We Survived the Week from Heck! And Other Things.

We were exhausted and green with sea sickness when the harbor came into view. I stood on deck against the railing. It was a good place to park when tossing your cookies into the churning sea below.

Our Space Center Ship sailed into graying seas on Monday. We knew the crossing could be stormy. But having faith in the ship, and every confidence in each other, we knew there was no calamity that could deter us from reaching the opposite shore. We pressed forward into the gathering wind and darkening sky.

By Wednesday evening the ship was bucking beneath us. Keeping our footing was paramount, keeping our lunch was preferred but nearly impossible. Most if us were in full rain gear manning our stations on deck. And when not on duty, many of us stayed on deck near the railing emptying our stomachs down the side of the ship.

I stood on deck struggling to hold the wheel and steer a straight course. Our Directors took turns beside me calling out orders to the younger sailors. First to take in sail and other times to set sail. The wind was fierce causing our youngest to rope themselves to the masts to avoid being swept away as the tidal waves washed overhead.

Aleta struggled in the ship’s galley. Cooking in a moving kitchen was no easy task. Every pot, pan, knife and spoon had a mind of its own, and unless secured, found itself on the floor in a thoughtless dance moving wall to wall. She barked orders to her kitchen help (when someone could be spared), ordering them to hold this or pour that. Miracles were performed in that Galley. All meals were ready on time. They were delicious and nutritious, if the sea would let them stay in your stomach.

Lorraine, Sheila and Megan worked below deck with the passengers. They laid newspaper on the floor to capture their spills. Songs, stories, and a variety of handicrafts kept most of the children's minds off drowning. Band aides and wrapping were kept on hand for the any injury resulting from a floor that had a tendency to either drop away below you or throw you up into the ceiling.

By Thursday the crew with the weakest constitutions started showing signs of excessive exhaustion. They were found sleeping in the hallways, in the bunks, in the galley and anywhere they could find a spot of dry deck and little lighting. I tried to sleep in my cabin. Four to five hours was all the conditions would allow.

Friday morning the ship starting taking water. I noticed a strong list to port. Several crew, commanded by Midshipman Thomas manned the pumps. Megan was at the wheel. I was on lookout. Several of the passengers tied themselves to the benches in the ship’s galley. There were screams and cries for divine intervention every time the ship tilted to port. It seemed each crashing wave would be the one to capsize the ship sending it, along with all of us, to the bottom. The crew rose to the occasion, doing their best to calm the passengers even though thoughts of their own watery deaths wore heavily on their minds.

Saturday morning brought no relief. We knew we were close to shore but the raging storm hid everything from view except for the boiling gray sea with towering white caps. crashing over us. Near nine bells I heard a loud snap. I realized a mast was compromised. All eyes looked up.
“There it is,” came a shout from the lower deck. I saw a mast swinging in the wind. Midshipman Kevin was doing everything he could to regain control but lost it as the ship rose and then crashed downward with such force it sent most of us seat first onto the deck. The mast fell with sail unfurling. It hit with force.
“He’s Down!” came the shout from below. I rushed to the railing. The crew struggled with the heavy beam. I saw a pair of legs appear, then a torso and finally a face. Lt. Jon Parker lay on his back. His eyes stared straight upward as if in final prayer for his soul.
“Is he alive?” I shouted. Midshipman Alex was the first to his side. He felt for a pulse then put his ear to his mouth to listen for breath.
“He is,” Alex shouted back. “His skull appears to be fractured. There’s blood.”
“To the doctor,” I shouted as I moved down the stairs to the injured officer. I help him to his feet. He was speaking through a stream of rainwater and blood.
“I’m OK sir. I’m OK. Leave me be. There’s work to be done. Must save the ship.” His can do spirit was an inspiration to all that attended to him.

“I’ll hear none of it,” I replied. I moved him to my quarters. The doctor arrived. “Take care of him. He’s a good man.” I said leaving the room to attend to my duties on deck. Two hours later Lt. Jon Parker returned to duty. His forehead was wrapped. The wound required six stitches. He saluted, reached for the rigging and was climbing up to secure the sails before I could voice an objection. The Old Man of the Sea could not take a ship manned with officers like this.

At 4:00 P.M. the harbor was in view. The storm had moved from a full blown tempest to a whimper. The sea was calming. The gray ceiling that had accompanied us on our perilous journey was giving way to sunlight. The battle was won. Our week of hell was over and our destination met.

The passengers disembarked. Many walked down the ramps under their own power. Others needed assistance. A small cheer rose from the crew when the last one stepped onto land. Our responsibilities were finished. Rest was our reward.
_________________________________________________________ .

Hello Troops,
Yes, we finished our heck week. We started with a three day camp, then a one night overnighter and finally another three day camp. Setting aside the exaggerations in the story above it really went well - all thanks to our awesome staff and volunteers. Everyone knew their duty and did it. We survived and the campers all had good times.

I want to highlight a few things:

• Aleta did a fantastic job in the kitchen. The food was wonderful and always on time and cooked to perfection. Honestly, we can’t thank her enough. A camp operates on its stomach.
• The Flight Directors gave it their all and I’m grateful for that.
• Our Supervisors did an excellent job helping the Flight Directors by keeping the simulators in good condition and helping with the campers.
• Thanks to Lorraine, Sheila and Megan for their class session. The kids really enjoyed it. And an extra thank you to Lorraine for Chaperoning the first two camps.
• What can I say about our volunteers? They are the life blood of the Space Center. Without them we wouldn’t be able to do the things we do.
• I want everyone to know that Jon Parker gave his all to the Center on Saturday Morning. He took a opened door right in the forehead. Six stitches later he was back on the job doing what he does best - working with the campers. After the camp he volunteered to stay behind and clean the school for our Monday missions and camp. Jon is awesome.

Now, in closing I need to comment on the Leadership Camp. I’m afraid I need to eat my words and then have a hefty helping of Humble Pie. I was doubtful a Leadership Camp for 14 -17 year olds would work. Megan and Taylor both came to me with the idea in March. I said no and I meant it.
They wouldn’t let stand. They kept at me - over and over, day in and day out until I listened to what they had to say. They explained the concept.
Again I wanted to say No but in the end they persuaded me to give it a yes.

They started preparations. I stayed out of it. I told them that if they really wanted to run a camp for the upper teen market they would do it on their own. I couldn’t get involved. I had far too many other things to deal with on my plate. They agreed.

I was so doubtful anyone would enroll in the camp I didn’t make a swimming reservation at PG Pool for the campers. A little fact I forgot until Friday morning. I told Megan we didn’t have a pool reservation. She gave me that look. It was the look someone gives you when you really let them down. I put it into gear and arranged for a school bus to pick up the campers that evening and take them to the Orem Rec. Center’s pool. Swimming was saved - giving Megan and her team enough time to set up the school for the most awesome ‘Landing Party’ we’ve seen in years!

Well, the camp started on Thursday and started full. The 35th spot was taken just as the camp started. I was wrong. They were right. Enough said on that.

Thank you everyone for a great week. Now don’t sit back on our laurels. We have three weeks of camps left before we wrap up the summer season so batten down the hatches and tie the campers to the masts. We leave port again on Monday and it promises to be a bumpy ride.

Mr. Williamson

We Survived the Week from Heck! And Other Things.

We were exhausted and green with sea sickness when the harbor came into view. I stood on deck against the railing. It was a good place to park when tossing your cookies into the churning sea below.

Our Space Center Ship sailed into calm seas on Monday. We knew the crossing would be stormy, but having faith in the ship and every confidence in each other we knew there was no calamity that could deter us from reaching the opposite shore. We pressed forward into the gathering wind and darkening sky.

By Wednesday evening the ship was bucking beneath us. Keeping our footing was paramount, keeping our lunch was preferred but nearly impossible. Most if us were in full rain gear manning our stations on deck. And when not on duty many of us stayed on deck near the railing emptying our stomachs down the side of the ship.

I stood on deck struggling to hold the wheel and steer a straight course. Our Directors took turns beside me calling out orders to the younger sailors. First to take in sail and other times to set sail. The wind was fierce causing our youngest to rope themselves to the masts to avoid being swept away as the tidal waves washed overhead.

Aleta struggled in the ship’s galley. Cooking in a moving kitchen was no easy task. Every pot, pan, knife and spoon had a mind of its own, and unless secured, found itself on the floor in a thoughtless dance moving wall to wall. She barked orders to her kitchen help (when someone could be spared), ordering them to hold this or pour that. Miracles were performed in that Galley. All meals were ready on time. They were delicious and nutritious, if the sea would let them stay in your stomach.

By Thursday the crew with the weakest constitutions started showing signs of excessive exhaustion. They were found sleeping in the hallways, in the bunks, in the galley and anywhere they could find a spot of dry deck and little lighting. I tried to sleep in my cabin. Four to five hours was all the conditions would allow.

Friday morning the ship starting taking water. I noticed a strong list to port. Several crew, commanded by Midshipman Thomas manned the pumps. Megan was at the wheel. I was on lookout. Several of the passengers tied themselves to the benches in the ship’s galley. There were screams and cries for divine intervention every time the ship tilted to port. It seemed each crashing wave would be the one to capsize the ship sending it, along with all of us, to the bottom. The crew rose to the occasion, doing their best to calm the passengers even though thoughts of their own watery deaths wore heavily on their minds.

Saturday morning brought no relief. We knew we were close to shore but the raging storm hid everything from view except for the boiling gray sea with towering white caps. crashing over us. Near nine bells I heard a loud snap. I realized a mast was compromised. All eyes looked up.
“There it is,” came a shout from the lower deck. I saw a mast swinging in the wind. Midshipman Kevin was doing everything he could to regain control but lost it as the ship rose and then crashed downward with such force it sent most of us seat first onto the deck. The mast fell with sail unfurling. It hit with force.
“He’s Down!” came the shout from below. I rushed to the railing. The crew struggled with the heavy beam. I saw a pair of legs appear, then a torso and finally a face. Lt. Jon Parker lay on his back. His eyes stared straight upward as if in final prayer for his soul.
“Is he alive?” I shouted. Midshipman Alex was the first to his side. He felt for a pulse then put his ear to his mouth to listen for breath.
“He is,” Alex shouted back. “His skull appears to be fractured. There’s blood.”
“To the doctor,” I shouted as I moved down the stairs to the injured officer. I help him to his feet. He was speaking through a stream of rainwater and blood.
“I’m OK sir. I’m OK. Leave me be. There’s work to be done. Must save the ship.” His can do spirit was an inspiration to all that attended to him.

“I’ll hear none of it,” I replied. I moved him to my quarters. The doctor arrived. “Take care of him. He’s a good man.” I said leaving the room to attend to my duties on deck. Two hours later Lt. Jon Parker returned to duty. His forehead was wrapped. The wound required six stitches. He saluted, reached for the rigging and was climbing up to secure the sails before I could voice an objection. The Old Man of the Sea could not take a ship manned with officers like this.

At 4:00 P.M. the harbor was in view. The storm had moved from a full blown tempest to a whimper. The sea was calming. The gray ceiling that had accompanied us on our perilous journey was giving way to sunlight. The battle was won. Our week of hell was over and our destination met.

The passengers disembarked. Many walked down the ramps under their own power. Others needed assistance. A small cheer rose from the crew when the last one stepped onto land. Our responsibilities were finished. Rest was our reward.
_________________________________________________________ .

Hello Troops,
Yes, we finished our heck week. We started with a three day camp, then a one night overnighter and finally another three day camp. Setting aside the exaggerations in the story above it really went well - all thanks to our awesome staff and volunteers. Everyone knew their duty and did it. We survived and the campers all had good times.

I want to highlight a few things:

• Aleta did a fantastic job in the kitchen. The food was wonderful and always on time and cooked to perfection. Honestly, we can’t thank her enough. A camp operates on its stomach.
• The Flight Directors gave it their all and I’m grateful for that.
• Our Supervisors did an excellent job helping the Flight Directors by keeping the simulators in good condition and helping with the campers.
• Thanks to Lorraine and Sheila for their class session. The kids really enjoyed it. And an extra thank you to Lorraine for Chaperoning the first two camps.
• What can I say about our volunteers? They are the life blood of the Space Center. Without them we wouldn’t be able to do the things we do.
• I want everyone to know that Jon Parker gave his all to the Center on Saturday Morning. He took a opened door right in the forehead. Six stitches later he was back on the job doing what he does best - working with the campers. After the camp he volunteered to stay behind and clean the school for our Monday missions and camp. Jon is awesome.

Now, in closing I need to comment on the Leadership Camp. I’m afraid I need to eat my words and then have a hefty helping of Humble Pie. I was doubtful a Leadership Camp for 14 -17 year olds would work. Megan and Taylor both came to me with the idea in March. I said no and I meant it.
They wouldn’t let stand. They kept at me - over and over, day in and day out until I listened to what they had to say. They explained the concept.
Again I wanted to say No but in the end they persuaded me to give it a yes.

They started preparations. I stayed out of it. I told them that if they really wanted to run a camp for the upper teen market they would do it on their own. I couldn’t get involved. I had far too many other things to deal with on my plate. They agreed.

I was so doubtful anyone would enroll in the camp I didn’t make a swimming reservation at PG Pool for the campers. A little fact I forgot until Friday morning. I told Megan we didn’t have a pool reservation. She gave me that look. It was the look someone gives you when you really let them down. I put it into gear and arranged for a school bus to pick up the campers that evening and take them to the Orem Rec. Center’s pool. Swimming was saved - giving Megan and her team enough time to set up the school for the most awesome ‘Landing Party’ we’ve seen in years!

Well, the camp started on Thursday and started full. The 35th spot was taken just as the camp started. I was wrong. They were right. Enough said on that.

Thank you everyone for a great week. Now don’t sit back on our laurels. We have three weeks of camps left before we wrap up the summer season so batten down the hatches and tie the campers to the masts. We leave port again on Monday and it promises to be a bumpy ride.

Mr. Williamson

Another ship ventures out into the unknown

by James Porter

The USS Discovery is getting geared up for starting up a space center in Cache Valley. Former CMSEC employee James Porter, who currently teaches in the area, is heading the project. The Discovery is in process to be moved to its new location at Thomas Edison Charter School. Curriculum for the simulator is mostly complete and will be finished over the next few months. During that time updates to the computer systems and their programs will be taking place to be ready for field trips beginning in January 2010. We are very excited at the prospect of getting a full program running and providing the surrounding communities with the unique experience you all have been fortunate to be involved with. If you would like to keep up on the different happenings and progress that is being made visit our blog at http://cachevalleysimulator.blogspot.com/ Feel free to share your space center expeiences by adding comments to any of the posts. Wish us luck and hopefully we'll soon be sharing the stories of the fun campers visiting our program.

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 5

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 - Entry 5

I slumped against the wall. Of the six people stuffed into the brig, none of us knew enough engineering to figure out how to take down the force fields. It didn’t help that the control panels were all located outside the cell. For once, I wished Starfleet engineers were a bit more incompetent.

“What was the rest of your plan, Stevens?” Captain Herring ran his hand through his hair for the fiftieth time. It stood straight up.

“Turner was going to try to bust you out of the brig. Obviously he didn’t make it that far. I don’t know where he is. Vasha thought she could hack into the main computer from your quarters. LeGrange, where’s Vasha?”

LeGrange shrugged. “Somewhere in the air ducts. They caught us outside officer’s quarters. I held them off while she ran.”

The lights flickered and dimmed. The force field, however, held steady.

Captain Herring glanced overhead. “Looks like at least one of your plans is working.”

“Not well enough, yet.” I kicked the wall. “At least I had plans. Your plan was what? To surrender as fast as possible?”

Captain Herring narrowed his eyes. “I surrendered on the condition that Del’Brugado let everyone except the command officers leave.”

“And gave this pirate one of Starfleet’s best battleships.”

Captain Herring smiled a thin, evil smile. “He thinks so.”

I straightened. “So you did have a plan.”

He turned his back. “Computer, initiate protocol delphi zero seven three. Voice authorization Drew Herring, captain.”

“Authorization accepted. Protocol initiated.”

Captain Herring sat on the bunk. “Two hours.”

“Until what?”

“Delphi takes over the ship. And if I say more, I will have to shoot you. You don’t have clearance.”

Shouting in the hall distracted us. Pirates dragged a very battered Fells into the brig. Turner was thrown in after him. That made eight of us in a cell designed for three.

A short man stalked into the brig, glaring through the force field. His dark hair was slicked into wavy spikes. The sparkling trim on his outfit blinded me. He slapped hot pink gloves across his hands as he eyed us. “You gave me your word, Captain.”

“I’ve kept my word.”

“Your crew still fight us, sabotage at every turn. We caught these two stealing weapons from the armory.”

“A commendable act.” Herring moved off the bunk, standing just inside the force field. “Unlike you, I reward acts of initiative among my crew.”

I bit back the sarcastic comment I wanted to make. Initiative in the kitchen apparently didn’t count.

“I do not trust you, Captain.” Del’Brugado spat into the force field. It sparked.

“I am a man of my word.”

“You are nothing of the sort!”

“My engineers are cooperating, aren’t they?”

The door to the brig slid open and closed.

Del’Brugado snarled at his guards. “Find out what is causing that and stop it!” He turned his ugly scowl our way. “This past hour, everywhere on your ship, it is like ghosts turning lights on and off, opening and closing doors, water running when it should not. What have you done to your ship?”

“Me? Nothing. I’ve been locked in the brig.” Captain Herring played innocent almost as convincingly as I did.

“Pah!” Del’Brugado spat again before marching out of the brig.

The doors slid closed, catching the tail of his over-decorated coat. He swore profusely as his guards wrestled the doors open long enough to pull his coat free.

“Vasha?” Herring questioned me.

“Probably.”

The force field faded. The lights cut off, plunging us into darkness.

“Definitely me.” Vasha’s voice crackled from the speakers. “I can’t hold them out for long, not if they activate the manual overrides. If you hurry I can get you into the shuttle bay.”

“No.” Herring’s voice was decisive.

“It’s our chance to escape!” I edged through the cell door by feel.

“By all means, Stevens, steal a shuttle. We’ve been at warp for the last hour. You can’t launch while the ship is in warp. If you do survive that, you’ll be stranded in space. Or can you pilot a shuttle?”

The lights came back on. The force field reactivated, locking the others inside the cell.

“I’m not going to sit and wait patiently. These are pirates!”

“I won’t order you to stay here.”

“You want to be captured by pirates. You want them to take you to their base.” I wanted to smack him in the face. “You could have warned us.”

“You were warned this would be dangerous. You chose to come.”

“Your orders, Captain?” LeGrange saluted.

“You haven’t learned your place yet, Stevens.” Herring’s look was stern. “We wait for Delphi to activate.”

The door to the brig slid open at the same time the ship shuddered, slowing abruptly to impulse speeds.

Del’Brugado’s guards marched into the brig, weapons armed and aimed at us.

“We’re transferring, now.” The lead guard shut down the force field and waved his plasma blaster. “Del’Brugado doesn’t trust you on this ship. We’re scuttling it.”

Herring had enough self-control not to swear though I could read the anger in his eyes.

“Move it, you, to the shuttle bay.” The guards picked me, Herring, and one of the bridge officers in the cell.

“What of the others?” Herring asked.

The guard shrugged. “Not my problem, you are.”

The guards marched us through the ship, never giving us the chance to attack.

The waiting shuttle wasn’t Starfleet. Del’Brugado himself waited on the boarding ramp.

“Welcome to Fellucia, Captain and crew. Your rank will mean nothing soon enough. I think you might fetch a good price at the slave market.”

His evil laugh hung in the air after he swept into the shuttle. The guards shoved us after him.

“Slaves?” I whispered.

Herring shrugged. “I just hope Bradley remembers his orders.”

“So much for a quiet retirement.”

The guards locked us into the back of the shuttle. The bridge officer swallowed nervously.

“Steady, Fredricks,” Herring said, clapping the man on the back.

“Yes, sir.” Fredricks head bobbed.

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe we’ll luck out and they make me work in their galley. I could poison them all.”

“You’re cooking isn’t that bad.”

“I’m not flattered, sir.”

Herring smiled. “Trust Bradley, Stevens.”

“Then we’re doomed, sir, with all due respect. Bradley couldn’t find his...”

The rest of my words were lost in a rush of engines as the shuttle launched.

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 5

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 - Entry 5

I slumped against the wall. Of the six people stuffed into the brig, none of us knew enough engineering to figure out how to take down the force fields. It didn’t help that the control panels were all located outside the cell. For once, I wished Starfleet engineers were a bit more incompetent.

“What was the rest of your plan, Stevens?” Captain Herring ran his hand through his hair for the fiftieth time. It stood straight up.

“Turner was going to try to bust you out of the brig. Obviously he didn’t make it that far. I don’t know where he is. Vasha thought she could hack into the main computer from your quarters. LeGrange, where’s Vasha?”

LeGrange shrugged. “Somewhere in the air ducts. They caught us outside officer’s quarters. I held them off while she ran.”

The lights flickered and dimmed. The force field, however, held steady.

Captain Herring glanced overhead. “Looks like at least one of your plans is working.”

“Not well enough, yet.” I kicked the wall. “At least I had plans. Your plan was what? To surrender as fast as possible?”

Captain Herring narrowed his eyes. “I surrendered on the condition that Del’Brugado let everyone except the command officers leave.”

“And gave this pirate one of Starfleet’s best battleships.”

Captain Herring smiled a thin, evil smile. “He thinks so.”

I straightened. “So you did have a plan.”

He turned his back. “Computer, initiate protocol delphi zero seven three. Voice authorization Drew Herring, captain.”

“Authorization accepted. Protocol initiated.”

Captain Herring sat on the bunk. “Two hours.”

“Until what?”

“Delphi takes over the ship. And if I say more, I will have to shoot you. You don’t have clearance.”

Shouting in the hall distracted us. Pirates dragged a very battered Fells into the brig. Turner was thrown in after him. That made eight of us in a cell designed for three.

A short man stalked into the brig, glaring through the force field. His dark hair was slicked into wavy spikes. The sparkling trim on his outfit blinded me. He slapped hot pink gloves across his hands as he eyed us. “You gave me your word, Captain.”

“I’ve kept my word.”

“Your crew still fight us, sabotage at every turn. We caught these two stealing weapons from the armory.”

“A commendable act.” Herring moved off the bunk, standing just inside the force field. “Unlike you, I reward acts of initiative among my crew.”

I bit back the sarcastic comment I wanted to make. Initiative in the kitchen apparently didn’t count.

“I do not trust you, Captain.” Del’Brugado spat into the force field. It sparked.

“I am a man of my word.”

“You are nothing of the sort!”

“My engineers are cooperating, aren’t they?”

The door to the brig slid open and closed.

Del’Brugado snarled at his guards. “Find out what is causing that and stop it!” He turned his ugly scowl our way. “This past hour, everywhere on your ship, it is like ghosts turning lights on and off, opening and closing doors, water running when it should not. What have you done to your ship?”

“Me? Nothing. I’ve been locked in the brig.” Captain Herring played innocent almost as convincingly as I did.

“Pah!” Del’Brugado spat again before marching out of the brig.

The doors slid closed, catching the tail of his over-decorated coat. He swore profusely as his guards wrestled the doors open long enough to pull his coat free.

“Vasha?” Herring questioned me.

“Probably.”

The force field faded. The lights cut off, plunging us into darkness.

“Definitely me.” Vasha’s voice crackled from the speakers. “I can’t hold them out for long, not if they activate the manual overrides. If you hurry I can get you into the shuttle bay.”

“No.” Herring’s voice was decisive.

“It’s our chance to escape!” I edged through the cell door by feel.

“By all means, Stevens, steal a shuttle. We’ve been at warp for the last hour. You can’t launch while the ship is in warp. If you do survive that, you’ll be stranded in space. Or can you pilot a shuttle?”

The lights came back on. The force field reactivated, locking the others inside the cell.

“I’m not going to sit and wait patiently. These are pirates!”

“I won’t order you to stay here.”

“You want to be captured by pirates. You want them to take you to their base.” I wanted to smack him in the face. “You could have warned us.”

“You were warned this would be dangerous. You chose to come.”

“Your orders, Captain?” LeGrange saluted.

“You haven’t learned your place yet, Stevens.” Herring’s look was stern. “We wait for Delphi to activate.”

The door to the brig slid open at the same time the ship shuddered, slowing abruptly to impulse speeds.

Del’Brugado’s guards marched into the brig, weapons armed and aimed at us.

“We’re transferring, now.” The lead guard shut down the force field and waved his plasma blaster. “Del’Brugado doesn’t trust you on this ship. We’re scuttling it.”

Herring had enough self-control not to swear though I could read the anger in his eyes.

“Move it, you, to the shuttle bay.” The guards picked me, Herring, and one of the bridge officers in the cell.

“What of the others?” Herring asked.

The guard shrugged. “Not my problem, you are.”

The guards marched us through the ship, never giving us the chance to attack.

The waiting shuttle wasn’t Starfleet. Del’Brugado himself waited on the boarding ramp.

“Welcome to Fellucia, Captain and crew. Your rank will mean nothing soon enough. I think you might fetch a good price at the slave market.”

His evil laugh hung in the air after he swept into the shuttle. The guards shoved us after him.

“Slaves?” I whispered.

Herring shrugged. “I just hope Bradley remembers his orders.”

“So much for a quiet retirement.”

The guards locked us into the back of the shuttle. The bridge officer swallowed nervously.

“Steady, Fredricks,” Herring said, clapping the man on the back.

“Yes, sir.” Fredricks head bobbed.

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe we’ll luck out and they make me work in their galley. I could poison them all.”

“You’re cooking isn’t that bad.”

“I’m not flattered, sir.”

Herring smiled. “Trust Bradley, Stevens.”

“Then we’re doomed, sir, with all due respect. Bradley couldn’t find his...”

The rest of my words were lost in a rush of engines as the shuttle launched.

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.