Adrian Stevens Personal Log 3-2: Drill Sergeant Warner

This story is just for fun. Any resemblance to space center employees or volunteers is deliberate. If you want included in the story, just let me know, but be warned. You may end up as a bad guy or a whiner or the cook or something else entirely.

Aleta

How I Flunked Out of Starfleet Academy: Part 2

"Attention!"

The female cadets scrambled to line up at the end of their bunks. We'd been given one hour to settle in. I guessed that hour was up as the drill sergeant strode through the door, tailed by her assistant.

"Cadet, you are out of uniform." The sergeant glared at the first cadet in line. The girl still wore her street clothes. "These bunks are atrocious. And the lockers," she flipped open the nearest foot locker to reveal a jumble of belongings, "are not properly stowed. Your response time is also lacking. But I'll be generous since this is your first day. I'm going to walk out the door and come back in two minutes." She turned on her heel and marched through the dormitory door.

"Who does she think she is?" The cadet bunking on the other side of Christine complained.

Christine and I had the beds in the very far corner, right next to the lavatory. She and I traded glances. How stupid was the cadet? We straightened the military issue blankets on our beds and made sure our gear was stowed correctly. Wasn't hard for me, I hadn't brought much from home.

"She's drill sergeant Warner, thinks she owns the place." The cadet across from us jerked her head to the door. "And her assistant, watch out for her. That woman is a menace to everyone. I think her name is VandenBerger. They call her the Big V." Her eyes dropped to our collars where the lack of colored pips declared our status. "General studies? Losers." Her collar sported red piping.

"Attention!" Warner and Big V were back for inspection.

Christine and I jumped to position, at attention to the left side of our foot lockers.

"How long did they take?" Warner asked her assistant.

"Fifteen point seven three seconds."

Warner shook her head. Her hair didn't shift. It looked painted on, every lock glued into position. "That's over ten seconds too long. Do you know what that means?" She turned on the nearest cadet.

"No, ma'am." The girl swallowed nervously.

Warner shoved her nose into the girl's face. "Sir! Not ma'am. Sir. Got that? And next time, don't squeak. Shout like you mean it. Now, do you know what that extra ten seconds means?"

"No, sir!"

"Five extra laps of the track when we finish inspection. Show me your locker, cadet."

I tried not to fidget as Warner and Big V worked their way down the line of cadets. They were generous with the demerits. A wrinkle in your pillowcase? Demerit. Your clothing not folded precisely in the locker? Demerit. A stray hair out of place? Demerit and a recommendation to get your head shaved.

She reached Christine. Warner eyed her head to toe. "Your hair is too long for regulations. Your blanket is not tucked in properly. Do it again. Now."

Warner turned to me while Christine untucked and retucked the corners of her bed. "Sloppy. What's your name, cadet?"

"Stevens, sir."

"Well, Stevens, do you know what general studies cadets do while the other cadets are at morning training?" She smiled. It was evil, like a big snake preparing to eat it's next meal. "They get to scrub the barracks. You and your friend will find cleaning supplies in the closet. You have one hour."

My heart sank as the other cadets smirked. I didn't come to the Academy to clean barracks. I was here to be an officer.

Warner marched up the aisle between the rows of beds. "Cadets, report to training. Dismissed!"

Christine and I traded looks as the room emptied.

"Cleaning? Seriously?" Christine kicked her foot locker.

I grinned. "We can do it fast. I'll show you. I worked janitorial on the ship here to pay my passage. And then I've got an idea."

"That smile scares me." But she followed me to the closet.

An hour later, the barracks gleamed. The rows of short-sheeted bunks showed not a single wrinkle, the blankets tight enough to bounce coins. Christine and I stood at attention as Warner and Big V inspected.

"Very good, cadets. You have until lunch at twelve hundred. I suggest you spend it in the library and the gym."

"Sir? What about classes?" Christine asked, her voice squeaking just a bit.

"Study what you want, at least for the first month. Further training will be based on what you pursue." Warner paused, hands clasped behind her back. "General studies is just that. Many admirals were general studies cadets, as well as most of those directing special ops and undercover assignments. Specialists are necessary, but those who understand more than their chosen field are the ones needed at the top. Remember that."

I watched her and her assistant leave the room. A faint ray of hope glimmered in the depths of my mind.

"We should short sheet our own bunks, just to allay suspicions," Christine said.

"They're going to know, Christine. Who else has access to the dorms?" I shrugged. "They fired the first shot."

"And what if we get into trouble?"

"I don't think we need to worry about that, not with Warner."

I was right. The cadets who complained ended up with extra KP duty. Christine and I ended up with fifty-eight enemies.


Aleta Clegg, writing as Jaleta Clegg

A Mutiny at the Space Center! The Horrific Story Told Below!

Hello Troops,
I knew something was wrong Friday evening shortly after the last of our Galaxy Campers went home. The staff seemed anxious. Instead of seeing the usual excitement at completing another camp I saw concern laced with anger in their eyes. Instead of offering a smile in passing I got a cold stare. Many huddled in small groups whispering to each other. Occasionally one head would emerge from the pack to locate me. The group stopped talking if I was within ear shot or quickly and noticeably changed the subject of their clandestine conversation.

I first noticed I was being followed as I walked the hallways locking the doors of the rooms we used for the camp. The young volunteers tried to look like their was some purpose to their standing at the corners of the hallways. One turned and stared at the mortar between the wall's bricks after realizing he'd been caught by my suspicious eye. Another took a knee and quickly untied then retied his shoe.

"What's up?" I asked

"Nothing, just tying my shoe."

"I noticed you untied it first and now you're retying it?"

"I...... well..... uh......"

He stood and walked quickly away. Yes, something was amiss in the land of OZ.

"Mr. Williamson.... Don't go......," The voice came from the general direction of the office. It sounded like Julie Anna but I couldn't be sure. I could tell it was a female and in distress. It was a warning not to go somewhere but abruptly cut off before the danger's location was revealed.

I stopped and looked down the long hallway stretching the length of the school between the Conference Room and the south parking lot exit. I could see Casey Voeks (Rebel Rouser) standing near the Space Center Office's door. His arms were folded across his chest. His cold stare went straight through me. My gut told me to exit the building and run to the Battlestar to call for reinforcements. I could smell mutiny in the air and knew there were still loyal staff and volunteers at home who would come to my rescue if called upon.

My pride urged me to put aside my fear and face them. I did what any rational person would do, I listened to my gut and bolted for the nearest exit by the Computer Lab. I stopped dead in my tracks when I reached the doors. Staring at me in the dark of night through the double glazing were the faces of two volunteers. Their bodies, dressed in Space Center black, bled into the night. My exit was blocked. It seemed my luck had run out.

Casey shouted from the Office. "Mr. Williamson, there is no escape. Come here at once. We need to talk ."

Several staff and volunteers (minions) emerged from the darkest recesses of the classroom's doorways. One tapped a two foot section of metal pipe against his palm. Another had brass knuckles. I noticed one volunteer stood further out into the hallway. As I passed I noticed he was using his body to hide a mop and bucket and a can of chemical absorbent. It was the stuff our school custodian uses to absorb vomit and blood. The boy looked genuinely pleased with his assignment.

With chin held high in defiance and shoulders back, I walked purposefully toward my destiny.
"So this is how it ends," I whispered to myself. "A mutiny led by who else but Casey Voeks. I knew I shouldn't have let him come back after spending two years in Texas. He's come back with new ideas and new ideas can be dangerous."

I walked up to him in the doorway. "Is there a problem?" We stood face to face. He looked directly into my eyes, showing no fear. His overconfident smirk didn't pass my notice.

"Nothing you can't solve with a bit of common sense and respect for the crew. Now shall we proceed?" He motioned for me to enter the office.

My desk was surrounded by black shirted volunteers peppered with the blues and greens of the senior staff. I stopped when I saw Julie Anna (Statistical Saint). She was held captive in circle barricade made of overturned gym chairs, camouflage netting, wrestling mats, and plastic tables laying on their sides. A strobe light flashed rapidly over her head. Her cheeks glowed with intermittent red because of three rotating red lights near her face.

"What's this about?" My voice was firm. "Let her go."

"You're going to sit down and listen. If you cooperate Julie Anna goes free." Casey pointed to my chair.

"Mr. Williamson, what are they going to do to me?" Julie Anna shouted.

"One more outburst and you'll be gagged," Casey shot back. He waved his hand. Megan (Assistant Rebel Rouser and Recently Returned LDS Missionary) stepped forward holding one of the black fabric light covers we use to cover the hallway lights. She twisted the cloth into a tight spiral and held it tightly between her two hands ready and willing to apply over Julie Anna's mouth if necessary.

Brittney (Magellan Set Director and Nemesis to Casey - necessary for good story development) was obviously through with mercy and compassion. "What are we waiting for. Let's just finish her off," The mumbling that followed showed many in the room supported her more radical approach.

"I want a Priest to hear my last confession," Julie Anna shouted.

"There will be no Priest!" Casey's voice was decisive. "There is no forgiveness for what you've done."


Brittney pulled a Bic lighter from her pocket and continually struck it until it produced a flame.

"A Cross. Please, a Cross," Julie Anna begged. She looked at the youngest volunteers, many of whom were visibly shaken by what they were witnessing.

"Please?" Joseph asked. Casey hesitated then nodded. Joseph (Sympathetic Child who regrets his mutineering thirty minute past) reached into the pen bucket, took out two pens, pulled a piece of dangling string from his jeans and fashioned a crude cross.

"Bless you dear lady," He handed the cross to Julie Anna. She held it tightly to her heart and fixed her gaze on some spot on the ceiling, resigned to her fate. She drew some comfort knowing she would be the first martyr to Statistics in the modern age.

"Put the lighter away," Casey kept his gaze on Brittney until his wishes were obeyed.

"Weak. I knew I should have taken charge." Brittney looked at the other flight directors, then emphasized her point by pointing to each of them individually. "Betrayal is hard to forget." She stepped back with the others.

I sat down at my desk wishing the web camera that arrived the day before was installed so someone outside the Space Center could see what was happening and call for help. Alex read must have read my thoughts. He stepped aside so I could see the camera was still in its box next to the staff computer on the desk opposite mine.

"I'll get to it tomorrow. Sorry." His statement was typical Alex smug. I knew he would be the third to go after Casey and Brittney if I ever got Julie Anna and I out of this predicament.

"We have a demand." Casey held up a paper.

"We have a demand," Nicole (Supervisor and Recent Convert to the Dark Side) echoed with fist raised skyward showing her contempt of my authority. Casey looked annoyed.

Nicole jumped into the center of the room. "Demand, Demand. Demand," she chanted louder and louder until the rest of the room joined in. Brittney restruck her Bic Lighter. Julia Anna cried again for a Priest.

"Will you all Shut UP!" Casey shouted. The room quieted down.

"Get to the point," I said.

Casey read the demand. His voice was firm. His gift of leadership evident. At the end he gave a summation. "You will send this Statistical Demon packing and restore the old religion of calculating camper comment scores. Do we have your cooperation?"

The Mutineer's Document with the Conspirator's Signatures

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."

Edgar Allan Poe

"And if I don't?"

"Brittney, GET BACK!" Brittney was crouched down trying to light the wrestling mat on fire. Casey's shouting frightened Julie Anna. She screamed, startling a few of the younger volunteers, many of whom fainted with fright.

"Fire, Fire, Fire, Fire," Nicole's chanting peaked over Julie Anna's screaming. The look on some of the senior staff's face showed an uncertainty of action. I could tell many were disturbed by this unpredictable turn of events. Casey stomped the small fire out then turned back to me.



"Will you meet our demands?" Casey glanced at the unraveling situation around him. " You know how unpredictable mobs are. I'm using their love and respect for me to keep them in check but I don't know how much longer that will work before anarchy sets in and we lose them to Satan. I need your answer!"

I thought for a moment to remember the root cause of our current predicament. It was I who agreed to Julie Anna's request to accurately measure the camper's comments and scores without rounding the numbers to the tenth's place as I'd been doing for several years. Should I reverse my decision and acquiesce to the mob or reassert my authority and refuse - consequences be damned?

My mind was working well under the pressure. I knew I could rely on my creativity and imagination to find a way out. I looked down and saw something shining in the fluorescent light over my head. It was my Shrieker 2000 whistle hanging on a blue lanyard around my neck. That whistle has been my faithful classroom companion for 28 years. I knew from previous experience with unruly children that it was capable of shattering ear drums out to twenty yards if blown with enough force.

"Never. I will not give in to mob rule." I shouted with renewed confidence in my newly hatched plan. Casey stepped back in obvious surprise. I knew he thought I'd give in. He wasn't prepared for my defiant stand. The staff and volunteers were shaken by my reasserted authority. I had called their bluff. It was time for them to play their final hand.

"You're a fool." Casey said in judgement. He snapped his fingers. "Brittney."

"Finally!" Brittney lit the Bic and moved forward. Julie Anna stared at me in astonishment, confused that I had just signed our fates away. I answered with a wink and smile.

"Look, its the COPS!" I shouted. Everyone in the room turned toward the office door. I put the Shrieker 2000 to my lips, covered my ears, and blew with everything my 53 year old lungs could muster. Julie Anna dropped her cross and did the same.

Stacy (Galileo Set Director and Poor Look Out) caught on to my plan just as the whistle reached my lips. "CASEY!" she shouted. It was too late.

I HAD RELEASED THE SHRIEKER. The sound was so loud even Fortuna awoke from high upon Mt. Olympus. Those nearest to me fell to their knees. Blood oozed from their broken eardrums. Those further back ran for the exit with their ears covered. The sound shook several of certificates off the Love Me wall. Two fluorescent fixtures exploded sending shards of glass to the floor. A small crack appeared in the Odyssey's drywall.

A minute later I stopped. The school was quiet again, except for the mutineer's moaning as they writhed in pain on the carpet. The rebellion was over and order restored at the Space Center. All thanks to a whistle and the quick thinking of the Director.

Saint Julie Anna
Our Saint of Statistics Bravely Standing for the Purity of Mathematics Against the Forces of Ignorance

Epilogue:
Yes, I was beckoned into my office after the camp on Friday. The staff was gathered and the petition above was read by Casey. It was done in fun. Julie Anna agreed to set up two sets of statistics, one with the traditionally rounded numbers and another with the more accurate numbers for her study. That's the boring tale. Didn't you like my version of the story better :)

Mr. W.

Let's Take a Walk Down Wonderland's There and Back Again Lane.

Hello Troops,
The July 4th weekend in America means rest and relaxation, time off from work, backyard barbecues, fireworks and a never ending stream of relatives playing catch up since the last family gathering at Christmas. Imagination is Rest and Relaxation's traveling companion and we all know that Imagination is driven by the good folks at the Imaginarium in Wonderland. So, while our American friends enjoy their holiday, the Imagineers will be working double, even triple shifts, to properly provide for endless hours away from the world of the Here and Now.

The Space Education Center is closed for 4th so our staff and volunteers can enjoy time with their own families and friends. Don't forget that we also need a respite to mentally run amok through fields of gold to recharge and heal our worn and bruised imaginations. On Tuesday we return to the battle field for four more weeks in the trenches before the August cease fire.

I'm leaving the Imaginarium for Wonderland Station to catch the 12:18 and thought you might like to walk with me to see the community's sights and wonders.

The Imaginarium sits on the corner of Wonderland Drive and the long and narrow There and Back Again Lane. There and Back Again Lane isn't the quickest route to the Station, but walking it's checkered pavement never disappoints those of us who seek the curious and odd.

An interesting film premiers tonight at the Star Theater on the Lane and I have an invitation from the director to attend. I'd like to go but hesitate because of the play's subject matter. You see, my sure to be negative reaction to the writer and director's dubious and unsatisfactory creation (based on reviews printed in the Wonderland Gazette) usually uses the generous and generic term "Nice" as its base. It's a word spoken to avoid insult. You understand.

This film strips that courteous crutch away, leaving me two uncomfortable choices; lie and offer false praise or tell the truth and risk destroying a writer and director's exposed and vulnerable egos. I suppose there is a third alternative. I could sit at the back of the theater and quickly escape as the house lights brighten. If I'm cornered in the lobby and an opinion is requested, I'll raise one finger to my lips and point to the bathroom to indicate the logical and universally accepted reason for my unwillingness to engage the conversation. Once in the restroom I'll find an empty stall and settle in for however long it takes to be sure the lobby is clear of anyone that might be interested in "what I thought".

Yes, that's the nice way to handle things.

Four minutes at a casual pace down the Lane brings you to the Arborius Necatius, a candy tree imagined by a youngster from some two horse town in Wyoming, and a required stop for those of us suffering from an insatiable hankering for sugar. His imagination became a reality in Wonderland.

Trixie and Jean never let a passing footstep go by without a peak. Wave one of the lollipops as you pass. The yapping won't stop until you're long out of sight.

a Garage Sale with a twist.

Maurice Mellon entertains the Lane's foot traffic on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the corner of There and Back Again Lane and Dream Blvd. Audrey Hepplewhite is his favorite fan and rarely misses a performance.

Careful of Teddy DiWit and his wand. He fancies himself a Wizard. In his enthusiasm, he nearly took out a passing teen's eye with his knotted hickory wand.
The teen insulted his Hogwart's house.

Teddy's Latin is crude and his magic clearly absent but the injuries he conjures with his wand / sword teaches Wonderland's muggles to tread lightly and respectfully
when we happen upon him.

Curiosities above and below



The back of Wonderland Bakery faces the Lane, or is it the front?
This sign on their front / back door never fails to confuse me because
the sign on the door says to enter the front door.
All I want is a sticky bun and chocolate milk. Why does it have to be so confusing?

A Sign in front of the Hairy Lemon Pub, a favorite night spot for the locals.
I'll not be ordering the Soup of the Day but that doesn't stop me from admiring the creativity.
"Make mine the broccoli and cheese with a side of bread and a Diet Coke on the rocks."

Two turns and half a whistle up the Lane brings you to the home of Heather Sanders, great granddaughter to Colonel Sanders of KFC fame. You can always expect a hearty chicken dinner when you pay them a visit. Heather was waiting for her drum stick, mash and gravy lunch when we caught her eye as we passed. Bless her heart, she is the curious one.
The family resemblance is striking, wouldn't you say?

Janice Dimple Jones works the cash register at the There and Back Again Quickie Mart. She is partial to honey and suffers from a stubborn streak of laziness. She likes to go to work in costume and quote memorized passages from her favorite Pooh books to all those with the patience to stand and listed while the ice in their Big Gulps melts away. Failure to listen and appreciate at least two quotes results in scanner malfunctions at the register.

"Oh, I guess I'll have to ring the items up myself," Janice says with a smile, which usually results in regrettable overcharges (when discovered). She claims the keys on the register are too small for her fingers.

There and Back Again Lane's Superheroes meet to plan their next campaign to stamp out evil and fight corruption on the Lane. They're a bit discouraged at the moment. All three Batmans are best friends to Marty Miller and Marty is the only one with a Robin costume. It's Batman and Robin, not Batmans and Robin. I'm sure you understand their problem.

Always expect the unexpected when exploring the Lane.


I enjoy my walks down the There and Back Again Lane.

More to Come Later, Enjoy your Holiday!

Mr. Williamson