Benjamin from Brother’s Campfire here.
I have not blogged for a while due to the necessity of seeking to grow in my faith while simultaneously striving to be a husband, father, and member of my community. If I were to sum up 2023, I would say I have set clear boundaries and expectations.
2024 will be more of the same as I count the costs of various relationships and activities.
While not sure if personal growth was achieved, the waistband has exceeded expectations, likely from the stress hormone cortisol…and eating.
To mitigate this, I will be joining a weight loss competition beginning January 2, 2024.
Electing to resume blogging, I present a disclaimer.
For those of you who know me in person, I am not going to change my writing style to suit your worldview of who you think I should be. Invest time and learn about me and I will do the same. Alternatively, you can keep your nose in your own trough.
Let’s move forward from the business bit.
From the beginning, all the stories I have written are by the seat of my pants so there are a few holes to patch.
Unfortunately, I cannot fix them all. However, I was talking to the Erratic Engineeress and she encouraged me to write a bit of science fiction.
This genre may help me tie everything I have ever written into some semblance of order with a little suspension of disbelief on the part of the reader.
So, please join me as I provide an
Insight to the Extraterrestrial Perspective
J. Wardance, Captain of the B.C. Halhïn Gol, reviewed the file of Ricardo, a recruit fresh out of B.C. academy.
A Maverick of sorts, Ricardo worked hard and liked to play hard. Already, he was recognized by his peers for his fierce loyalty and willingness to be point in room clearings and such, but he was impulsive.
Discipline was paramount to the success of their multifaceted mission.
Laying out the documentation for signature,
J. Wardance beckoned for Ricardo to approach.
Ricardo snapped a crisp salute and the Captain offered him a chair.
“Recruit, it has been brought to my attention that you engaged in reprehensible and reckless behavior.”
“No Sir!” Responded Ricardo.
Wardance, a veteran of such interactions, leaned forward and cut to the chase.
“Son, I have been doing this a long time. You can either tell me what happened, or I assure you that you will be locked up until we dishonorably discharge you. “
Ricardo went pale, visibly shaken, and reached for a trash can.
“Oh no you don’t. You will not vomit in my trash can. You will pull yourself together. I don’t feel the least bit sorry for whatever it was you consumed or drank last night. You abandoned your post.”
Green vomiting protruded from Ricardo’s mouth and he swallowed it back.
Captain Wardance just stared, not the least bit affected by the visual.
Straightening in his chair, Ricardo began.
“Sir, while in our orbit of Earth, I was scanning the frequencies when I heard the most beautiful sound of Brazilian Samba. I focused on our view screen and saw some gorgeous females dancing near a beer tent. Noting the coordinates were in New Jersey, I was pretty certain I could get some dancing in before my shift and return with time to spare.”
Wardance liked Ricardo, as he had been a young reckless maverick type himself, but he was weighted down by the infraction at hand. It could be an inter-solar system embarrassment if not damage-controlled.
“Ricardo, you were found naked, running around at a rail yard. How do I explain this to the command? What will your family think when you are discharged? This was aired on FOX and CNN.
“Sir, all I could think of were those females. I jumped right on into a shuttle, broke on through the atmosphere, and landed right in the middle of the most beautiful specimens I ever did see.”
“Well, I knew I had work in the morning but we danced until I got tired, and I went on up to the beer tent.
At this time, two human bouncers came up speaking the intergalactic language of American English and led me inside.”
“They explained that it was a special party and I needed to strip and take a shower. It was a little weird, but I was down for some Samba immersion if you know what I mean.”
“When I was done showering, my clothing was missing!
I couldn’t find the exit and was led down a hallway by the humans, and I kid you not, the whole place smelled like excrement and was full of males.”
Ricardo’s voice lowered to a whisper.
“Captain, some of them were eunuchs.”
“That was the most terrifying moment of my life and I started running this way and that for a way out. The two humans started yelling at me, but I wasn’t having it.”
“Ramming a wall with my shoulder I exited and started covering ground.”
“I was tranquilized I think, because when I awoke I was in a moving vehicle.”
Captain Wardance frowned.
“Ricardo, you do not know the immense danger you were in and we are fortunate that the United States Space Force provided a bit of misinformation cover to the news stations on our behalf. Do you realize you were nearly killed?”
“Sir, dancing with those females would have been worth it. Respectfully sir, I would do it again.”
Captain Wardance had no choice but to lock up Ricardo for his blatant disregard and reckless behavior. Shaking his head in frustration, he thought about Ricardo’s love for Samba; it came from a series of events prior to his recruitment and was quite popular amongst his crew.
It was Earth date February 21, 2018, when unable to communicate through the prearranged frequency, the sensors detected a lock from a fighter jet and they had taken substantial damage at 41,000 feet above Earth’s sea level.
The aggressor, a USAF F-22 Raptor, likely scrambled from Nellis Air Force Base, had struck
the B.C. Halhïn Gol with her M61A2 20 mm gun through apparent Line-of-sight targeting, a mind boggling feat.
Bewildered, they had disengaged and ascended into orbit.
Due to an extended absence, and unaware that Walker Air Force Base had been closed since Earth Year 1967 and also unaware that leadership changes every 4 to 8 years, they had stressed the Air Force out a little causing them to fire.
So, on Earth Date February 24, 2018, failing to make contact with NASA, the USAF, or the Trump administration, they disengaged, docking in a secondary refuel point in Brazil, where repairs were made.
Without our consent, they were boarded by the Bala na Cara Cartel, a warlike people. While primitive, they carried AR-15 Rifles and 9mm pistols, both effective tools that can cause devastating wounds.
Enthusiastically, they filled our cargo bays with a white, powdery substance that our sensors determined to be dangerous.
Communication was nearly impossible until a Cartel member produced what is called a cell phone. With this tool, they translated from Portuguese to a language we were familiar with, Universal, Intergalactic American English. That is when they utilized a program called YouTube to play Samba. The crew loved it and the white powdery substance.
Captain Wardance had put a stop to it all and offered gold for the product to be removed from his ship and replaced with anything else.
The cartel obliged and replaced our cargo holds with coffee beans. Not wishing to offend, it was accepted. The cocaine was forgotten about, but the Samba was absorbed into the very hearts and souls of his crew like a siren song.
Captain Wardance peered out of a porthole window, wishing he was anywhere else than Earth at the moment, but realized that to save face he must remain. He was mortified by Ricardo and the news articles, hoping it would all go away after a while.
The Captain’s thoughts drifted to his thankfulness for the perfect blend of the Trump administration and woke culture that did volumes for intergalactic space travel.
Back in 1995, Gary Larson, a progressive advocate was shut down for public representation of Claire, negating public awareness. This all changed in the 2010s, when a greater awareness of social injustices emerged in a backward, yet subtly necessary sector of earth called the United States.
This developed into folks identifying as anything and everything. One could identify as another species if they wanted, and general acceptance was in the works.
Captain Wardance mulled over the bizarre relationship between woke culture and the Trump administration. To Captain Wardance, both sides were “woke”.
On January 6, 2021, a Jacob Chansley had identified as “alien”, and represented woke culture. It made no sense to Wardance why the two groups were at odds as they had worked together on issues before. On December 20, 2019, with bipartisan support, the US Space Force was established. They could work together.
The establishment of the US Space Force resulted in renewed communication and the invitation for the return of B.C. Halhïn Gol to US Air Space for refueling and limited trade.
If he could keep his crew in line, he might make another trip to planet Mashbitoes and strike a deal with the Heron Tribe in La Longi. Among other materials valuable to the US Military, the Heron had numerous deposits of Yttrium, Dysprosium, Samarium, and Neodymium.
Captain Wardance had the potential to generate immense wealth; the Heron Tribe willingly traded these materials for coffee.