They are Lucky to be Alive. Space Center Heroes.

And One Last Step. "Pray for Survivors".

Hello Troops,

Last night I left the Space Center in good hands to attend Chris Call's wedding reception. I was gone 45 minutes. I congratulated Chris and his bride, spoke briefly with Alan Stewart, held Alan's baby son (he wanted to come to me strangely enough), spoke to David Call and his girl friend Jessica (a former student of mine), paid my respects to the delights spread out on the serving tables (a chocolate fountain) and returned to the Space Center to lock the doors.

I was struck by the quiet when I entered the school. My instincts told me something was amiss. I knew the Odyssey and Galileo had missions until 7:00 P.M. and it was 6:45 P.M.

Suddenly there was an explosion from the cafeteria. The Galileo mission was still running. I walked down the ramp, opened the cafeteria door and saw Christine delivering an Academy Award winning performance into her microphone. I shut the door and walked up the ramp toward the Space Center's Office. There was still no sound from the Odyssey.

I walked into the Office to see what was wrong and was immediately struck by the powerful smell of something that made my body's gag reflex react. I backed out to the relative safety of the hallway.

"Jon! Devin! Are you in there?" I shouted. There was no answer. "Anyone in there at all?" There was still no answer.

Something horrific had happened. I had to put mind over matter, stifle my gag reflexes and forge ahead into the abyss. I cautiously walked back into the Briefing Room. The middle bank of fluorescent lights were flickering, making me feel like I was walking into a silent film. It was all too surreal. There was something familiar about what I was experiencing. A memory raced through my mind turning my blood cold.

"Aliens," I whispered through the fingers held tightly over my mouth and nose. How else could you explain the silence and the smell? I heard a sound in the Odyssey's transporter door. It turned slightly revealing the shadowy figure of a boy in a white doctor's coat. He fell to his knees and then out the door onto the carpeted hallway. It was Nabil, one of our volunteers. I rushed to the door, grabbed his wrists and pulled him out of the room into the hallway. He was choking. He struggled to speak. He pointed back into the room.

"Devin," he coughed out. I rushed to the Odyssey's Control Room door and opened it. The smell sent me to my knees. I pulled my shirt up over my mouth and nose and struggled back to my feet using the doorknob for balance. Devin and his 2nd chair were unconscious - their faces painted in olive green. I saw that the Odyssey's AIU Computer had functioned correctly and followed its preprogrammed emergency functions by deploying the oxygen masks. They dangled over our two brave uncounsious staff who were barely breathing. I pulled them out one by one.

"Jon," Devin whispered after loosing his lunch on the blue and white hallway floor. "He was in there with us."

I again pulled my shirt up over my face and nose and reentered the room. The smell was too powerful, stopping me dead near my desk. My self preservation instincts urged me to evacuated but I couldn't leave a valued staff member and friend behind. A solution came to mind. I fell over my desk and found my bottle of cheap cologne stored next to the printer. I made a mask of tissue doused with cologne to give me enough time to search the perimeter. I rushed to the other desk and found Jon on the floor curled in a fetal position.

"Jon, get up!" I shouted. There was no response. I struggled to get him to his feet. The chair was in the way along with the black hole lost and found box. Thankfully Nabil appeared and helped me get him to his feet and out of the room.

"Weapons," I said to Nabil. "Run to the Magellan's closets and bring back all their phaser rifles. If these aliens want the good people of Pleasant Grove they'll have to get through us first."

Nabil looked confused. "There are no aliens Mr. Williamson. One of the kids in the Odyssey had an accident."

"What?" I questioned. "No Aliens?" Nabil shrugged his shoulders and nodded.
"That can't be. The circulation system has fail safes. Such a catastrophe can't happen - not here - and definitely not at the Space Center where all contingencies are taken into account!"

I knew that the air circulation system should have prevented any human smell from reaching the caustic point. Such an occurrence was anticipated in the design of the air handling system. So what had gone wrong? I glanced a the clock and remembered that I had forgotten to do something earlier. The air conditioning system was programed to switch off at 5:00 P.M. It was now nearly 7:00 P.M. My "To Do List" had 'change the air timer' in position one. It was another one of "My Bad's". For two hours there was no conditioned air circulating through the Briefing Room, Odyssey and Phoenix. I had created the perfect atmospheric storm.

The mission was over. The crew was revived and sent on their way. It was time to go where no man dared go - into an infected ship. Jon, being younger and braver, entered first. I followed. The interior of the Odyssey was noxious. Regardless, we had to find the source.

"Anything?" I shouted through the scented tissues.
"Nothing," Jon answered.
"Check the chairs."

Our Carefully Trained Space Center Staff
prepare to disinfect the chair

The offending chair was found, removed and fumigated.

You are all invited to attend the presentation of the Space Center's Merit Award to Devin, Jon, Nabil and Devin's Second Chair (I don't remember who it was) at the end of the Overnight Camp on Saturday. They stayed at their posts, doing everything they could to keep their mission moving forward even in the face of overwhelming obstacles and non circulating and conditioned air. They set the example for all of us.

Excellent Work!

Mr. Williamson

Returing from a Week's Worth of Camps.

I stood on the cold concrete subway platform waiting for the train. The Wonderland Station was crowded with Imaginarium employees doing what I was doing, trying to get home after having spent several days fueling the imaginations of scores of children and teens involved in the Space Center's camps.

The air was strangely void of conversation. People were exhausted. They stood shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Their eyes were fixed on different points of interest. Some stared at the large billboard opposite the tracks advertising Voyages of Imagination on the StarDust Dreamliner. Others seemed preoccupied with shoes, looking up only to check the illuminated clock with a six foot diameter face overhead. A green tortoise sat at the end of the hour hand using his head to point to the passing hours. A hare sat frozen in a leap at the end of the minute hand. The craftsmanship was exquisite, a testament to the skill of the Imagineers who built the station one thought at a time.

I closed my eyes and thought about my vacation home in the Black Hills of South Dakota. My thoughts were read by the Imaginarium's night shift. Someone on the fifty first floor pulled the right combination of levers sending the smell of ponderosa pine through the air circulation system. I held a thumbs up high over my head in appreciation.

The rose lights hanging delicately from green vines circling the station's ceiling started to dim then brighten. Everyone's attention shifted to the left. Out in the dark was the incoming 6:15 train. I felt someone's hand on my back, an impatient gesture urging me to move closer to the platform's edge. I resisted.

"Patience patience. We all want to get home," I mumbled. There was more jostling as everyone filled in the open spaces hoping to find a seat on a train that was notoriously crowded.

A cold wind racing ahead of the train blew through the station, replacing the smell of summer pine with the scent of humid fog. The crowd moved forward in unison, acting as one enormous beast. The train appeared, speeding quickly by then slowed to a stop. It's double doors slid open revealing cars packed tightly with employees from the Dreamland Station. We looked at them. They looked at us. It was a test of wills. We wanted in and their appearance made it perfectly clear they didn't want us to try.

"All Aboard!" the conducted shouted. The overhead rose colored lights ignited in full brilliance. The beast surged ahead. I was unceremoniously pushed forward. I remember encountering a large woman at the door wearing a pink dress decorated with flamingos and smelling of lilac and perspiration. Her elbows swung round like an electric mixer as she vainly tried to keep her valued spot near the doorway. She failed.

I think I briefly passed out because the next thing I remember was standing in the center of the car being propped up by the bodies of those around me. The train lurched forward sending everyone back one or two steps. The Wonderland Station disappeared behind us, replaced by the total dark of the tunnel. I was on my way home to a hot meal, family, friends, my favorite TV shows and soft bed with downy pillows.

Hello reality...... You were missed...

Mr. W.

And Into the First Night

Hello Troops,
The Imaginarium was nearly overwhelmed this evening as the first of our summer space campers descended onto the Space Education Center for their Overnight Camp. The portals ejected small human after small human into our staging area. Our staff showed them where to put their gear then directed them to the rank table. My table is a camper's last stop into the camp.

"Papers!" I ask. I use the same tone of voice used by the East German border guards when I crossed into communist East Germany many years ago. The younglings produce their Rank Advancement Papers.

"Is your name spelled correctly?" I ask. Many look confused. Others answer quickly.

"Staying overnight night or going home?" I look up into their eyes as if trying to catch them in a lie.

"Read this paper then bring it back. Keep your rank paper. We will take it from you later." I point to the stage. "Join the rest of the kids on the steps."

The campers walk toward the steps leading up to the stage and find a seat with the others.

"NEXT."

I play the good cop / bad cop routine with me playing both parts. I'm the stern East German at the sign in table and the friendly camp director when I welcome them and explain camp rules. Your average camper with standard intelligence is confused by my duel personality. That confusion is my ultimate goal. I can be warm and fuzzy if the occasion requires and unyielding and cold as petrified wood when pushed or challenged.

The campers in the Odyssey are settling down. There are no voices coming from the Voyager. Me thinks our visitors are drifting away to sleep. Their condition is contagious. I'm tired and may not be able to finish this post. If you see one key held down for a row or two then you know I fell asleep at the keyboard. Someone will eventually find me and direct me to my pad at the foot of my deskkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk