Space Center News Flash.

Emily kneeling before Stacy for the blessing of the microphone.
Her welcome into the world of Galileo Flight Directing

Emily (on the left) smiling politely while trying to wrestle the Galileo
microphone away from the Set Director in a failed coup attempt.
Stacy smiles as well hoping not to show fear or weakness.
Disciplinary action may be taken.

Recent news from the Space Center. Warning, this should not be read while driving. It could cause drowsiness. Other symptoms related to the reading of this Blog include dry mouth, exhaustion, loose bowels, upset stomach, near sightedness, hives, excitability, pink eye, and psychosis. Some readers report a false sense of hope for mankind after reading two to three entries. While encouraging - we must caution that these are unsubstantiated claims and should be taken with a hefty dose of skepticism.

Emily Perry. A One of a Kind.

Emily Perry (age unknown) recently received her Galileo Flight Director credentials from Galileo Set Director Stacy Carroll (also unsure of her age). The ceremony (the highlights of which were captured digitally for prosperity) was held behind the Galileo at the completion of her first solo mission. Emily became the first Space Center Flight Director with flight passes in all five simulators. This is a remarkable accomplishment. Not even I, Supreme Director and Overlord of the Universe, can fly five ships! I know that may come as a shock to many of our younger readers but I assure you it is true.

Emily has reached level 5 on the Space Center Ascension Index. Her skin has a faint pink luminescence. Her smile’s width, recently measured after ascension, was three millimeters wider. Her IQ, previously impressive, is off the charts. News of which reached the Depart of Defense. Scientists were dispatched - they will arrive tomorrow.

Just a few days ago Emily was stopped by a tour of senior citizens while walking across BYU’s campus . Those close enough to shake her hand reported a strange sensation pass through their bodies. Afterwords, while eating at the Cougar Eat, those within Emily’s influence reportedly had stronger appetites. Three successfully ate sirloin steak, something they hadn’t done in years because of falling teeth.

Emily wishes to thank all the little people for celebrating her ascension. She wants everyone to know that she really is a better person than most and will do all in her power to impress that fact upon you.

Good Job Emily! I quake in your presence. And don’t be offended if the youngest volunteers rush from your company. Just standing in your shadow can cause young ones to lose control of their bodily functions.

Mr. Williamson

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 7

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
Chief Cook and Bottle Washer
Supreme Master of the Universe

And Now the Continuation of Aleta's Story........

Personal Log: Adrian Stevens, Quartermaster - Entry 7

I huddled in the lee of a rock, shivering uncontrollably. My teeth chattered. Fredericks moaned, curled up in the snow next to me. I patted his arm with hands so numb they felt like clubs.

Herring slipped into our hiding space. Snow plastered his eyebrows and hair. “Two more patrols. Hruk’Tal thinks they’re running low on reinforcements. Apparently the riot in the mines is completely out of control.”

“So we’re going to sit out here and freeze to death? At least we were warm in the mines.”

“Rakrr has gone to scout the communications dome. If enough guards have left, we’re taking it. You’ll have shelter soon.”

“I’ll survive. It’s Fredericks I’m worried about.”

Herring peered over the rock into the swirling storm. “There’s the signal. Let’s move!”

I grabbed Fredericks’ arm, pulling him to his feet. The two of us stumbled after Herring.

A structure loomed out of the snow, rounded and barely darker than the frozen wasteland. I pulled Fredericks around the side, following the quickly fading footsteps of the others. The rifle I’d stolen from the guard banged against my back.

Hruk’Tal’s battle howl sounded above the roar of the storm. I dragged Fredericks through the door, letting it bang shut behind me. Fredericks collapsed to the floor. I unslung the rifle and edged farther into the building. Shouts rang through the hall. I ran faster.

Smoke boiled from the main room. Thuds and screams echoed against the concrete dome overhead. Something crackled, spitting sparks through the doorway. I slipped through.

Hruk’Tal held a Fellucian guard over his head. The other Klingons pounded two more guards against the equipment panels. Herring and Carroll stood nose-to-nose in the center, arguing.

Hruk’Tal tossed the guard into a corner. “Enough. We cannot hold long here. We must leave. Where is this vessel you promised?”

Carroll planted her hands on her hips. “You promised him the Voyager, didn’t you?”

“If all went according to plan, the Voyager should be in far orbit. We just have to call and let them know we are ready.” Herring kept his voice reasonable.

“Call with what?” Carroll smiled grimly as the comm bank threw sparks across the room.

The four Klingons dropped the unconscious guards.

Carroll pulled a communicator from her pocket and flipped it open. “Galileo, come in.”

The comm crackled with static. “Warner here.”

“Any sign of the Voyager?”

“Negative.”

“Stand by for an extraction.” Carroll flipped the communicator shut.

“You’re going to fit all eight of us on a stealth shuttle?” Herring shot a frown my way. “Where is Fredericks?”

“By the entrance. I’ll go get him.” I turned for the door.

Fredericks crashed through, eyes wide and rolling. “They’re coming!”

“Incoming vessel,” Rakrr announced. “A cargo ship bearing Ferengi registration codes.”

“The supply ship,” Carroll said. “They’re a day early.”

“Good thing.” Herring shifted back half a step. “Get us up to that ship and we will take it for you.”

“How?” Carroll tugged at her hair.

“Why not use the transport ring?” I asked, pointing at the circular control inset in the center of the floor.

Carroll slapped her forehead. “Get inside the ring. I’ll get to the Galileo. Once you’re on board, get control of the docking bay. I’ll drop Taylor and the controller module there.”

Fredericks waved his hands wildly, mumbling to himself. Thumps echoed down the halls from the outside door.

“What about him?” I asked.

“I’ll take him with me,” Carroll said. She tapped her communicator. “Warner, bring her down on this signal.” She waved at the rest of us. “Get in the ring.”

We crowded into the space, clutching whatever weapons we had stolen.

Carroll twisted controls on a panel. “Good luck. I’ll be at the docking bay in thirty minutes. If you aren’t there, I’ll assume you failed. We can’t stay for more than five minutes.”

“Take care of Fredericks,” Herring called.

Light rose around us. My nose tickled as the transporter activated.

The light faded. We stood in a cargo bay, dimly lit.

“Stop him!” Hruk’Tal shouted, pointing at the man standing openmouthed next to the transporter controls.

His hand crept for the emergency reversal switch. The Klingons rushed him. I followed, caught up by the adrenaline. He lasted less than five seconds. We left him in a bloody heap, moaning quietly to himself.

“We have control of the cargo bay.” Hruk’Tal thumped his chest with his fist. “Where is the docking bay?”

Herring bent over the control panel. “I haven’t had to read Ferengi in years.” He traced the display with his finger. “Down two decks on the starboard side. Looks like it more towards the aft section. Let’s go.”

The seven of us crowded the door into the ship. Hruk’Tal flipped finger signals. I took a deep breath.

Herring hit the button. The door slid open. We slipped into the deserted hall.

We made it to the lift without meeting anyone. Herring opened the doors and we piled inside. I ended up near the front, sandwiched between two Klingons. I stifled a sneeze at their smell. Unwashed Klingons aren’t exactly unpleasant, just very strong.

The door to the lift slid open. We rushed out.

And stopped short. Fifteen heavily armed guards faced us, weapons ready.

“Well, well.” Del’Brugado stepped forward. “If it isn’t Captain Herring. And his obnoxiously competent assistant.” He smiled and twisted the end of his thin mustache.

Hruk’Tal shifted his weapon. “Today is a good day to die.”

“Agreed.” Rakrr lifted his rifle.

“Three?” Herring asked.

“Three!”

We charged into battle.

Lice, The Perfect Way to End Your Week.

Hello Troops,
Saturday, July 25, 2009 ended our last full week of camps at the Space Center. I was ready for a nice lay down when I got home to Wit’s End (the name of my home). I was shutting down my computer and gathering my things when the phone rang.
“Are you sitting down?” my sister Jilane asked. Jilane is one of my five sisters. She lives one block from me in Pleasant Grove.
“Who died?” I responded as I removed my lanyard and whistle. You’re not a real teacher unless you wear a Shrieker 2000 industrial strength whistle around your neck.
“Aidia has lice.” She said as a matter of fact. At first I didn’t comprehend the ramifications of such a statement. My first reaction was to say something like “And that means what to me?”. But after a moment’s reflection I realized why she wanted me to sit down for the news.

Perhaps a bit of a back story. My sister Lisa and her three children are staying at Wit’s End for the summer. They return to California at the start of the school year. Aida is her daughter. She has two sons, Draker and Caden. Many of you that work at the Space Center met 11 year old Draker at camp this summer.

This last week Wit’s End became Wit’s Discount Lodge and Home for the Elderly and Senile. The following extra guests checked in for a week’s stay:

• My sister Annette and her four children.
• My aunt and uncle from Arizona.
• Our permanent residents, my parents Charles and Luella whooccupy a small mother in law apartment in the dungeon. They are still able to function normally, drive and use the toilet but can’t be trusted with electricity and anything that uses electricity.

“Lisa wants you to check Draker for lice but don’t make a big deal of it. It will embarrass him,” Jilane added.
“Yes, I’m going out into the Voyager, take the microphone from Emily and announce to the crew and staff that I’m taking my nephew off the ship so I can check him for lice and other vermin.”
“Just do it.”
“Yes ma’am.”

I found Draker wearing a Voyager’s engineering uniform ready to go out to the Bridge to check the ship for hull fractures. I mentioned for him to follow me. Emily objected saying she needed him to do the acting part first.
“Spread the joy,” I mumbled to myself. “Send him to me when he’s finished.”

A few minutes later he walked up to my desk. I asked him if he knew what ‘unclean’ meant.
“You need to take a bath?” he questioned.
“Yes, in a manner of speaking. Do you understand what happens to little boys that never bath or wash their hair?” His eyes widened expecting me to accuse him of such a thing. I stopped him before he could continue.
“Little boys that refuse to apply water and soap to their bodies can develop diseases like leprosy, scabs, leeches, and lice! I need to check you for lice. Don’t run, it won’t help. Crying will only draw attention to your condition and if word got out that lice could be present within these walls there would be a panic and stampede not even my Shrieker 2000 could stop. Now walk quietly into the nurse’s station.”

He followed me. I put the rubber gloves on and began the inspection. Several minutes later I pronounced him lice free. Draker was happy and wanted to return to the Voyager. I called Jilane and gave her the good news. Her reaction surprised me.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she asked. A few moments later I was driving him up to her house for the professional inspection. I’m please to announce that my initial diagnosis was correct. Lice free.

I expected to see EPA agents in full biosuits at my home when Draker and I pulled into the driveway. I was pleased with how Mormony everything looked. Yes, your typical average LDS neighborhood in Utah County. I got out of the car, took in the warm summer air scented with freshly mowed grass and pondered how pleasant everything was in Pleasant Grove.

The calm and serenity came to an abrupt end when I walked into the kitchen from the garage. The kitchen counters and table were covered with every possible cleaning agent, brush and pad used for lice abatement available for purchase at your neighborhood WalMart - all gathered for a major assault on the infestation eating through the hair follicles of innocent Williamson’s, Belnaps and Coronatos. Oh the Humanity!


I carefully walked around the chemical shop and into the living room. I stood in the center of the room afraid to let my body come in contact with anything that might have a moving surface. Lisa saw my predicament and rallied to my cause. She grabbed a can of lung burning Destructall spray in each hand and attacked everything in the that wasn’t moving with stereo shots of spray. Mother was caught in a corner chair. A cloud of Destructall moved in her direction like a death fog.
“Move!” Lisa shouted. Mother saw the fumes, rose to her feet and did a shuffle that, had we had a camera, would have been a YouTube hit.

Both my sisters were armed and ready for war. They had their children in bathing suits, lined up at the four bathrooms and ready for the delousing process. Each child was brought in, put in the tub and scrubbed from top to bottom with Nuclear Nix Lice Removal shampoo, cream, ointment, solution, and alixer. Both sisters were in their bathing suits as well so it could all be contained in the tubs.

Once the sandblasting was complete and the children’s bleeding skin bandaged, out came the lice combs and the tedious process of de -nitsing their scalps. The children’s screams were so intense mother had to leave and seek refuge at my uncle’s. I of course wasn’t bothered considering I spend all day in space blowing up children ;)

Once the unclean were proclaimed clean, the delousing of the house began. Destructall Spray was unleashed on the children’s mattresses. All the bedding, towels, blankets, pillows, clothes, etc. etc. and etc. was dumped into the back of the pick up truck and taken to Pleasant Grove’s only coin operated laundry mat. Several hours later and twenty five dollars in quarters lighter the bedding was finished and pulled from very hot dryers.
It was after 11:00 P.M. and all was done. It only took six hours and over one hundred and fifty dollars but the home was safely nuked and ready for habitation.

I was exhausted from sitting and watching these two great mothers scrub, curse, shout, clean, clean and clean. The debate that ran through the entire process was who’s child got lice first, and from where.

Today I sit in my sterilized home feeling lucky to have survived my very first lice infestation. Rest your worried minds - I didn’t have lice and neither does Draker. The Space Center is therefore lice free (unless Brock has lice. We will have to check him out).

All is well and I hope and pray next week will be uneventful. Please, may I ask for boring, dull and mindless. I need boring, dull and mindless.

Mr. Williamson