The Life and Times of Oxygen Boy

Da Beautiful View

The leveling mechanism.

Trying the bench out in an extreme test case, on rocky terrain.

The bench lurks in its natual habitat, wating to catch the unsuspecting passerby, and keep them sitting on its comfortable stability. Crikey!

Ok. If anyone is really tired of this whole bench thing, say so. A couple of weekends ago, Kelly and I took the prototype up the mountain to try it out in real of-road conditions. It performed flawlessly. Check out some photos of this sick bench, and you'll want one yourself. :-)

Photo to go with Part Six

Part Six

The girl held up a high-powered stun gun, while the two boys and the man held golf clubs menacingly. “Ok, just step away from that ‘golf ball,” the girl ordered. Rachel started to back away. As she did, she reached down to Smita’s pocket, and undid the catch. Smita burst from the pocket! Jumping, she first bit the Syndicate girl squarely on the wrist, and then, leaping to the ground, she shoved the golf ball holding the Eden Microchip into the hole. Below them, they heard the sound of the ten separate locks closing the transport chamber, each keeping the Eden Microchip safe. Safe, beyond the Syndicate’s reach.

“We might have lost the chip, we aren’t going to loose you!” snarled the Syndicate man in the red shirt. He and the girl, both holding stun guns, advanced toward Rachel and James. Suddenly, the sound of a helicopter battered the air. James and Rachel could see the fifteen members of the team from HQ dropping to the ground. Soon, they had formed a perimeter, and subdued the Syndicate agents. “Amazing work, you two,” Xavier exclaimed. “Enough excitement for your first assignment, Rachel?” he asked. “Almost,” she replied with a grin.

Now, two hours later, a special transport team from HQ was winging its over the Pacific, back to the secret Easter Island labs. There, under the watchful eyes of the stone moai and hundreds of HQ security members, the Eden Microchip would be safe. There it would remain, until its powerful information could be used only for good, for the whole of humankind.

--The End

Photo to go with Part Five

Part Five

Rachel and James strode purposefully toward the Mercedes, James carefully hitting a sequence of buttons on his wrist display, to notify HQ of their success. When the reached the car, Rachel jumped into the driver’s seat. James placed a direct call to Xavier at HQ, and gave the current pass code. “James. So you and Rachel got it. Good work. Proceed to Las Vegas Transport Point Two,” Xavier said in a matter-of-fact tone. James asked, “Can you send backup? We’ve seen no sign yet of the Syndicate guards, but it’s not over yet.” “I’m already on it,” Xavier replied. “I estimate that the team will be onsite in approximately twenty minutes, give or take a couple.”

James hung up the phone. “Great, just great. Did they tell you about Vegas Transport Point Two at the Academy?,” James asked Rachel. “No, why?” “The dang transport receptacle is the seventh hole at Paul Bunyan Minigolf. One of Xavier’s ‘jokes.’ And that place is bound to be mobbed this time of day,” James continued. Twelve minutes later, they had reached Paul Bunyan Minigolf, just as James had found a golf ball shell to add to the outside of the roulette ball to disguise it. “That’ll be sixteen dollars,” the friendly attendant said. “What color clubs would you like? “Blue, please,” James answered. “Same for me,” Rachel said. This done, Rachel and James headed towards the seventh hole, in a hurry, but trying not to look like they were hurrying.

As they approached the seventh hole, they saw a man in a red shirt, along with two boys and a girl. “Pardon me,” James said, “When you’re done with this hole, could we quickly play it? “Sure, the man replied. In fact, go head and try your shot right now.” James carefully removed the golfball-encased roulette ball from his pocket and placed it on the green. “Hey, want to putt this one in before we play the hole?,” he asked one of the boys. “Sure,” the boy replied. As the boy readied for the shot, the young girl moved up behind James and Rachel. “So, you thought that the Syndicate doesn’t hire kids,” she purred. “You were dead wrong.” She held up a high-powered stun gun.

Photo to go with Part Four

Part Four

Rachel and James strolled into a casino, their nerves tense. Rachel held Smita in her secret pocket. James intently and cautiously scanned the throngs of people. His wrist, linked to the directional Geiger counter in the car, would tell him if any of the Eden Isotope was within five miles. The buzz on his wrist almost made James jump. “Geiger’s come through for us again!,” he exclaimed. “Great,” Rachel rejoined. “But Smita’s not finding anything, so it can’t be here.” James checked his wrist display for the direction and distance of what the Geiger counter had found: 5.5 MILES. DIRECTION 360 DEGREES. INTERMITTANT SIGNAL.

Minutes later, they entered the MGM Grand. Smita strained inside Rachel’s pocket. Past the poker tables, past the rows of slot machines, Smita led them. Finally, they came to the roulette wheels. Trying to appear nonchalant, James and Rachel played a few games, each at a different wheel. As they reached the third-to-last wheel, Smita nibbled Rachel’s hand, telling her that the Eden Microchip was very, very, near at hand. Slowly, slowly, James looked at his wrist, the information from the Geiger counter scrolled across: DISTANCE < 3’. DIRECTION UNAVAILABLE. SPEED 4MPH. “It’s got to be in that roulette ball. But where are the Syndicate guards? Rachel, get me an extra roulette ball off the rack!,” James whispered. Minutes later, he had exchanged the roulette ball containing the Eden Microchip for a normal ball, and they were walking toward the door.

Photo to go with Part Three

Part Three

Fourteen hours later, an hour after a quick breakfast stop in Grand Junction, CO, they cruised through eastern Utah. Rachel drove, while unsuccessfully James tried to doze. Suddenly, Rachel sat up straight. Directly behind them, a semi was barreling toward them! Rachel slammed on the gas pedal, and slowly pulled away from the semi, even as it accelerated to try to catch them. “James! How is Smita doing? Does she smell anything?,” Rachel anxiously asked. “Nope, seems to be sleeping quietly. And the Geiger counter hasn’t even blipped. Maybe that’s just a crazy trucker.” “Seems a little to coincidental to me,” Rachel said. “In any case, I’d feel better if we took the longer route through Arizona, rather than take I-70 and I-15 all the way. If that semi had anything to do with the Syndicate, it’ll be worth it.” James grumbled, “Ok, but you realize that’s going to add about six hours to the drive. But you’re probably right.”

Photo to go with Part Two

Part Two

Now, it was six AM, and still not so much as a single beep from the Geiger counter, and Smita had raised nary an ear. Rachel sighed. “Probably in DC, or something. And here I was thinking that this assignment was going to be so exciting.” James grinned. “Well, when you’ve been doing this job as long as I have, you might change your mind about wanting excitement. I’ll take a quiet night any time.” They continued walking. Soon, James wrist buzzed, and the data readout in his sleeve flashed. “Message from HQ. Let’s see what we’ve got,” he said. The message scrolled slowly: SYNDICATE SLIPPED US. OUR DETECTORS AT O’HARE AND LAS DETECTED EDEN ISOTOPE. PROCEDE DIRECT LAS VIA GROUND TRANSPORT. –XAVIER.

“Vegas it is,” intoned James. “Pity they won’t let us fly out there. I guess the Syndicate had better airborne monitors than we thought,” he added. An hour later, they were on the turnpike, heading west, in James’ late-model Mercedes. As Rachel slept, and Smita restlessly moved around her cage, James mulled over possible reason the Syndicate would have to bring the Eden Microchip to Vegas. How odd, considering that it had came from Easter Island in the first place, to take it all the way to the east coast, and then back west. He hadn’t come to any conclusions when his wrist buzzed, and another message came through: POSSIBLE LEAD. CALL HQ FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. –XAVIER. James yawned, and pulled off onto the shoulder. He poked Rachel in the shoulder. “Mind driving? HQ wants me to call them.” “No problem,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Give me a minute to wake up.”

“Xavier here,” the sharp voice on the phone said. “Xavier, it’s James. XC19QRT,” he said, giving the specific verification code for that hour. “James. One of our mobile sensors saw a short blip, showing a possible location southwest of Decatur, Illinois. We’d like you to check it out. Our source indicates it might be at a chicken farm.” Just a few hours later, they pulled up to the gate. The Geiger counter and Smita couldn’t find anything. Must not be here anymore. Still, they would do a quick interview with the farmer, before heading west again. “No, can’t say I’ve seen anything real suspicious-like lately,” the farmer drawled, while showing them some of his prize layers. “But the coons have been takin’ a few more than usual this year.” After thanking the farmer for his help, Rachel and James headed back to I-70, and started west again. Rachel called Xavier, and let him know what had happened. He promised to get the research department on the possible chicken connection.

Photo to go with Part One

Part One

James and Rachel walked cautiously through Philadelphia, peering into the gloom on the almost-black streets. The Eden Microchip could be anywhere, the centre had assured them that the Syndicate had taken the stolen microchip to a major northeastern city. Of the eight operatives, James and Rachel had been chosen to head down to Philly, while other operatives spread out to New York, Boston, and Washington DC.

The Syndicate, of course, was ruthless, and even if they could find the Eden Microchip, it would not be an easy task to wrest it from the darkly-clad figures that Syndicate used for transport services. And rightly so, in fact. The Eden Microchip, developed during decades of top-secret research, contained not only full copies of the genetic sequences of one billion humans. Not only this, but it also include complete and detailed instructions on a variety of related “activities.” Those who possessed the information contained could engineer beings that responded without question to the orders of their makers. It would also be possible for them to easily and quickly annihilate every single one of the one-billion people they had genetic sequences for, with highly specific viruses.

James pulled the special directional Geiger counter from its red case. “North, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, northwest, north again,” he said as the luminous dial swung around, trying to track the radioactive isotope which was bound to the Eden Microchip. “Nothing doing,” he muttered in frustration. “Must be than five miles away.” “Shall we try Smitta?,” Rachel asked. Smita, (short for Special Manual/Intelligent Tracking Agent), was a specially bred ferret, into whose very genes had been programmed every attribute of the Eden Microchip. Smita could sense not only the radioactivity, but also the low frequency radio waves which the device created. She wasn’t as reliable as the directional Geiger counter, but was, much, much more sensitive…

Assignment for Creative Thinking

Well, for one of my classes, I have to take six pretty unrelated photos, analyze them, and then assemble a narrative based on the photos, bringing them all together. I’ve decided that I’m going to blog sections as I go. I decided I’m going to write a somewhat sci-fi story. I’m not sure that it’s going to turn out to be a good story, but it’s fun anyway.