan have planetary defenses? Why are Vulcan’s just sitting there while their planet is getting gored by the drill beam? If they can’t fight then why aren’t they evacuating their planet?
12. If Jim Kirk and Sulu can disable the drill beam with machine guns why couldn’t one photon torpedo fired by anything on Vulcan do the same?
13. Good trick Chekov used to beam them while at speed.
14. Problem 7. WHAT THE HECK IS THE RED LIQUID AND HOW CAN A DROP OF THIS CREATE A BLACK HOLE. COME ON FOLKS. I KNOW ITS SCI FI BUT THIS IS SCI FI AND FANTASY. TOO MUCH.
15. Once they realized the planet was lost why didn’t the Enterprise start beaming hundreds and hundreds of Vulcans into the ship?
16. They said only 10,000 or so Vulcans were left in the universe. Where are the Vulcan starships, cargo ships, embassies, students at off planet universities, tourists, etc etc etc. There should be a lot more than that!
17. The Enterprise was at warp speed when Spock and Jim fought. At the end of the fight Spock ordered Jim into a life pod and ejected off the ship onto another world. Now remember, they got to Vulcan in a manner of minutes from Earth and yet Jim Kirk was ejected onto a moon of Vulcan! How do I know? Well, it shows Spock watching Vulcan get swallowed into the black hole from the moon.
18. Too convenient to have Jim Kirk meet Spock in a snow cave on a moon
19. Laughable to use an equation just presented to Scotty by Spock and have him use that equation to beam Jim and Scotty back to the Enterprise while it travels away from them at warp speed. What were the writer’s thinking? Come on, up until then they kept people to
“Stand Still” before beaming.
20. Problem 7. They figured out how to turn off Earth’s defenses from Capt. Pike? What a crappy planetary defense system if one starship captain knows enough to have it shut completely down! Laughable.
21. Again, the drill starts drilling in San Fransico Bay. Surely somewhere on Earth there must still be an F15 fighter with a sidewinder missile that could take out that drill? Come on!
22. They send only 2 into the Romulan ship? Why not an entire attack force? Where are the Seals?

OK, that’s enough. Multiple plot holes.
Did I like the movie. Yes, very much. I just wish the writers would give their audience some credit for intelligence. All of these things could have been taken care of with some thought and imagination.

Should you go see it if you haven’t? YES. I really hope they start a new television series or at least several new movies.

Take Care Troops,
Have a great week.

Mr. Williamson