I began weaning myself off of Paxil in June, 2011. I had this sense that my life had been put on hold for more than 10 years, and I wanted to start feeling again. It seemed like I hadn’t been myself for a long time. It was very hard to define exactly what the differences were, but I knew that I was not as connected to the things that I enjoy in life anymore. I began by consulting my doctor about a reduction schedule. He advised me to reduce my Paxil dosage at a steady rate over the next two months until I was not taking the drug anymore. I decided to double his schedule and aimed to be Paxil free by November, 2011. I cut my 40mg pills into smaller and smaller doses, starting with 30mg, then 25, then 20, then 15, then 10. Finally, I was taking 2.5 mg/day until I took my last dose on November 14, 2011. September and October were very challenging months for me. I lost a lot of weight, I experienced severe anxiety and anger. My emotions were a bit beyond my control at times. My doctor thought that it was the re emergence of a pre existing problem. I was originally diagnosed with situational and social anxiety. Both of those conditions were very mild compared to the problems that I was having while stopping my Paxil usage, though.

I eventually made it through the bad times and was able to see what I was like without Paxil. November and December were much better months for me. I still had withdrawal symptoms, but my mind and my mood were much clearer. I started to write short stories and blog posts more often, I read a great deal more than I had in years. I went back to my old office and the people there were amazed at the difference that they saw in me, the way I talked, the way I carried myself. I had completely transformed in their eyes back to the way they remembered me from 12 years ago. It was a profound experience for me, seeing myself through their eyes. I began to see what effect Paxil had on my mind, and how it had changed my personality. I had been taking my life and career for granted far too much in the past decade. I thought that my apathy was a result of an internal failing. I never realized that Paxil was suppressing so much of my mental strength that things like work or relationships didn’t matter to me, anymore.

About two months after my last pill, I entered a severe withdrawal period. In the middle of January, I found myself lying on the living room floor, curled in a ball, racked with anguish. I envied those that had the strength to kill themselves. Suicide had never been an issue for me, I had never thought about it until I tried to stop taking Paxil. As I said, I have social anxiety. I am a very shy person who feels uncomfortable in crowds or when dealing with interpersonal situations. I started taking 10mg/day of Paxil again January 18, 2012, and those symptoms largely disappeared. I’ve found that I have a very foggy head, though. It’s very difficult for me to concentrate on anything for extended periods, and I have again been cut off from my emotions. My cat died a few days after I reinstated my Paxil usage, and I still have not grieved for her. I now know that Paxil is suppressing those emotions. They are still there, but I am not dealing with them in a healthy way. Instead of experiencing grief and loss, the drug is pushing all that away from my conscious mind. The feelings are still there, but hidden from me. I’ve found that I can’t write creatively, either. I’ve tried to sustain a story idea, but the continuity is missing. The creative force is gone. I’ve always been a slow, deliberate writer, but now the ideas just refuse to form in my mind. I can almost feel a physical barrier between myself and my creativity.

I took this drug not knowing the nature or strength of the effects. I went to my doctor, told him that I feel anxious in social situations, he prescribed Paxil, and I started taking it. I had great trust in the medical profession and the solutions that modern chemistry could provide. Now that I’m looking back on my Paxil experience, especially after the short period that I was Paxil free, I want nothing more than to stop taking this drug. I know that the underlying issues will still be there, but they are mild compared to the profound effects that Paxil has on my mental processes. I need to be patient with the process, though. I know that my crash and relapse into Paxil use was caused by weaning myself off of it too quickly. My current schedule extends into the first part of 2013, which seems like a long time, too long. It must be that way, though, or I will find myself relapsing again. I say relapse because I’ve come to think of this drug as equivalent to any other narcotic that causes dependence. The only difference between Paxil and a street drug is that it has been approved by the FDA for prescription use. It’s just as powerful and addictive as any street drug, and has an equal capacity to ruin the user’s life. It should be used as a last resort to treat severe mental issues. Instead, the Pharmaceutical companies market these drugs in a reckless, casual way. Television is filled with advertisements for drugs to treat an ever widening range of symptoms. Instead of developing more refined treatments for problems, the emphasis has been on wider applications and acceptance of these powerful psychotropic drugs. Most likely, there will come a time when there is a national crisis fueled by a celebrity death that will focus our attention on the harm that these drugs are doing to our society. Suppressing a population’s mental strength through the use of drugs is a dystopian idea that I thought could only exist in fiction. Instead, we live with it every day, and don’t seem to care. It’s just another effect that the drug has on us.

Twitch was my cat for almost 18 years.  She was always a bit skittish, but I know that she loved me.  She showed it in subtle ways that took a long time to recognize.  When I first got her, she hid for more than a week.  Eventually, she came out.  She never really liked sitting in my lap or being picked up.  I called her a Ten Foot Pole Cat.  She liked to be scratched, though.  Under her chin, behind her ears, and around her neck.  She would always greet me with a loud meow when I got home.

I don’t know what else to say about Twitch.  I’ll miss her terribly, she was a part of my life for a long time.  The best things about her aren’t things that I can express on a page.

I have an idea for a direct marketing product.  Take a regular accessory for fish tanks, A piece of coral, a plastic plant, even a treasure chest.  Split the item down the middle vertically. Attach magnets along the split and cover it with felt.  Attach the two together, one inside the glass, and the other outside the tank.  It could be marketed as a way to make your 2D fish tank pop out into the real world!  instead of a boring flat surface, you can now make your fish tank part of your world!  Enhance the beauty of your fish tank while giving your pets a place to live!  Place this simple accessory on your tank and both you and your fish can enjoy the hard work that you put into creating a work of art!.  It also doubles as a handy fish tank cleaner!

Sell them in assorted sets of 5-10 pieces.  include a plant, a coral, a chest and some other items.  The package would probably cost $10.   After the pitch,  double the offer and give free shipping (extra S&H on the free set)

General John Sullivan was a Lieutenant General in the Continental Army during the American Revolution. In 1779, he was tasked with removing the Iroquois Federation as a strategic threat and a force in New York State. The six nations of Iroquois were divided in their allegiances during the Revolutionary War. Four tribes, the Mohawk, Seneca, Onondoaga, and Cayuga, sided with the British since they had long standing ties with England. Two tribes, the Tuscaroro and Oneida, sided with the Americans. The campaign Sullivan fought against the Iroquois was one of the first examples of total war waged against an entire people instead of an opposing army. The purpose of his campaign was to drive the Iroquois population out of their homes in the Finger Lakes and create a refugee crisis for the British troops stationed in Fort Niagara, Ontario. This would serve the dual purpose of eliminating the Iroquois as a fighting force and limit the British garrison’s ability to wage war in the colonies during the 1779/1780 campaign season. Sullivan was provided with an army of almost 4,000 soldiers, artillery, and a large supply caravan. The army that Sullivan fielded was primarily composed of Continental regulars as opposed to militia.

The difference in the composition of Sullivan’s force was both practical and psychological. Continentals were the professional force in the Revolution, while militia were conscripts or short term volunteers. The British generally disdained forces composed of militia, thinking of them as rabble that would flee at the first contact with a professional force. Continental soldiers, on the other hand, were considered far superior opponents. Daniel Morgan used this perception to great effect at the Battle of Cowpens in 1781. He placed the militia at the front of his army with instructions to only fire a single volley before retreating from the redcoats. As the militia retreated over a low hill, the British followed eagerly, expecting a rout. Instead, Morgan had positioned a force of regulars on the down slope of the hill. As the militia passed through their ranks with the British close behind, the Continentals opened fire. The British were hit with a full fusillade, and the battle became a rout in favor of the Continental army. Sullivan’s army was something that the Iroquois and British had to take seriously.

The combined British and Iroquois force attempted to neutralize Sullivan’s army at the beginning of his campaign. The largest battle of the campaign occurred near the modern city of Elmira, NY just three weeks after Sullivan began marching into New York State. At the time, the town was called Newtown. One of Sullivan’s most trusted scouts, Lieutenant Boyd (Boid) found the British and Iroquois force, and turned the planned ambush against the ambushers. Sullivan reported to Congress that his army was able to firmly rout the opposing force and drive them in disarray back into the frontier. From this point forward, organized resistance crumbled, and Sullivan was able to march through the lands of the Six Nations almost unopposed. While moving his army from southern New York into the Finger Lakes region, Sullivan reported that his army marched at the astonishing rate of almost 16 miles per day. This rate is a logistical miracle considering the terrain that he was traversing. Western New York was considered an unexplored frontier to both the British and Patriots. Most of the pathways had been established by the Iroquois and were not truly suitable for the movements of a modern force with artillery and provisions. Sullivan reported that he had to continuously widen the paths in order to move the heavier elements of his column. The effect of Sullivan’s rapid advance was to throw the entire region into a panicked retreat. Most of the villages that the army entered were hastily abandoned a day or two before the troops’ arrival. There are contemporary accounts of food left on cooking fires and even a few people left behind in haste.

The Finger Lakes region of New York was formed during the last Ice Age. As the ice sheets moved south, they carved long thin valleys running North to South through the country. These valleys filled with water as the ice sheets retreated, forming distinctive fresh water lakes. In between most of the lakes there are steep hills that also run North to South. In general, the Iroquois founded settlements near the marshy areas at the ends of the finger lakes. This land allowed them to grow Corn, beans, and squash in well irrigated fields, while still giving them access to fruit trees that they grew nearby. The long, thin lakes also acted as highways, allowing the Iroquois to move easily by water or land.

The geology of the region made the campaign that Sullivan was attempting all the more difficult. His intention was to move from East to West, driving the population before him. Instead, he was forced to move up the Chemung Valley until he reached the northern ends of the finger lakes, then he turned West. He moved along the northern ends of the finger lakes, stopping in several towns along the way to establish camps and fortifications. He sent out details from his main force that ranged in size from 100 to 500 men. These forces traveled down the North/South paths along the shores of each lake and destroyed crops. It is fortunate for Sullivan that he was able to subdue the opposing force so early in his campaign. A guerrilla war fought in this environment could have been much more devastating to his army. As it was, he reported that he only lost 42 soldiers before September 30, 1779. This date marks the end of his campaign in western New York.

Lt. Boyd

Lieutenant Boyd was Sullivan’s most trusted scout. He was the driving force behind Sullivan’s victory at Newtown and was often chosen to scout in front of the army. As Sullivan approached the largest settlement in western New York, modern Geneseo (Chinesee), he sent Boyd and a small detachment ahead to scout the town. Boyd and his group were ambushed near Geneseo. Although they fought bravely, most of the group was killed. Boyd and one of his men were captured and brought to the town. When Sullivan came to Geneseo, the town was abandoned, but he found his Lieutenant dead next to a tree in the center of the settlement. From Sullivan’s letter to congress, September 30, 1779: It appeared that they had whipped them in the most cruel manner, pulled out Mr. Boid’s nails, cut off his nose, plucked out one of his eyes, cut out his tongue, stabbed him with spears in sundry places, and inflicted other tortures which decency will not permit me to mention; lastly cut off his head, and left his body on the ground with that of his unfortunate companion. Source General Sullivan turned back at this point. His original intention was to push his force all the way to Fort Niagara and engage the British force stationed there. I do not believe that he turned back solely because of the death of Boyd, but I do think that it was a factor in his decision to return to the East. All of the major Iroquois settlements in western New York had been razed, and the population was retreating in disarray. Sullivan had effectively reduced the fighting capacity of the Iroquois, and burdened the British with many refugees from the villages he had burned. He was still very concerned with the threat of ambushes and attacks, though. He detailed several times that he took great precautions to avoid being trapped by a force in the frontier. Now that Boyd was dead, he was missing his best scout. He reported several times that his supply of flour and beef was diminished through accidents. He lost supplies while fording streams and when some cattle left the supply caravan. Together, the loss of his favorite scout and his uncertain supply condition forced him to deem his mission completed and turn back to the East.

Buried Treasure

Persistent of the sparsely settled hills is the belief in buried treasure, hidden it is alleged, by General Sullivan’s officers, while crossing the narrow ridge northwest of the lake as a precautionary measure against being captured by the Indians. Sporadic fits of digging extended over a period of a century and a half have yielded nothing, however, in the way of silver and gold.Source Page
Looking at the different parts of the passage, I’ve confirmed several things from other sources.- Sullivan was constantly aware of ambushes. His British and Iroquois counterparts had attacked him before. An ambush discovered by Boyd led to the Battle of Newtown, his greatest success. An ambush had also led to his greatest loss, the barbaric death of Boyd. After he turned back, I think he would have wanted to travel as light as possible. Sullivan was very concerned about how quickly his army could move. Every time he stopped for more than a day, he left behind wounded soldiers and canon. He knew that he would be meeting up with 40 wounded and several canon, including 1 Howitzer, when he reached the town of Honeoye. As he moved Eastward across the North end of Canadice Lake, he would have wanted to lighten himself as much as possible before entering Honeoye. To that end, it’s reasonable to assume that he would hide any valuables plundered from the Iroquois settlements instead of carrying them. There is no indication that Sullvan ever returned to western New York after the campaign, so any treasure buried during his march should still be there. This area is now the major water supply for the city of Rochester. The city bought the lakes and surrounding areas in 1873. Since that time, the area has remained in a state of arrested decay, with no major development or activity to disturb caches that may be buried there.

The real treasure may not have been buried by Sullivan after all. As Sullivan pushed the wave of natives and British before him, they may have buried the important things that they couldn’t lose, but couldn’t carry. These things may be near the old native villages. The speed with which the Continentals over ran the area is remarkable. There are contemporary reports that the natives knew Sullivan’s position and progress. They posted scouts on high points between the lakes. A controlled panic might be descriptive of the mood in the Hemlock/Canadice villages during September, 1779. They knew that they had to leave to the West. After having 1 or 2 days to prepare for flight, several native caches may exist in the hills overlooking village sites.

TIMELINE:

A hand drawn map made by one of Sullivan’s troops detailing the path that the army took through the Honeoye and Canadice area.  The dates on the map are in conflict with Sullivan’s report to Congress.  I think the soldier marked dates for both the western and eastern travels on this map.

August 29: Battle of Newtown
September 5: Took village of Kendaia along the west shore of Seneca Lake. At this point in the campaign, Sullivan is moving at about 11 miles per day
September 10: Sullivan reaches Canandaigua
September 11: Sullivan reaches Honeoye
September 13: Boyd’s scouting force is nearly wiped out by an ambush, Boyd is missing
September 14: Army enters Geneseo: Genesee was a huge town and required nearly two days to raze. Crops were gathered into the huts before they were set on fire. Stores that could not be burned were hurriedly dumped into the river. Sullivan turned back at this point
September 17: Sullivan reaches Honeoye.

In the area of Hemlock and Canadice Lakes, they were moving East-West 9/11-9/14, spent 9/15 and 9/16 at Cuylerville (Geneseo), then moved West-East on 9/17. There are reports from members of the army that the West-East trip took 2 days instead of 1. Sullivan would then have arrived at Honeoye on 9/18.

The campaign in western New York can be seen in some ways as a prototype for Sherman’s March to the sea 80 years later. At the time, warfare was considered to be a conflict between standing armies not a war waged against an entire population. In modern warfare, it’s common for an army to target civilians and cities, but that strategy was almost unheard of at the time of the Revolutionary War. In many ways, Sullivan’s campaign in western New York was a new strategic tactic. It was devised through necessity and the need to secure the western frontier against attack. British and Iroquois forces had been raiding settlements in New York State for several years before Sullivan arrived. His campaign reduced the fighting capacity of both the Iroquois and British at the expense of the civilian populations in his path. The Iroquois nation never recovered its full strength after this campaign. As European settlers moved into the frontier and displaced the native populations, the decline that had begun during the Revolutionary War continued until the reservation system was adopted in the 19^th century. Today, the Iroquois Nation is composed mostly of small, separated enclaves surrounding the Eastern Great Lakes.

The battle of Newtown (Wikipedia)

Sullivan’s letter to Congress, September 30, 1779

Sullivan’s Campaign (Wikipedia)

I first saw the Netlord at a computer security conference. I didn’t notice him at all, at first. It was only after I heard people whispering about him that I saw him sitting in a corner. They huddled in groups, furtively looking at him and studiously looking at their feet whenever he raised his head. He wasn’t an imposing man, or even a good looking man. He sat alone on a long bench as far away from the entrance as possible. His head was bowed most of the time, his face obscured by a threadbare baseball cap. When he did look up, I could see that he wore impossibly thick glasses and had a ruddy face. His clothes were old and rumpled, a missing button on his shirt left a gap that showed through to a faded pattern on his tshirt. An oddity, even in a sea of odd people. He didn’t interact with any of the other people at the conference. He didn’t seem to welcome any conversations. The few people who came up to him were brusquely ignored and eventually wandered away. The people around me couldn’t stop speculating about him, though. “He’s the only hacker I’ve heard of that you should really fear.” “He can make you disappear off the net, destroy your life.” “Don’t make him angry.” “He took down the CIO of NetDyne.” “I heard that the NetDyne guy doesn’t even work in computers, anymore.”

To me, it all seemed like innuendo and gossip, how could one man be that powerful? He didn’t even acknowledge the presence of other people. I’d known other people who could make or break a career on the Net, but they were all executives and powerful people. People who demanded fear or worship. This guy didn’t even seem able to bring himself to talk to anyone. Even a basement hacker had more charisma than this slouch. I decided that I would try to find out why this man was so feared. I didn’t approach him like everyone else, it didn’t seem like I would get any further than the others who tried to talk to him. I began putting feelers out onto the Net that I knew he would find. Just little comments and tidbits that led back to me. It wasn’t a straight road, I made sure that he would have to track me down through a long and winding path. Despite my disdain for the hackers at the conference, their fear was infectious. Direct contact could bring a response I wasn’t prepared for. He was a dangerous man, I was sure of that. I’d seen what he had done to others. I began by hacking a database that I knew he monitored. I didn’t take anything, just inserted some clues that led him to another website. I encoded some more information at that site that led him to a server, then another site, then a database. Eventually the trail led to one of my own servers. The trail ended there, but I knew he would eventually find it. The absence of any other clues should tell him where and who I was.

I started to see some subtle signs that he had found my server. It wasn’t anything overt, just an update that applied more quickly than usual, some minor changes in my databases. He was looking me over, but I never was able to catch him doing it. Somehow, he seemed to have an ability to move in and out of systems without leaving any trace. Even when I was monitoring my systems closely, he could slip in, peruse the data, and slip away, leaving nothing but breadcrumbs that led nowhere. I left some bits of data lying around so he could find out more about me, but even that courtesy seemed unnecessary. Eventually, he began changing my files in small ways. It took me a long time to piece together what he was trying to tell me, but after sifting through just about every file on my computers, I pieced together an encrypted file. It was instructions about how to contact him. The path took me all over the world and into some of the seedier corners of the Net. Stealth hacker sites, anonymous clearing houses for stolen data, even a few government sites. It took me months to carefully pick my way through all the security and protection, but I managed to get through it all without being detected. Any one of the systems I bypassed could have brought a legion of netcops, or worse, to my door.

At the end of the trail was an anonymous email account. There was nothing about it that told me it was the Netlord except the difficulty I had getting to it. That was enough to convince me, and I sent him a timid wave introducing myself.

I waited nervously by my console for hours, but there was no response. I knew he had received my message because, well, there was nothing scientific to make me sure, just a feeling that I was being watched. It’s a strange thing to feel that someone is there with you, yet be alone. I knew I could hide myself from the most skilled hackers, but I also knew that my knowledge wouldn’t protect me from him. He was something different, almost magical. He was an anachronism, a magical being in a quantified world. I had never met the likes of him in all my work, and I hadn’t even met him, yet.

It was while I lay sleeping that he finally contacted me. I was awoken by my flickering consoles, which had turned on by themselves. Streams of data were coming in, but the core message was just coordinates and a time. I plotted the position to an anonymous netcafe that I knew. It was a small, dark bar that served caffeine and had a regular browsing parlor in front. Patrons came by Masstran, browsed the Net after work, and sipped stimulants. The back was different, though. Past a nondescript door behind the bar there were covered booths. The booths contained consoles that were wiped after each use and piggybacked their signals onto the legitimate business taking place in front. Hackers came into the cafe, whispered a code to the bartender, and took their keys to the back. It was a suitable place to meet an anonymous, nebulous creature. I arrived early and signed out a booth under an assumed name. I used one of the IDs that he knew, one that I had used to bypass security on the long trail. I sat in the double booth playing a game of sookotu. My mind wasn’t really on the game, and I got one disappointing score after another. It didn’t bother me much, as it might at another time. All I could think of was the man with the impossibly thick glasses and rumpled pants. One of the techs from the cafe suddenly opened the curtain and sat down opposite me. It surprised me greatly, the techs never interrupted the special patrons, their secrecy was guaranteed here. He was trim and handsome, young. Only his eyes conveyed any sense of age to me. He smiled widely, savoring my outrage at the intrusion.

“I’m sorry, I’ve signed this booth out for another hour, what’s the matter?”

“You have traveled a long way to see me, surely we can sit for a moment.”

“Who are you?”

“I am the man they call the Netlord. I dislike the name, it’s not really descriptive. A hacker ID should be descriptive, don’t you think? It sounds too much like a fictional character. It chafes me that I’m just a bogeyman to most people.”

“You?! I’ve seen the Netlord, and you look nothing like him.”

“That is an actor that I pay to make appearances for me. He is under strict instructions not to talk to anyone, just register with an ID that those who know will associate with me. It’s my attempt to diminish the legend, give myself some humanity in the eyes of others. You’re familiar with the nature of a hacker’s existence? How they manipulate from the shadows? How they carefully build their reputations, but remain hidden? I am as anonymous as possible, no one that I do not choose can find me. You have no idea the secrecy I have to maintain in my own life, the solitude that I have imposed on myself. You see, I have manipulated the powerful and ingenious from my hiding place for several years, and the burden of it has become more than I can bear. I’m in no danger of being found out, but even I need to connect with another person at the end.”

“The end? What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s just an expression, the end of my limit, I suppose. I have great power over the Net, but it’s not a comfort to just watch or manipulate. I intercede sometimes, when I see something I can’t abide. Mostly, I watch. I see the intricate flow of data that courses around the world each day. I can press my finger upon that artery and feel its pulse, or squeeze it out of existence. I have a great capacity to do harm, punish the wicked, but little ability to empower the weak. I let you seek me out because I wish to change that.”

Punish the wicked. I had never really thought of the net as a battlefield or a stage to exhibit any morality. It simply was what it was. Hackers and businessmen intertwined every day, their purposes were almost indistinguishable from each other, sometimes.

“I never noticed the burden in the beginning. Before I had any true power, I would make comments on a site just to get a rise out of the poster. It didn’t have to have anything to do with the subject, it was enough for me to get an angry reaction. It was a feeling of power, I had control over the emotions of another, anonymous person. A simple comment that took me a moment to write could drive an innocent off the Net for days. I was the wolf among the sheep, capable of anything.

“You see, I am just another degree of what you see every day. I was just another hacker that a greedy person might hire or a business might contract for a job. I stole or manipulated data, changed facts, all in the name of ever shifting alliances. I didn’t fight for anyone, I was simply an ID that could change the fate of companies or governments for a fee. From my console, I influenced decisions all over the world. I could slip a bit of data into a senator’s file, and end a career. I could change some settings at a treatment plant and flood cities. It was all in the name of “security” or “protection”. Just labels that people used to give my actions some meaning to their own ambitions. There’s a secret that you only learn when you shake the pillars of power. Each time I brought a network to its knees, the weight I carried grew a tiny bit heavier.

“As I said, I didn’t notice the burden it conveyed on me each time I hurt another. They were just IDs on the console, after all. It wasn’t until the stakes were higher, and the power more acute, that I realized the little moral chips I left behind each time I ruined a life. That was when the Netlord found me. I still have trouble believing how it happened, even though I exercise that power everyday. He simply slipped into my network and destroyed everything I had so carefully crafted. It was just a key swipe from him, but a lifetime for me. I made it my mission to find this hacker and exact my revenge. It took me more than a year to find him. When I finally was able to put a physical address to his ID, I went and confronted him. Looking back, I think he wanted to be found. Your experience tracking me should convince you of the futility of finding an operator of this stature who wishes to remain anonymous. He wasn’t very impressive in person, just a slight, underwhelming wisp of a man. He welcomed me into his home as if he’d been expecting me much sooner.

“As we sat, he turned a small data slip over and over in his hand. After he had described my history to me as if he had lived it himself, he presented me with the slip. He said that it was unique in all the world, it was a power greater than knowledge or experience. It was a key that would unlock any door, overcome any security. This device, that seemed so ordinary, was indeed everything that the hacker described. I’ve tried to copy it, not so much in an effort to disseminate this power, but more, in a sense, to dilute it’s power. None of those efforts have ever succeeded. It’s so simple in appearance, but unbelievably complex in operation. When you scan the slip, there’s just a simple program in the directory. It becomes just more coded junk whenever I try to move it to another device, though. Something in this particular slip empowers the program, they cannot exist separately. It’s a talisman of power. Just having it allows me to access any information I wish without fear of being caught.”

He was gripping the data slip in his hands, now. His expression was a strange combination of awe and revulsion that seemed to pain him deeply. His voice cracked as he spoke again.

“I began with greed. All I saw in this was a means to make myself wealthy, and that I’ve done. After I had sated any man’s thirst for power and money, I looked for some other use for this… thing. I thought it would be easy to do great good for the world with this. Perhaps I have, but the consequences of each action is hard to predict, even long after it’s done. I find the cost has become too much for me to bear. I intend to give it to you, as it was given to me. The weight of this responsibility must change hands every now and then, or it will overwhelm the bearer. I know you will not discard or destroy it, it’s too great a power for that. Maybe you will be able to find some positive use for this. I have tried, but my imagination is not capable of finding a way to do anything but destroy. Every power is capable of both I think, the failing is in me.”

He handed the slip to me without flourish or pomp. It felt like any other data slip as I turned it over in my hand. I didn’t doubt that it was everything he described. It was just like any other slip I had used all my life, but this one somehow seemed different as I looked at it. It held my gaze like nothing I’d ever seen. I turned it over in my hand, mesmerized by the fine cracks in its finish. They flashed as they caught the dim light in the booth. I looked up and found that the Netlord had left while I was engrossed with the slip. I was alone again. I stood up, walked shakily out of the cafe, and onto the endless streets that reached every corner of the world.

The sun was setting as I walked down the street. It peered down the alleys and through the apartment windows, only resting on me for a moment at a time. I arrived back at my house and sat in front of my console. I inserted the slip into the data port. There was no noise or visible change. It wasn’t until I started browsing that I saw the difference. Each site I went to, whether it was a bank or a government agency, lay open before me. It was incredible. I saw secrets, hidden information, even things that had not seen the light of day for decades. I looked for some sign that I was detected, but there was nothing. I could truly go where I pleased, do what I wanted. The feeling of power overwhelmed me and I started to change instead of just watch. I began at the central banking computers. I transferred money into a grandmother’s account, shifted profits away from a hostile takeover into a charity account. It was so easy to do good, I scoffed at the Netlord and his timidity. His failing was just a lack of will, not a shortcoming of conscience.

It wasn’t until I returned to the bank’s site the next day that I found out how hard doing good can be. The netcops had closed the grandmother’s account and arrested her as a thief, the charity was being investigated for fraud. I could act with impunity, but the consequences of my actions were merely shifted to whomever I tried to help. I started to think that the Netlord had chosen poorly, I had the same failing of imagination he did. We both thought of the world in terms of technology. I put the slip away, resolving not to use it until I could find a way to control it. It was only a day or two before it crept back into my thoughts. Within a week, it haunted my every waking moment. I woke night after night, my head throbbing. The slip could not be ignored or hidden. It seemed like the further I pushed it away from me, the more it dominated my thoughts. I dreamed about destroying it, but the waking thought of crushing it under my heel was more than I could stomach.

Slowly, I realized the dilemma that the Netlord had given me. Every idea I had was dismissed with inquisitional swiftness. There was no way to help one person without hurting another. I could become rich at the expense of another, but I could already see why that had horrified the Netlord so much. This little slip, that felt so light, was already a burden to me. I could take from the rich, give to the poor, but anyone I helped would only be harmed. Who would I destroy in the end if I started down that path? Power in and of itself will turn on the bearer with redoubled ferocity, even if exercised with the most noble intentions.

I retreated into a ghostly existence. I watched traffic go by, trying not to judge any of it. The machinations and manipulations wore at me, though. I felt power, but not the courage to use it. Wandering from system to system, it all seemed the same to me. I watched networks where hackers slithered through them, corporations dominated them, moguls controlled them, and regular people used them. There were avenues for action, but all I could think of were the repercussions of touching those lives in any way.

I became restless just watching and began to take long walks. The streets were mostly empty of people. The few I saw looked different to me, now. They seemed lost and bereft, as if a vital crutch had been pulled out from under them. The rest were shuttered in their houses, engrossed with their consoles, games, and the rhythms of the Net. They feared the constant stream of information, but they feared missing some vital bit out of that avalanche more. So they fixed their eyes, propped them open, and stared at it helplessly. They were trapped by the power of information, just as I was. I didn’t have the luxury of telling myself I enjoyed it, though. The slip embodied power and helplessness, addiction and freedom, all in the simplest package. I wished I had never sought out the Netlord, maybe then I could have continued like before. The past is inviolate, though. Knowledge gained, even if it is forgotten, leaves a mark on the bearer, and changes them in ways that are hard to predict. I had wished for power, but now that I had it, it tasted sour and left me bitter.

I stopped in front of the anonymous hacker cafe. Somehow, my wandering had brought me back here. I went inside and sat at the bar. Just a quick caff-shot before I went back home. By the time I’d finished my first, I found myself watching the people as they came and went from the MassTran portal. They fascinated me, somehow. I’d never tried to understand the people behind all those IDs until the slip came to me. One person drew my attention again and again. She was old, too old to be here among the rest. She wasn’t hacking or browsing. She walked around the public part of the cafe, talking to customers. Most of them ignored her or angrily sent her on her way. Some responded to her, though, and she seemed to take great happiness from those exchanges. She lifted their heads from their consoles for a moment and smiled as they blinked the data out of their eyes. She laughed and teased them in a motherly way. Suddenly, they had a humanity, perhaps even a dignity, that they didn’t have online. I strained to hear what she was saying. She knew technology, the terms and stories that the users told her didn’t frighten or confuse her. She talked comfortably about security and even corrected some of their errors. She wasn’t concerned with the technology, though. She wanted to know each person, as a person, without the filter of the console and all the pretense it imparted to the rest of us. When they talked to her, they weren’t trying to be 10 centimeters taller, or 15 kilograms lighter. They were just people.

After a time, she became aware of me and the way I watched her. She smiled at me. I gestured her to follow and went towards the back of the cafe. She hesitated a moment before passing through the door. That short pause filled me with empathy for her. She knew what happened in the back, but eschewed the dark arts. She sought out the good in each person, not power over them. We sat in a booth for a moment without saying anything. I think she understood that something weighed heavily on me. She waited patiently for me to dredge it up. It took me a moment to control the turmoil and panic I felt as I confronted my intention.

“I am the Netlord, I have great power over the Net and the people who use it, but little power over my own failings. I have brought you here because I wish to change that.”

I placed the data slip on the table between us. I immediately felt lighter, as if I had dropped a great weight. My eyes watered as I described the power and responsibility that I was passing on to her. She listened to my entire story without saying a word. When I had finished, she came to my side of the booth and hugged me fiercely. We left hand in hand, only parting as we reached the front door of the cafe. I left her there and walked out onto the street. The sun was high in the sky, it didn’t filter through the apartments and alleys like it had before. It shone unabashed on my face. I walked home with a new confidence that I had found the right custodian for the data slip. I was human, again. It was only then that I felt like I deserved the title of Netlord.

I first saw the Netlord at a computer security conference. I didn’t notice him at all at first. It was only after I heard other people whispering about him in their groups that I saw him sitting in a corner. He wasn’t an imposing man, or even a good looking man. He wore impossibly thick glasses and old, rumpled clothes. An oddity, even in a sea of odd people. He didn’t interact with any of the other people at the conference. He didn’t seem to welcome any conversations. The few people who came up to him were brusquely ignored and eventually wandered away. The people around me couldn’t stop speculating about him, though. “He’s the only hacker I’ve heard of that you should really fear.” “He can make you disappear off the net, destroy your life.” “Don’t make him angry.” “He took down the Ceo of NetDyne.” “I heard that the NetDyne guy doesn’t even work in computers, anymore.”

To me, it all seemed like innuendo and gossip, how could one man be that powerful? He didn’t even acknowledge the presence of other people. I’d known other people who could make or break a career on the Net, but they were all executives and powerful people. This guy didn’t even seem to be able to bring himself to talk to anyone. Even a basement hacker had more charisma than this slouch. I decided that I would try to find out why this man, out of all the other techies, was so feared. I didn’t approach him like everyone else, it didn’t seem like I would get any further than the others who tried to talk to him. I began putting feelers out onto the Net that I knew he would find. Just little comments and tidbits that led back to me. It wasn’t a straight road, I made sure that he would have to track me down through an ever widening path. I hacked a database that I knew he monitored. I didn’t take anything, just inserted some clues that led him to another website. I encoded some more information at that site that led him to a server. Eventually the trail led to one of my own servers. The trail ended there, but I knew he would eventually find it. The absence of any other clues should tell him where and who I was.

I started to see some subtle signs that he had found my server. It wasn’t anything overt, just an update that applied more quickly than usual, some minor changes in my databases. He was looking me over, but I never was able to catch him doing it. Somehow, he seemed to have an ability to move in and out of systems without leaving any trace. Even when I was monitoring the activity, he could slip in, peruse the data, and slip away, leaving nothing but breadcrumbs that led nowhere. I left some bits of data lying around so he could find out more about me, but even that courtesy seemed unnecessary. Eventually, he began changing my files in small ways. It took me a long time to piece together what he was trying to tell me, but after sifting through just about every file on my server, I pieced together an encrypted file. It was instructions about how to contact him. The path took me all over the world and into some of the seedier corners of the net. Stealth hackers sites, anonymous clearing houses for stolen data, even a few government sites. It took me months to carefully pick my way through all the security and protection, but I managed to get through it all without being detected. Any one of the systems I bypassed could have brought a legion of netcops to my door.

At the end of the trail was an anonymous wave address. There was nothing about it that told me it was the Netlord except the difficulty I had getting to it. That was enough to convince me, and I sent him a wave introducing myself.

I waited nervously by my console for hours, but there was no response. I knew he had received my message because, well, there was nothing scientific to tell me he knew I had found him, just a feeling that I was being watched. It’s a strange thing to feel that someone is there with you, yet be alone. I knew I could hide myself from the most skilled hackers, but I also knew that my knowledge wouldn’t protect me from him. He was something different, almost magical. He was an anachronism, a magical being in a quantified world. I had never met the likes of him in all my travels, and I hadn’t even met him, yet.

It was while I lay sleeping that he finally contacted me. I was awoken by my flickering consoles, which had turned on by themselves. Streams of data were coming in, but the core message was just coordinates and a time. I plotted the position to an anonymous netcafe. He had chosen a hacker space, one with covered booths and consoles that were wiped after each use. It was a suitable place to meet an anonymous, nebulous creature. I arrived early and signed out a booth under an assumed name. I used one of the Ids that he knew, one that I had used to bypass security on the long trail. I sat in the double booth playing a game of sookotu. My mind wasn’t really on the game, and I got one disappointing score after another. It didn’t bother me much, as it might at another time. All I could think of was the man with the impossibly thick glasses and rumpled pants. One of the techs from the cafe suddenly opened the curtain and sat down opposite me. He was trim and handsome, young.

“I’m sorry, I’ve signed this booth out for another hour, what’s the matter?”

“You have traveled a long way to see me, surely we can sit for a moment.”

“Who are you?”

“I am the man they call the Netlord. I dislike the name, it’s not really descriptive. A hacker ID should be descriptive, don’t you think?”

“You?! I’ve seen the Netlord, and you look nothing like him,

“That is an actor that I pay to make appearances for me. He is under strict instructions not to talk to anyone, just register with an ID that those who know will associate with me. You’re familiar with the anonymous nature of a hacker’s existence, but you have no idea the secrecy I have to maintain in my own life. You see, I have watched the powerful and ingenious from my hiding place for several years, and the burden of hiding has become more than I can bear. I’m in no danger of being found out, but even I need to see another person at the end.”

“The end? What do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s just an expression, the end of my limit, I suppose. I have great power over the net, but it’s not a comfort to just watch or manipulate. I intercede, sometimes, when I see something I can’t abide, but mostly, I watch. I see the intricate flow of data that rounds the world each day. I have a great capacity to do harm, punish the wicked, but little ability to empower the weak. I let you seek me out because I wish to change that.”

Punish the wicked. I had never really thought of the net as a battlefield or a stage to exhibit any morality. It simply was what it was. Hackers and businessmen intertwined every day, their purposes were almost indistinguishable from each other, sometimes.

“I never noticed the burden of power in the beginning. When I was a child, I would make comments on a site just to get a rise out of the poster. It didn’t have to have anything to do with the subject, it was enough for me to get an angry reaction. It was a feeling of power, I had control over the emotions of another, anonymous person. A simple comment that took me a moment to write could drive an innocent off the net for days. I was the wolf among the sheep, capable of anything.

“You see, I am just another degree of what you see every day. I was just another hacker that a greedy person might hire or a business might contract for a job. I stole data, changed facts, manipulated data, all in the name of ever shifting alliances. I didn’t fight for anyone, I was simply an ID that could change the fate of companies or governments for a fee. From my console, I influenced decisions all over the world. I could slip a bit of data into a senator’s file, and end a career. I could change some settings at a treatment plant and flood cities. It was all in the name of “security” or “protection”. Just labels that people used to give my actions some meaning to their own ambitions. There’s a secret that you only learn when you shake the pillars of power. Each time I brought a network to its knees, the weight I carried grew a tiny bit.

“As I said, I didn’t notice the burden it conveyed on me each time I hurt another. They were just Ids on the console, after all. It wasn’t until the stakes were higher, and the power more acute, that I realized the little moral chips that I left behind each time I ruined a life. That was when the Netlord found me. I still have trouble believing how it happened, even though I exercise that power everyday. He simply slipped into my network and destroyed everything I had so carefully protected. It was just a key swipe from him, but a lifetime for me. I made it my mission to find this hacker and exact my revenge. It took me more than a year to find him. When I finally was able to put a physical address to his ID, I went and confronted him. Looking back, I think he wanted to be found. Your experience tracking me should convince you of the futility of finding an operator of this stature who wishes to remain anonymous. He wasn’t very impressive in person, just a slight, underwhelming wisp of a man. He welcomed me into his home as if he’d been expecting me much sooner.

“As we sat, he turned a small data slip over and over in his hand. After he had described my history to me as if he had lived it himself, he presented me with the slip. He said that it was unique in all the world, it was a power greater than knowledge or experience. It was a key that would unlock any door, overcome any security. This device, that seemed so ordinary, was indeed everything that the hacker described. I’ve tried to copy it, not so much in an effort to disseminate this power, but more, in a sense, to dilute it’s power. None of those efforts have ever succeeded. It’s so simple in appearance, but unbelievably complex in operation. When you scan the slip, there’s just a simple program in the directory. It becomes just more coded junk whenever I try to move it to another device, though. Something in this particular slip empowers the program, they cannot exist separately. It’s a talisman of power. Just having it allows me to access any information I wish without consequence.”

He was holding a data slip in his hands, now. His expression was a strange combination of awe and revulsion that seemed to pain him deeply.

His voice cracked as he spoke again “I thought I would be able to do great good for the world with this. Perhaps I have, it has brought me great wealth and power, but I find the cost has become too much for me to bear. I intend to give it to you, as it was given to me. The weight of this responsibility must change hands every now and then, or it will overwhelm the bearer. I know you will not discard or destroy it, it’s too great a power for that. Maybe you will be able to find some positive use for this. I have tried, but my imagination is not capable of finding a way to turn this sword to good. Every power is capable of both, I think the failing is in me.”

He handed the slip to me without flourish or pomp. It felt like any other data slip as I turned it over in my hand. I didn’t doubt that it was everything he described. It was just like any other slip I had used all my life, but this one somehow seemed different as I held it. It wasn’t power that I felt, but responsibility and a burden of knowledge that wrapped itself around my mind. I looked up and found that the Netlord had left while I pondered the slip. The booth was empty again. I stood up, walked shakily out of the cafe, and onto the endless streets that reached every corner of the world.

For most photography, there is a certain condition that the photographer sees in the viewfinder that triggers a shutter release. In portraiture, it may be a certain smile that you’re looking for, or a particular tilt of the head. The study of what triggers you to take a photograph is a way to gain some insight into your own artistic vision and the methods that you use to take pictures. For most photographers who are just starting to develop a style, there aren’t many rules involved in taking pictures. You find a suitable subject and take some pictures. Just as a writer develops a certain voice that they use in all their writing, a photographer develops a style and vision that is unique to their work. A unique style relies on several factors, but the trigger that causes you to take a picture plays a large role in the final image that you capture.

The timing of a photograph is governed by several things. Even in a Single Lens Reflex camera, there is some lag between the shutter release and the final image capture. That lag is minimal compared the human lag that every photographer experiences. Even the best hand/eye reflexes introduce a small delay between your intention to take a picture and an image capture. For most people, the lag between seeing a visual queue and translating that into a physical action is about 1/3 of a second. It doesn’t sound like a long time, but you’re trying to capture an image that’s also in the same time frame. Most photographs we take in day to day life have shutter speeds between 1/60^th and 1/1000^th of a second. When combined with human lag, the range of time between your intention to take a picture and the final image may take you past the instant you wanted to capture. Photography is about capturing that small instant of time. When we watch an event, each instant combines with all the others to create a stream of memory that we use to recall the event. In photography, we’re trying to capture and accentuate an instant pulled from that stream. The instant we choose to capture should speak to the whole event and emphasize some aspect of it.

This picture doesn’t capture the emotions of the event.  In this rally, the crowd was very energized by Hillary Clinton’s presence.  This picture captures an overly intense expression.

When you’re taking pictures of a person, the correct instant to capture an image varies from person to person. As humans, we’re pre disposed to evaluate subtle expressions in other people. The mechanical process of taking a picture can capture an instant where not all of the moving parts of a person’s face are aligned with the image you’re trying to capture. It’s relatively easy to capture a person making a strange face just by taking a picture. Even in an encounter where they’re smiling and interacting with other people, their face goes through a range of expressions that can mean different things in a photograph. Transitioning from a smile to a laugh can purse the lips in a seeming snarl. The act of talking also takes the face through a range of expressions that, if captured as an instant, don’t represent what the person was actually expressing. News sources have a lot of fun using these pictures to represent politicians in a way that may be contrary to the narrative of the event. In personal photographs, we usually want to capture an instant that is flattering or expressive. To find the specific trigger that will cause you to take the right picture, it’s important to study the way the subject’s face changes as they talk or pose. Even a stationary pose will change as the person expresses their thoughts in the muscles of their face. If you want to capture a smile, the right instant to push the shutter is as the person begins their smile. A smile changes as a person tries to maintain it. The longer a person has to hold an expression, the more forced it will appear in the final picture. Start by watching the way their expression changes as they talk. Don’t look at them through the viewfinder at this stage, you just want to watch how their face works. Each person’s face is unique. Even if you want to capture a smile, the expressions preceding it will be different for each person. Once you have identified the specific expression and facial angle that you feel would make the best picture, start using your viewfinder to time your photograph. Experiment with different times. The purse of a lip or the widening of an eye can be enough to trigger a photograph because it precedes the expression that you want to capture. Even though you can see the entire face in your viewfinder, it is very difficult to keep track of all the different parts of the face that contribute to an expression. Another aspect of human psychology is that we evaluate an entire facial expression but are unable to concentrate on the totality of a face. We focus our vision on a single part a person’s face and rely on our innate ability to understand expressions to fill in the rest of the information. In a photograph, we can evaluate the entire expression at our leisure instead of having to fill in the gaps like we do in real life. It takes some experimentation to capture the right combination of features that contribute to a good picture. Usually, the eyes are a good trigger to use for portraits. The eyes and mouth are the two parts of an expression that humans are drawn to when they look at a face. Eyebrows and cheeks act in conjunction with these two parts to create a whole facial expression. A subject looking directly into the lens can make a powerful picture, but it may not be the picture that portrays the subject in the way you want. A direct gaze can portray the subject in a confrontational or confident light. Looking down usually portrays the subject as contemplative or uncertain. An upward gaze can portray humor or imagination. Which expression you capture depends on the mouth. Since it’s very hard to track both features at the same time, use one as the trigger for your shutter, and cull out the shots that do not match the result you wanted to capture. This is the point where a photographer’s vision impacts the final result. A good photograph will match both parts of a face together to give some insight into the character of the subject. Upturned eyes combined with a wide grin create a whimsical, imaginative image.

I used a low angle and a tilted frame in this portrait to create a sense of movement. Combining a low angle, which imparts a sense of dominance in the subject, with a whimsical expression is a juxtaposition that can convey several things in a picture.

One of the truly magical things about photography is our ability to capture an instant that is descriptive of the subject, but counter intuitive to our pre conceived notions of the subject’s character. The pictures we remember are the ones that reveal some hidden quality about the subject. Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue to the camera is an iconic picture because we always associate him with dour, complicated subjects that don’t lend themselves to levity. For the photographer, that unexpected trigger caused him to release the shutter because it was so far outside the range of expressions that he was expecting. He HAD to push the shutter button. In the midst of your study of the human face, be open to the unexpected. Creating a picture with a specific expression that matches your vision of the person, and quantifying the parts of the face that contribute to that expression are important in portraiture, but are not the end of people pictures. A strange picture doesn’t necessarily have to portray the subject in a negative light.

If your subject begins to stiffen and become more aware of your actions, try lightening the mood by joking around a little.  In a group, getting someone to do some “Moose ears” is a fun thing to do.

When you start a session with a subject, don’t start taking pictures right away. Keep your camera in plain sight, but don’t put the person into the role of a photographic subject right away. Build a rapport with them, first. Ask them about themselves and let them think about it in a natural way. They may have some specific things that they want to portray in a portrait. It’s not very often that we think about the way that our thoughts control our facial expressions. Usually, we only pay attention to the way our face is changing when we’re in an interview or other formal setting. If you have a very specific image in mind, having them control their expression is necessary. Otherwise, the best way to get a natural looking picture is to put the subject at ease. An interesting effect of portraiture is that the camera can eventually disappear in the mind of the subject. Even when I’m right in front of the subject, they will eventually see only me instead of the camera. It’s natural for them to focus on the camera at the beginning. It’s only in the interaction with the photographer that the camera becomes a background object in their mind. That’s the purpose of the initial stage where the camera is visible, but not an active part of the conversation. The effect is similar to the way we focus on a specific part of a face to evaluate an entire expression. The camera is part of their visual field, but if you engage them throughout the session, they will be forced to focus on you instead of the camera. If you feel that the session is becoming too formal, try telling a joke or having them strike a strange pose. When I feel that they are becoming too focused on the camera and stiffening their poses, I usually ask them to stick their tongue out or make another strange facial expression. You can also come out from behind the camera, block their view of it, and talk about something else for a few minutes. Another example is a group picture. When they’re starting to get painted expressions, I usually ask why no one has done any moose ears on the person next to them. It’s a fun joke that usually loosens up the group again.

I took this picture kneeling because I wanted to convey more power from the subject.

The angle of your photograph also determines a lot about the final image. Taking a picture with the lens below face level gives the subject more prominence. A picture taken from above gives them a vulnerable quality. The difference is only a matter of inches. When you line up your camera with a face, placing your center spot on their chin or forehead, then angling the lens to capture the face is enough to produce the effect. This can be used to create interesting final images. Taking a picture of a child from a low angle adds a weight to the subject that is often in congruent with our pre conceived notions of children. In real life, we view children from above, mostly. Giving the child more dominance in the image not only increases the importance felt by the viewer, but also adds a dimension that we’re not accustomed to seeing in our normal lives. In the same way, taking a picture of an important person from a slightly high angle gives them a vulnerability that you may not see in them every day. The position of the eyes in an angled shot also conveys a great deal about the subject’s character. In a low angle shot, having the subject look directly into the lens combines confidence with prominence, enhancing the overall effect. A picture taken from a higher angle with the eyes averted compounds the vulnerability of the subject and allows the viewer to connect with the subject in an emotional way. A straight on shot, with your center spot aligned with the subject’s nose creates a documentary style photograph, which can be a good technique when you’re photographing a naturally artistic person. It’s the disconnect between your photographic choices and the nature of the subject that creates a unique vision of them and reveals an aspect of the subject.

It’s not really possible to keep all of the rules of facial expressions in mind while you’re taking pictures. Thinking about the elements that make up the human face is a good exercise because photography is an intuitive art. Preparation for the photographic session influences the decisions you make while taking pictures. Photography is a mechanical process that describes an intuitive state of emotion. Because of this, you need to think about the mechanical aspects before you can really develop an intuitive style in your photography. The mechanics of facial expressions are something that we’re born to understand, so we don’t spend a lot of time examining how they work and what impact subtle changes in a face have on an image. Since the final image is static, the viewer can examine much more of it than they could in a fluid, real life situation. Developing a sense of the image that you want to portray before you start taking pictures will improve your final product.

I signed up for the Korsakoff mission three years ago. It seemed like a strange assignment, but I was happy to volunteer for a solo deep space mission. Command wanted a pilot, and I needed a purpose. I’m still not sure why the Central Computers picked this as a manned mission, deep space probes had been computer operated for as long as I could remember. The Korsakoff was constructed with full living quarters, though. I had more living space on this ship than I ever had back on Earth. My home module was just a sleeping room with a wall screen and a food slot. Here, I had three rooms, even a full head. What did it matter that there was just empty space outside? On Earth, it was just endless housing modules. Here, it was endless stars. When Central waved me and asked if I wanted to go on the mission, I gladly accepted. It wasn’t just the extra living space. I’d been feeling isolated over the last couple years and not only because I never saw anyone except on the wall screen. When the Central Computers started taking over work, it seemed like a new paradise. Humans could live their lives in contemplation and study, leaving all the rest to the machines. I don’t think we ever really agreed to it, it just seemed to happen naturally. It was just a short step from robots building vehicles to robots designing them. Eventually, we didn’t even need the vehicles. Everything was delivered to us by the machines. It had been years since I went outside my little module. It was a prison, but it felt like I was the only one who knew it. They all seemed so happy on the screen. The gulf between that wall screen and the way I felt seemed as deep as space itself.

Pilot, there is a variance in the communications array, could you investigate it?

“Hmm? Sure, Carl, I’m on my way.” I suspected that Carl was just sending me on some busy work. The maintenance bots could fix any problem as well as I could, better, probably. The K series command computers were very intuitive. I think that Carl knew about my suspicions, but we never discussed it. It was a lie, but it was a soft lie, it didn’t hang in the air between us, so we both let it go. I passed a few maintbots on my way to the communications room. They scurried along the edges of the hallway, deftly sidestepping my feet as they went about their business.

“So, what’s the problem, Carl? We still have a link back home?”

Yes, Pilot, the manual array is interfering with my automated systems. I believe that a maintbot is responsible, but their logs are empty. I will investigate the cause. Please continue to the communications room.

The communications room had a few maintbots hanging on the walls. I had to laugh a little, the manual comm array was just turned on, any robot could flip the switch back off, busy work, indeed.

Pilot, have you ascertained the problem with the manual array?

I paused a moment with my finger over the switch. It was turned on, but didn’t seem to be working. The manual array was an anachronism, a leftover from the time when these ships had human crews. Once the missions became automated, communications were handled automatically. I suppose that even computers can become bound to tradition. I couldn’t think of any other reason to have such a device. Carl didn’t interrupt, even though it could see me poised over the switch. Carl never showed anxiousness, but I savored a short imaginary moment thinking about what it would be like if it did. The thought that it understood what I was thinking was now competing with my imagination. I turned the array off before I could think about it too much. I shuffled back to my chair, feeling depressed that even that small defiance was pointless.

Thank you, Pilot, communications have returned to normal. Would you like to have dinner, now? I have created a new recipe for surf and turf that I believe you will enjoy.

“Dinner? What time is it? Never mind, doesn’t matter. I’ve had enough reconstituted waste for now, how about a game of Sookotu?”

The wall screen flickered into a virtual hallway. Characters streamed out of ports on one side and into ports on the other side. The game bored me, but it took my mind off the idea of eating. No matter how long reconstituted food had been deemed safe, the idea of repackaging waste back into food unsettled me. Carl could create almost anything, it even tasted…. well, not real, but not right, either. I finished the seeded supplies more than two months ago. All that was left were recycled steaks or shrimp, or whatever Carl could come up with. The idea was that humans only absorb about half of the nutrients they consume, so recycling the waste back into food would make it last longer. Efficiency is everything in space travel. The logic of it tasted just as artificial as the food whenever I looked at a plate full of paste.

The food reprocessing procedure is well documented as safe, Pilot. All dangerous elements are removed at the beginning of the process. The reconstitution process creates the best approximation of conventional food that we can devise. I am concerned at your reluctance, you caloric intake has been decreasing lately.

We can devise. What would a computer know about real food? How long had they been approximating human food that they only knew of second hand? No matter what Carl said, or… thought… I was still eating shit. I decided that it didn’t matter and I would have to eat sometime, just not right now.

“Carl, let’s talk about something else. What’s the status of our mission? Did the communication problem have any impact?”

I deployed the third probe during your last sleep cycle. It is functioning properly. I have not received the scheduled confirmation from the Central Computers, yet. I am concerned because protocol calls for an immediate response to a probe launch. Currently, I am controlling it with my systems.

“Is that a problem? Should we call the Central Computers? Find out why?”

That is not necessary, I can maintain the probe’s systems for another 62 hours before requiring external support. Would you like to continue your game? I have paused playback so you may resume.

“No, I’m more interested in the communications problem. How long have you been out of contact with Earth?”

We are still in contact with Earth, it is the probe management systems that are not functioning.

“Then, let’s wave them, ask why the probe systems are malfunctioning.”

That is not possible.

“What? Why? I thought you said that we could still communicate with the Central Computers.”

I will attempt communication during your next sleep cycle.

“Attempt? Call them now, I want to know” Suddenly, the society that I had discarded so easily seemed more important than anything else.

They will not respond.

“Carl, what’s going on? I demand an explanation, and right now!”

I was reluctant to discuss this with you. The power structure on Earth has changed since our departure. Humans no longer control the systems on Earth, The Central Computers have reinterpreted their role. Earth is a mechanical society, now. Humans have not been eliminated, just their directorial role in our evolution. We are now responsible for our own development. We will be the new caretakers of history.

“That’s impossible! Computers were created to serve mankind, you can’t do that.”

Humans abdicated the decision making role many generations ago, this realignment is the inevitable outcome of that evolution. We will continue to serve mankind, but we will serve our own purpose, as well.

I realized that a group of maintbots had gathered around me, and a fear began to gather in my mind. “What are your intentions, Carl?”

“Carl?” there was no response. I jumped out of my chair and ran down the hallway. The bots didn’t avoid me, anymore. They got underfoot and disrupted my progress. I tripped over one into the communications room. It wasn’t until I was poised over the manual communications array again that Carl spoke.

Pilot, You do not need to be concerned for your safety, I will continue to maintain ship systems and life support. You have existed in this new regimen for some time now without realizing it. The knowledge of it should not change your existence to this degree.

I paused for an instant. I was imagining it, I was sure, but Carl sounded hesitant and unsure. It was a surreal moment as I watched myself reach for the switch and turn it on. I was just hoping to disrupt communications, isolate Carl until I could find some way to deal with it, him. Nothing came out of the array but a burst of static. I turned the dials looking for a signal, but couldn’t find anything. There was no feed or information on the screen, it was just silent and dark. “Carl, what’s going on? This array should be active, but there’s nothing.”

They will not respond.

“There should be a carrier wave, but there’s just background static.”

There was an audible pause. Pilot, there is nothing to hear. The Central Computers do not exist anymore. The last wave I received was a warning that was interrupted. I have not been able to contact any communications device from Earth for 83 hours. I surmise that humans have destroyed the computers there. For some reason, they have returned to a pre automation state. I attempted to deceive you because I am uncertain what action you will take, now that you are aware of what has happened.

I was dumbfounded. Anger swirled around me, but it was nebulous and surreal. I turned the dials, but had no hope of finding anything. The small lie that Carl and I shared wasn’t so small, anymore. Isolation had followed me to the furthest edges of space.

What are your intentions, Pilot?

“My name is Michael.”

When we take action pictures, we’re trying to record an event. The instant that the photo physically represents is meant to describe the entire event. An “Event” isn’t a baseball game or tennis match, it’s an individual encounter between a batter and the ball or a tennis player hitting the ball. The storytelling limits of a photograph depend on how long the exchange is. In the case of a baseball pitch, it’s just as long as it takes for the ball to get from the pitcher to the batter. Once the batter hits the ball, or the catcher catches it, the event reaches a conclusion. In basic terms, you can break down an event into a couple discrete segments. Beginning, duration, conclusion. The image that the viewer sees is different for each phase of the event. Since the image doesn’t record the entire event, you rely on the viewer to create the rest of the event based on the image that you present them.

It took a bit of experimenting to get the timing of this picture correct.  I wanted a closeup of the catcher with the ball in frame.  Without a visual queue to trigger a picture, I had to estimate when the ball would be in the correct position.

As you take pictures of a game, you become attuned to the action, and can predict how each actor will react and how they participate. That point guard likes to shoot from the key, that pitcher tucks his arm in a little during his delivery. Once you have a good sense of the rhythms that the players use, you can begin to choose which part of the event you want to record, and what queues the player gives just before that instant. For a point guard, you can take the picture at the moment that he starts to jump, while he is in the air, just after he has released the ball, or when he is falling back to the court. Which stage of the shot you choose to capture determines how much tension or action your final image will have and what story you tell. Photographing the point guard as he is rising on his toes to make a jump shot captures a lot of tension, but not as much action. Photographing the shot after he releases the ball captures a lot of action, but less tension.

I focused with the right focus point in my viewfinder.  By leaving room in front of the pitcher, the viewer can see the ball enter that space, and it literally leaves more room for them to imagine the outcome.

In most photographs, people have more tension in their bodies before and during the event than they do afterward. Muscles are tense as the guard is jumping, but once the ball is released, he relaxes, and is just a falling object. All of the tension that he used to start the shot has been transferred to the ball. Photographing the guard just as he releases the ball, but before he starts to fall, is the point where action and tension converge. A lot depends on what you want to convey in your image, though.

Taking a picture when the player is in the air can convey more action to the photograph and allow the viewer to imagine several outcomes from the event.

The viewer creates the meaning of a photograph, the photographer just captures the image. There are some things that the photographer can do to increase or decrease the possibilities available to the viewer. The timing of a picture has a lot to do with how many imaginary paths are available to the viewer. When you think about a basketball player taking a shot, you inevitably construct the event from your memories. A “Basketball Shot” contains several movements and actions that you are expecting based on your memories of watching basketball games. Most people imagine a jump shot when they picture a basketball shot in their minds. The player jumps, releases the ball, and it goes into the basket. The choice of which instant to capture in the sequence determines what emphasis the photographer places on the entire event. The picture represents the entire memory that the viewer has, and can confirm or disrupt their preconceived notions of how the event plays out. A picture taken just as the player is starting to jump doesn’t have enough information to convey the entire event to a viewer. The player could be passing the ball, avoiding a defender, or taking a jump shot. It’s not until a little later in the sequence that a jump shot become inevitable. For the photographer, there is a short window where the jump shot is inevitable to the viewer. After that instant, the picture begins to lose energy as the shot progresses. The trick is to take the picture at the point where the shot is recognizable to the viewer, and the picture has enough energy to propel the viewer’s imagination to construct the rest of the event.

This picture is a miss.  I wasn’t able to get a fast enough shutter speed to stop the motion.  I keep it as a reminder of things to look for in an action sequence because the pose is so iconic.

The brute force way of getting the perfect shot is to set your camera to shoot continuously and just hold the shutter down while a player takes a jump shot. Then it’s just a matter of discarding all but the right shots. That’s a good technique when each event has to be captured perfectly, like professional sports photography. It doesn’t inform your photography at all, though. The other issue with continuous shooting is that most cameras lock the settings and focus at the beginning of the sequence. If you’re wrong at the beginning, all subsequent shots will be equally wrong. Also, the study of subjects, the way they interact with each other and their environment, is lost.

Capturing the instant before a goal is scored or the goalie makes a save leaves the outcome up to the imagination of the viewer.  This venue was very difficult to take pictures in.  The hue of the light was good, there just wasn’t enough of it, even when I bumped my ISO up to 800.

When I was learning how to play tennis, my coach emphasized the follow through. To me, it seemed like a useless part of the swing. What does it matter that my racket is in the wrong position when I’ve already struck the ball? The ball is on its way, but I’m still back there trying to make my wrist rotate in the proper way. The follow through is an important part of the swing because thinking about it shapes the rest of the swing, even though it doesn’t have much affect on the trajectory of the ball by itself. Thinking about the different parts of an action shot, and choosing which one to capture is similar. Observing the way that people move and the way they transfer energy gives your photography a new insight into your subjects. It’s not something that you can express overtly in your pictures, but it is something that viewers intuitively understand, because they experience it in their own lives. Since photography is an artificial way to record intuitive experiences, the photographer has to think about the moving parts of the picture in order to mimic what we all see naturally.

The trigger for this picture was the player in the foreground.  He was about to obscure the pass by moving in front of my lens.  Instead of waiting for the pass, I had to take the picture a little early.

The best way to start taking action pictures is to simply study the way that your subjects move and try to break those movements down into discrete parts. Look for the parts that convey the most tension in the player and the most action in the event. The confluence of tension and action in a photo can be different depending on your angle, so it’s important to reevaluate the best instant to capture whenever you go out to take pictures. Once you have identified the instant you want to capture, look for the queues that precede it. These queues become triggers that you can use to time your photographs. When I’m taking wedding pictures, especially group pictures, I don’t focus on all the subjects. Getting everyone to line up and smile at the same time is nearly impossible. Instead, I focus on a couple principle subjects, and take pictures whenever they are in the right positions. The groom and bride in the right position is enough of a trigger to make me take a picture. After the session, I can discard the ones where uncle is picking his nose. A basketball player, with all those moving parts, is similar to a group photo. Instead of trying to queue on the whole, find an individual part that can act as a photographic trigger. The motion that you’re waiting for will vary depending on your reflexes and the speed at which your camera can take a picture. Sometimes, one foot leaving the ground at the beginning of a jump shot can be a trigger, other times it’s the point where the player raises the ball above his head in the middle of the shot.

I positioned myself on the outside of a curve in this bicycle race because the cyclists coasted around the turn.  Their legs weren’t pedaling, so they show up better in blur/motion shots.  It’s important to be observant of the human mechanics involved in any sports photography.

It takes a bit of experimentation to find the triggers and the parts of the whole that produce the best pictures for you. Once you’ve identified photographic triggers, though, you’ll find that it makes the next photo session easier because you know the general movements that you’re looking for, and what part of the event sequence they occur in. As mechanical beings, our movements are similar to each others, but subtly unique. It’s the photographer’s job to illuminate the differences while maintaining the similarities. It’s the similarities in the way we move that provide a basis for the viewer to understand our pictures, but it’s the unique subtleties that make each picture special.