Dear Darwin Whitecrest,
I read your last letter with shock and horror. When your childhood should have been an experience of bountiful heaps of learning and adventure, it was instead a murky labyrinth of adult deception and possible free fall into the abyss of genetic manipulation. I don't mean to address you romantically when I write that my heart skipped a beat when I imagined you in so much danger. You were very lucky to have your Clair Clementine.
Although our current space station near Saturn is entirely operated by robots, I am told that once I step down from my current position in our joint venture, a new team of humans will need to spend 3-6 months on the station itself. The cloaking mechanism needs to be overhauled. Perhaps you will volunteer for the position of project director? This could be your chance to recapture your youth.
Before I stray too far from business matters, I would like to provide you and the Sultan with an update regarding the extraction of the Plexybutanol-hydrate-cosmostic-matterum.
** ** **
Extraction date: October 25-27
Location: Rings of Saturn
The extraction yield: 2.5 tons of matterum
Time: 72 hours of continuous mining activity
Summary: For the most part, extraction of the plexybutanol-hydrate-cosmostic-matterum was a success. However, operations were cut short during a routine telescopic surveillance sweep by the NSA. Our sources tell us that they suspected some sort of spy activity in the region, and were looking for foreign satellites of every kind. We are unsure as to why they would suspect spy activity in this part of the solar system. The NSA, needless to say, doesn't know about our work. However, they might have picked up some unscrambled transmissions between Julius, the Director of Artificial Intelligence at our base in Antarctica, and his favorite robot named Mort. They enjoy certain games of rhetoric and if Mort is ever recalled to Earth, we may enter him into the university debating circuit. We are very proud of his progress.
As for our near discovery by the Cassini-Huygens mission, this was easily averted. As it happens, one of our new marketing assistants for hair products, confections, and space operations is a whiz with Photoshop as well as the detail-oriented work of intercepting and manipulating transmissions between NASA's probes and land based research institutes. Remind me to keep Tallulah Fink on the payroll.
The materials are en-route to Earth where you can coordinate with my teams in Hawaii for the transportation to your refining plants.
** ** **
Lady Rosewater and I would very much like to experiment with the plexibubble properties once you have completed another prototype. We are eager to unlock secrets to its cellular rejuvenation.
Darwin, we may still succeed at this joint venture. A few things still will not let my mind rest. What did your country music spies uncover? What has happened to the rogue spies, Mme. Vicaduer and Mr. Butler? The Satellite Army is still planning their next move.
Best regards,
Anastasia
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Recollections of a Dangerous Youth
Dearest Anastasia,
I do offer my sincerest apologies for my tardy reply to your most recent letter. I have been busy detaining many country western singing stars and have been able to completely stop the espionage once detected. Although, the calluses on my thumbs from the banjo show no sign of relenting!
But back to your previous letter! I must admit that your detailed explanation of such glorious lunar endeavors have been on my mind since I first read about them. And I do so incredibly appreciate how horrid your snags must have been, but selfishly I found myself transported back to my younger days. I have been preoccupied with my childhood dreams of overseeing my very own space station.
You see at the time I was enrolled in the top secret NASA Enrichment Program for gifted tots. I have been overwhelmed by vivid memories of calibrating solar analysis systems, lunar specimen filters, and comet ice trail collecting modules. Can you image a better way to spend your pre-school and kindergarten years? Oh, and what a blow to my tiny formative ego when I was pulled from the program! It is both this joy and trauma that I have been fixated on as of late. You see my father's dear assistant Claire Clementine was hacking into NASA's mainframe to check on a grade I received for a simulated flight sequence test I was given. It was a “blind-landing†Mars simulation, touchdown, and then subsequent quick departure test sequence. You had to execute all commands and module programmings blindfolded within a fourteen minute span. You see Dear Dear Ms Clementine had helped me study for it and just couldn't wait for the results to be posted. Anyway, upon her covert hack she uncovered my perfect score, and an embedded document. This document outlined in great detail the true mission statement for the formation of the very organization that I was so thoroughly enjoying. It was not pretty.
It seems that NASA had plans of sending me and my classmates on real missions, which I would have been all for in all honesty. Looking back I can see the dangers involved. And what four year-old isn't going to jump at the change of careening through space unattended by nannies or bodyguards? However, we were all unaware that tiny children, tiny hands, and overly evolved brains in tiny heads (although my head has never been tiny) meant covert operations could be carried out faster and more frequently than simply using robotics and computer enhanced nanoprobic systems. With no care for our wellbeing NASA planned to keep us up in space permanently where growth would be stunted. We would therefore become workers. No longer budding scientists, but space station servants! Working our tiny hands, that would never grow any larger, to the bone! It seems that they planned to fake a crash upon reentry, faking our deaths, and giving our parents the notion that we were gone forever. Ms Clementine stopped all of that and certain NASA officials disappeared from the program and the planet I might add.
Oh childhood! Oh childhood conspiracies and scandals! Ripped from the joy of science and stars to an unknown fate! The pain is as fresh as any of Sultan Perriwinkle's hot lemon tarts he makes on Bastille Day for all the agents and assistants.
As we know nanoprobic systems are simply the bees knees now, if you will allow me to get giddy this once. Tiny humanoids are almost never used for space upkeep, and nanoprobes have been crafted for defense throughout the years. I personally have been using them for decades in our antiserum trails with our agents and staff. It seems that no matter how many times a dark element or secret agency tries to poison our camps the nanoprobic infused olives save lives! Science is a marvelous thing when you realize that all of the olives produced in the world have been laced with nanoprobes that fight newly developed concoctions of poison used by these unsightly regimes. Any time I find myself even with the slightest, most minute, near fluttering of malaise coming over me or just the general feeling of being unwell I go into action! I make a very cold, very dry, very LARGE martini with three olives. I drink the martini and then consume the olives. And upon doing so I feel as the world is right again. To me, in my life as of late, I find that all things come full circle. I also find that time passes faster than I ever realized before. And although I wish it would slow down. Suddenly, I find that a wish is not enough!
Urgently and with strict fiery fierceness I ask you: Do you remember the findings that plexibubble does not age, breakdown, or decompose, but that it seems to get younger? A distinction that was made by one of our scientists years backs? I wonder if we could harness this quality and potentially unlock keys to time travel or at the very least cellular rejuvenation? I realize that Lady Rosewater herself has the most knowledge on such information, of turning back the clock and what-have-you. Anastasia do you think it is time to go forth with such investigations? Please do give me your thoughts!
Always,
Darwin
I do offer my sincerest apologies for my tardy reply to your most recent letter. I have been busy detaining many country western singing stars and have been able to completely stop the espionage once detected. Although, the calluses on my thumbs from the banjo show no sign of relenting!
But back to your previous letter! I must admit that your detailed explanation of such glorious lunar endeavors have been on my mind since I first read about them. And I do so incredibly appreciate how horrid your snags must have been, but selfishly I found myself transported back to my younger days. I have been preoccupied with my childhood dreams of overseeing my very own space station.
You see at the time I was enrolled in the top secret NASA Enrichment Program for gifted tots. I have been overwhelmed by vivid memories of calibrating solar analysis systems, lunar specimen filters, and comet ice trail collecting modules. Can you image a better way to spend your pre-school and kindergarten years? Oh, and what a blow to my tiny formative ego when I was pulled from the program! It is both this joy and trauma that I have been fixated on as of late. You see my father's dear assistant Claire Clementine was hacking into NASA's mainframe to check on a grade I received for a simulated flight sequence test I was given. It was a “blind-landing†Mars simulation, touchdown, and then subsequent quick departure test sequence. You had to execute all commands and module programmings blindfolded within a fourteen minute span. You see Dear Dear Ms Clementine had helped me study for it and just couldn't wait for the results to be posted. Anyway, upon her covert hack she uncovered my perfect score, and an embedded document. This document outlined in great detail the true mission statement for the formation of the very organization that I was so thoroughly enjoying. It was not pretty.
It seems that NASA had plans of sending me and my classmates on real missions, which I would have been all for in all honesty. Looking back I can see the dangers involved. And what four year-old isn't going to jump at the change of careening through space unattended by nannies or bodyguards? However, we were all unaware that tiny children, tiny hands, and overly evolved brains in tiny heads (although my head has never been tiny) meant covert operations could be carried out faster and more frequently than simply using robotics and computer enhanced nanoprobic systems. With no care for our wellbeing NASA planned to keep us up in space permanently where growth would be stunted. We would therefore become workers. No longer budding scientists, but space station servants! Working our tiny hands, that would never grow any larger, to the bone! It seems that they planned to fake a crash upon reentry, faking our deaths, and giving our parents the notion that we were gone forever. Ms Clementine stopped all of that and certain NASA officials disappeared from the program and the planet I might add.
Oh childhood! Oh childhood conspiracies and scandals! Ripped from the joy of science and stars to an unknown fate! The pain is as fresh as any of Sultan Perriwinkle's hot lemon tarts he makes on Bastille Day for all the agents and assistants.
As we know nanoprobic systems are simply the bees knees now, if you will allow me to get giddy this once. Tiny humanoids are almost never used for space upkeep, and nanoprobes have been crafted for defense throughout the years. I personally have been using them for decades in our antiserum trails with our agents and staff. It seems that no matter how many times a dark element or secret agency tries to poison our camps the nanoprobic infused olives save lives! Science is a marvelous thing when you realize that all of the olives produced in the world have been laced with nanoprobes that fight newly developed concoctions of poison used by these unsightly regimes. Any time I find myself even with the slightest, most minute, near fluttering of malaise coming over me or just the general feeling of being unwell I go into action! I make a very cold, very dry, very LARGE martini with three olives. I drink the martini and then consume the olives. And upon doing so I feel as the world is right again. To me, in my life as of late, I find that all things come full circle. I also find that time passes faster than I ever realized before. And although I wish it would slow down. Suddenly, I find that a wish is not enough!
Urgently and with strict fiery fierceness I ask you: Do you remember the findings that plexibubble does not age, breakdown, or decompose, but that it seems to get younger? A distinction that was made by one of our scientists years backs? I wonder if we could harness this quality and potentially unlock keys to time travel or at the very least cellular rejuvenation? I realize that Lady Rosewater herself has the most knowledge on such information, of turning back the clock and what-have-you. Anastasia do you think it is time to go forth with such investigations? Please do give me your thoughts!
Always,
Darwin
Monday, July 23, 2007
How Dare Jimmy Jack/ NASA Found Us
Dear Darwin,
It took several weeks to write to you as I've just returned from our headquarters in Antarctica where we were making a few minor adjustments to our robotic space station in orbit around Saturn. We did manage to work with one of our Russian partners on the development of a fleet of remotely controlled robotic miners (whom we affectionately call Mort, Mark, Mavin, and Munro). These non-human minors are scheduled for another Plexybutanol-hydrate-cosmostic-matterum extraction attempt from the rings of Saturn sometime in October. Score 3 for the Rosewater camp! One must not celebrate too early, you see, we did run into several snags.
Snag #1:
Tempers are running high between the British head of our artificial intelligence team and the cosmologist Russian, Stan. Obviously they have too much access to world news from our base camp so I requested that we jam all television frequencies that carry 24-hour news. It is, at times, impossible to complete a simple equation with the two of them fighting about expelled diplomats every fifteen minutes.
Snag#2:
NASA may have discovered our space station. We knew that Cassini was making the rounds and taking several photo albums full of images, however, we thought that our base was properly cloaked at the time. As you can see in the image, they are very keen on investigating their new "moon."
These issues will add countless hours of paperwork for me and perhaps require a return to Antarctica. Could you think of anything worse, especially now that the resort season is at its grandest heights?
Regarding your spy situation, I must confess that I don't know much about country music. My music taste can run into the flavors of folk and blues and maybe if you combine them, they become country. Maybe not.
Lady Rosewater once entertained several of us in her little-known music room on the 80th floor of her favorite tower in Dubai. Among the instruments on display is her prized banjo, handed down from her great-great aunt Bess. Not everyone knows this, but Aunt Bess, working with various Underground Railroad leaders communicated with other escapees through coded songs, some of which later became some of the first country hits of the 1880s. So on behalf of Lady Kitty Rosewater, how dare Jimmy Jack Sparks use this beautiful tradition to smuggle our plexibubble secrets! Please excuse the outburst, but this is close to Kitty's heart and therefore, close to mine.
On a more practical note, do you believe that Mr. Sparks was a free agent or a member of the Satellite Army? They may be hellbent on creating obstacles of gold-studded steel and barbed-wire Velcro but we shall prevail.
Sincerely,
Anastasia van Orange
It took several weeks to write to you as I've just returned from our headquarters in Antarctica where we were making a few minor adjustments to our robotic space station in orbit around Saturn. We did manage to work with one of our Russian partners on the development of a fleet of remotely controlled robotic miners (whom we affectionately call Mort, Mark, Mavin, and Munro). These non-human minors are scheduled for another Plexybutanol-hydrate-cosmostic-matterum extraction attempt from the rings of Saturn sometime in October. Score 3 for the Rosewater camp! One must not celebrate too early, you see, we did run into several snags.
Snag #1:
Tempers are running high between the British head of our artificial intelligence team and the cosmologist Russian, Stan. Obviously they have too much access to world news from our base camp so I requested that we jam all television frequencies that carry 24-hour news. It is, at times, impossible to complete a simple equation with the two of them fighting about expelled diplomats every fifteen minutes.
Snag#2:NASA may have discovered our space station. We knew that Cassini was making the rounds and taking several photo albums full of images, however, we thought that our base was properly cloaked at the time. As you can see in the image, they are very keen on investigating their new "moon."
These issues will add countless hours of paperwork for me and perhaps require a return to Antarctica. Could you think of anything worse, especially now that the resort season is at its grandest heights?
Regarding your spy situation, I must confess that I don't know much about country music. My music taste can run into the flavors of folk and blues and maybe if you combine them, they become country. Maybe not.
Lady Rosewater once entertained several of us in her little-known music room on the 80th floor of her favorite tower in Dubai. Among the instruments on display is her prized banjo, handed down from her great-great aunt Bess. Not everyone knows this, but Aunt Bess, working with various Underground Railroad leaders communicated with other escapees through coded songs, some of which later became some of the first country hits of the 1880s. So on behalf of Lady Kitty Rosewater, how dare Jimmy Jack Sparks use this beautiful tradition to smuggle our plexibubble secrets! Please excuse the outburst, but this is close to Kitty's heart and therefore, close to mine.
On a more practical note, do you believe that Mr. Sparks was a free agent or a member of the Satellite Army? They may be hellbent on creating obstacles of gold-studded steel and barbed-wire Velcro but we shall prevail.
Sincerely,
Anastasia van Orange
Monday, June 25, 2007
Country Music Communication
Dearest Anastasia,
I am sorry for the delay in recent communications, but just as the Rosewater Camp has discovered spies within your own organization, so now again has the Periwinkle Camp. And I must warn you this new threat is like nothing any of us, with our highly classified training, has ever experienced before. The threat is absolutely diabolical and it involves the most lethal tool ever created… country music.
It seems that a still unknown operative deep with in our organization has been moonlighting as a country music producer and song writer. This is something that we encourage our team members to do. Or rather, we encourage them to moonlight within their fields of interests and not country music producing... Not that there is anything wrong with that. It seems that our codes, communication encryptions, and security mainframe systems are so impenetrable that this individual did not leak information directly from within the organization, but instead memorized key information to share with the outside. This information involves still classified plexibuble tests that we are conducting in a zero gravity bunker below the Hollywood sign in Los Angeles, California.
This individual infiltrated the "country music scene" and is trying to piggyback our secrets on seemingly undetectable audio files interwoven with popular country songs. The stolen information can only be decoded when it is downloaded from the internet from specific country music fan sites. Like honkytonkbadunkadunk.com or redneckwhatup?.com. One of the songs that Jimmy Jack Sparks, the operative’s codename, is called "My Wife’s True Love Is Her False Eye.” It is actually a very moving story about a woman who cannot cry when times get tough country-style, because of her glass eye. When we downloaded this song we discovered that the operative's hidden file described how the intended third party could decipher and use the stolen information. It also listed an international bank account number that funds would need to be placed in before any information were to be released via a new country hit. We have time before the secrets are released.
We are currently tracking down the corporation, organization, or individual who is overseeing the bank account, but it is likely that legal roadblocks will be met. I want to ask your advice on methods you would recommend to infiltrate the country music world. I myself am currently in Nashville setting up surveillance and getting fitted for a ten gallon hat. Please contact me as soon as your schedule permits.
Always,
Darwin Whitecrest
P.S. Did you get the box of marmalade I sent?
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