Tag Archives: fiction

More on Drones for Syfy Buffs


I clipped this from a forum on the subject. Since this portion from the chat gave a link, I am posting the remarks and the reference here. Those writing science fiction, futuristic or fantasy stories may find this information helpful.

Swarms of cyborg insect drones are the future of military surveillance

The kinds of drones making the headlines daily are the heavily armed CIA and U.S. Army vehicles which routinely strike targets in Pakistan – killing terrorists and innocents alike.
But the real high-tech story of surveillance drones is going on at a much smaller level, as tiny remote controlled vehicles based on insects are already likely being deployed.
Over recent years a range of miniature drones, or micro air vehicles (MAVs), based on the same physics used by flying insects, have been presented to the public.
The fear kicked off in 2007 when reports of bizarre flying objects hovering above anti-war protests sparked accusations that the U.S. government was accused of secretly developing robotic insect spies.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sciencetech/a…lance.html
After writing this post, I stumbled onto a humorous video about microbots, including a photograph of a mosquito-sized drone that can extract a DNA sample from a human covertly. As TheTrutherGirls says, “Get a fly swatter and screens!” Enjoy the video!
And just to feed your paranoia, here’s a video from a NSA whistleblower. He confirms the government’s program of domestic intelligence collection. Just think of all this stuff as research for your novel about nanobots and their nefarious controllers. :-p

Weird Science for Weird Stories


Ever heard of the Carrington Event?

In 1859, there was a powerful solar storm, the most powerful one documented by man at that time.

Amateur astrologer Richard Carrington was sketching sun spots in his observatory when brilliant light signaled an explosion on the sun’s surface. A massive solar flare, with the energy of 10 billion atomic bombs, erupted, sending that energy directly at the earth.

Christopher Klein, writing for History Channel’s History in the Headlines, writes:

“That night, telegraph communications around the world began to fail; there were reports of sparks showering from telegraph machines, shocking operators and setting papers ablaze. All over the planet, colorful auroras illuminated the nighttime skies, glowing so brightly that birds began to chirp and laborers started their daily chores, believing the sun had begun rising. Some thought the end of the world was at hand. . .”

Fast forward to 2012.

NASA reports that the sun is ramping up its solar activity in a regular 11 year cycle. Astronomers around the globe are watching large coronal mass ejections. Weird cloud formations, unlike anything ever seen before, are attributed to atmospheric disturbances caused by solar weather. Other sky phenomenon, normally seen only in the arctic regions, are appearing in lower latitudes. The cause? Solar activity.

It’s said if the same size solar storm that hit the earth in 1859 were to hit the earth today, the electromagnetic blast would result in a massive power grid failure. In the past several days, there have been reports of bizarre events in the United States that sound eerily like the damage to the electrical power system in existence in 1859, the telegraph lines. Read the following reports and see if you agree.

Furthermore, pull out the laptop computer. Find a comfy chair. If these news items don’t fire up your imagination for a science fiction story, nothing will.

Thousands of Central Texans without power early Thursday after poles catch fire

By KIRSTEN CROW

Friday December 7, 2012

Thousands of Central Texans lost power early Thursday morning when dozens of utility poles in several counties caught fire, likely sparked by weather conditions, officials said.

The phenomenon that caused the fires, known as “tracking,” can occur when dust accumulated on the insulators of utility poles comes into contact with heavy fog conditions, according to experts. The moisture, combined with caked-on elements, can act as a conductor of sorts, causing electricity in the power lines to arc and the poles to catch fire, several experts said.

Although emergency and power officials said isolated incidents are not necessarily uncommon, several said the sheer number of such fires in such a short period of time Thursday morning was unique.

A work crew from Hilco Electric Cooperative works on one of dozens of Central Texas power poles that caught fire early Thursday.

Hilco Electric Cooperative, which serves Dallas, Ellis, Hill, McLennan and Johnson counties, had 26 poles catch fire — 24 of them in Hill and McLennan Counties, assistant general manager Lea Sanders said.

“We haven’t experienced anything of this magnitude before,” said Sanders, who has worked at Hilco for 13 years. . . .

ANOTHER STORY FROM THE TEXAS NEWSPAPER ROCKWALL HERALD BANNER:

December 6, 2012

Utility pole fire shuts down I-30, creates traffic nightmare

By Caleb Slinkard & Emma Mills

Thu Dec 06, 2012, 05:08 PM CST

ROCKWALL — A utility pole fire in Rowlett near Dalrock Road shut down both sides of Interstate 30 Thursday morning as Oncor Electronic Delivery employees worked to keep the pole from collapsing onto the highway, bringing power lines with it. The fire, which began around 10 a.m., was extinguished by utility workers at approximately 11 a.m.

Catherine Cuellar, Oncor’s Communications Manager, said that the cause of the fire is unknown at the time and she contradicted reports from NBC 5 that the pole had burned completely through and tension kept the power lines in place. . . .

FINALLY, FROM KCENTV.COM, ALSO IN TEXAS:

A series of utility pole fires across Central Texas caught on fire early Thursday morning, causing people in several counties to lose power.

Crews spend the day hard at work.

They’re repairing utility poles like the one in front of Andy McDonald’s house in Lorena. It was one of around 60 to catch fire across Bell, McLennan, Falls and Hill counties Thursday morning.

“Kind of like our own personal Olympic torch,” McDonald described the candle-like flames atop the pole.

The lights went out around 6 a.m., then his daughter spotted the fire.

“There were chunks of burning wood on the ground…(we) went out and poured water on it.”

Across Central Texas law enforcement officials scratched their heads.

“I can’t even say career – not in my lifetime have I heard of this,” said DPS Trooper D. L. Wilson. . . .

When the Joy Is Gone


This morning I was encouraged that I may, indeed, have the stuff of the writer within. How so? I’ll tell you a story.

The local writers group finished its anthology. The planning, writing, collating, editing and formatting for publication ate up six months. No sooner had the group finished the work than one member started us writing again on a story circle. My task was to wrap the story up and bring it home. I finished that earlier this morning. Two hours later I was sending a message to the best editors in our group, suggesting a polishing of the circle story so it could be submitted to Glimmer Train Press, Inc.’s Open Fiction contest.

And, I thought to myself, they have an open theme contest every three months. What can we do for the next one?

My point is I congratulated myself for looking for opportunities to write. I patted myself on the back and thought,  I am writer; hear me roar.

THEN I came upon an essay by Micah Nathan, a real writer, called “A Fatalist’s Manifesto.” He burst my writer’s bubble — at least he yanked me from an undeserved Cloud Nine. He pointed out how much is drained from a writer–ground from his bones, twisted from his sinews–in the writing process. And it gets worse as the writer gets better.

In it he says:

A Fatalist’s Manifesto

Follow glimmertrain on Twitter

A student recently asked me if writing ever gets easier. It’s just so difficult, she said, then she sat back, folded her arms, and waited. I suspect she wanted to hear some good news, how the young writer continues to read and write and eventually finds the creative process no longer akin to tweezing out portions of one’s brain and smearing them onto a blank page. But what a lousy lie that would be. “It” doesn’t get easier and may actually get harder (a Clintonian parsing of what “it” means could take up an entire essay), and if “it” doesn’t get harder, then the writer has become lazy, and eventually even the hardest-working writer either runs out of endurance, money, or time.. . .

Reading the essay, I recognized I am still delirious in the delight of the dilettante when writing. I have nothing to lose because I have no professional recognition or status. I have no expectant fans. If that ever happens, I will understand what it means to work under the pressure to keep producing and to have every book be better than the last one.

For a reality check about the life of a professional author, read this.  And have a bottle of Tums close by.

http://www.glimmertrain.com/b71nathan.html

The Anthology Is Going to Press


Within the week, the Writers of the Desert Rose Cafe Anthology will be in the hands of Acorn Book Services for formatting. Within the month, the e-book will be available for sale on Amazon.com.

The anthology integrates the varied writing interests of the authors into a fast and easy read.  There’s something for everyone: young adult to inspirational to fantasy to adult fiction to poetry to ultra-short story (such as 33- or 55-word stories). Whatever your tastes in reading, the anthology offers enough variety to satisfy.

Sound like an advertisement? It is.

Naturally, I hope you will read the anthology and share feedback with me. Your feedback helps the writers of Desert Rose Cafe to improve and grow. Criticism is welcomed when it is meant to help.

The project itself drove several of the authors out of a comfort zone. Writing within a group setting is very different from writing alone. For a couple of the writers, the process of publication is a first experience. Others have years of creative expertise. One of our own developed the book cover with group input. Members assumed varying responsibilities such as editing, content organization, setting timelines and the like. The satisfaction of bringing the projection to completion is almost at hand.

As an aside, one of our authors has Asperger’s Syndrome, a developmental disability that affects one’s ability to socialize and communicate effectively with others. Can you imagine the huge satisfaction that writer is feeling right now?

Now the marketing begins, along with the next learning curve for some of us. When the e-book is available to purchase, I’ll share where to buy it.

As I learn what works and what doesn’t on the marketing side of the venture, I’ll share those lessons, too.

Later, ‘gator.

The Psychology of the Sociopath as Minion


I’m obsessed with bad guys because I love writing about them. In order to write about them, I learn about them. I study where and how they live.

In science fiction or historical stories, there is ALWAYS the character that stands out for his willingness to oppress others on behalf of the boss. In exchange for doing the dirty work, the story’s minion receives a benefit, usually a modicum of power or an elevation of status or income.

The current TV character who comes to mind is Captain Tom Neville, played by actor Giancarlo Esposito. Neville is a former insurance adjuster turned militia leader under bloody General Monroe in TV’s saga Revolution. Neville will turn on his peers, getting them tortured and demoted, to advance himself. Yet he is fearful without the structure and protection offered him by Monroe.

As an author, it is important to be accurate when writing about the personality. Although the variety of personalities is numerous, the personality type is fairly fixed.

So what does psychology say about these overzealous minions? What are common traits among sociopath sycophants?

In the normal work-a-day world, he will likely screw-up regularly or use chaos to camouflage his childish character. He is seen as sleazy in the community or office. He will set aside morality or abandon principle if it is to his advantage to do so. He is drawn to a culture of corruption where questionable acts done on behalf of superiors advance his status.

Once he is given authority, he will demand respect from those under him, even if he doesn’t deserve it. He savors weakness in others. He will use title or force to exact submission from the weak under his jurisdiction. Show defiance to his authority and reap the consequences of his ire. He will abuse those weaker than himself.

There is no room for discussion or disagreement. It is his way or off with your head. In the face of reason, this minion will attack. Yet to preserve himself, he will avoid conflict with someone who may best him.

This character loves rules, regulations, and rigid structure. He seeks total control of his environment. He will twist the legal system to fit his own logic. He loves to force compliance on others.

Behind the facade of power, the sociopath minion is a follower, unable to operate without an elaborate system or leader to guide him. He is cowardly at his core: a follower, not a leader. The more bureaucracy clutters the landscape, offering him regulations to twist or hide behind, the better. He likes the smokescreen of obfuscation.

The minion draws his power from the ruling entity. Therefore, he supports the powers that be wholeheartedly. He disregards the rights or unique value of the individual. Control is easier to maintain in the absence of individualism. Therefore, he prefers the group mentality and will promote that sort of thinking. He cannot imagine functioning without an establishment to direct him. His self-identity comes from being part of it, not independent of it.

The sociopath as minion may wear a state uniform and wield power by turning in citizens for minor infractions of the rules. A tyrant or an oligarchy relies on him to grab and maintain control. He relishes being useful to and part of the machine. He is obsessed with continuing the power that gives him meaning. No bad act by those ruling will shake his devotion. He is a willing tool in the hand of his master.

Portions of trait description adapted from Brandon Smith of Alt-Market 

Facts (f)or Doomsday Sci-Fi?


On November 13, I cut the segment below from a lengthier post on ZeroHedge.Com, a financial web site that monitors all things Wall Street. Since this topic is atypical for the organization, it caught my eye. Quotes within the article from Retired Major General Jerry Curry riveted my attention, particularly the last line of the portion pasted below.

Today, writing about the Apocalypse is popular. The form the end of time takes in a book plot is as varied as the authors writing on the topic. One of my readers has an indie book out in this genre, with a second book in the works. Book two is due to be released by the end of the year.

Given the high level of interest in doomsday matters, I had to share the following text. It is FACTUAL fodder for fictional stories. At this point, I normally sign off with something like “Enjoy, and happy writing,” but given the words you are about to read, I think I’ll pass on the cheery salutation.

Retired Major General Jerry Curry wrote Friday, November 9, 2012:

The Social Security Administration (SSA) confirms that it is purchasing 174 thousand rounds of hollow point bullets to be delivered to 41 locations in major cities across the U.S.

 

***

 

Those against whom the hollow point bullets are to be used — those causing the civil unrest — must be American citizens; since the SSA has never been used overseas to help foreign countries maintain control of their citizens.

 

What would be the target of these 174, 000 rounds of hollow point bullets? It can’t simply be to control demonstrators or rioters. Hollow point bullets are so lethal that the Geneva Convention does not allow their use on the battle field in time of war. Hollow point bullets don’t just stop or hurt people, they penetrate the body, spread out, fragment and cause maximum damage to the body’s organs. Death often follows.

 

Potentially each hollow nose bullet represents a dead American. If so, why would the U.S. government want the SSA to kill 174,000 of our citizens, even during a time of civil unrest?

***

If this were only a one time order of ammunition, it could easily be dismissed. But there is a pattern here. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) has ordered 46,000 rounds of hollow point ammunition. Notice that all of these purchases are for the lethal hollow nose bullets.  These bullets are not being purchased and stored for squirrel or coyote hunting. This is serious ammunition manufactured to be used for serious purposes.

 

In the war in Iraq, our military forces expended approximately 70 million rounds per year. In March DHS ordered 750 million rounds of hollow point ammunition. It then turned around and ordered an additional 750 million rounds of miscellaneous bullets including some that are capable of penetrating walls. This is enough ammunition to empty five rounds into the body of every living American citizen. Is this something we and the Congress should be concerned about? What’s the plan that requires so many dead Americans, even during times of civil unrest? Has Congress and the Administration vetted the plan in public.

***

All of these rounds of ammunition can only be used to kill American citizens, though there is enough ammunition being ordered to kill, in addition to every American citizen, also every Iranian, Syrian or Mexican. There is simply too much of it. And this much ammunition can’t be just for training, there aren’t that many weapons and “shooters” in the U.S. to fire it.

***

We have enough military forces to maintain law and order in the U.S. even during times of civil unrest.

 ***

This is a deadly serious business. I hope I’m wrong, but something smells rotten. And If the Congress isn’t going to do its duty and investigate this matter fully, the military will have to protect the Constitution, the nation, and our citizens.

The article on ZeroHedge.com ends with a 1987 quote from a United States Senator. That quote, which follows, when combined with the words of  Major General Curry is enough to make the hairs on my neck stand on end. The words of these powerful, knowledgeable men stimulate my imagination. How about yours?

Senator Daniel Inouye said in 1987:

There exists a shadowy Government with its own Air Force, its own Navy, its own fundraising mechanism, and the ability to pursue its own ideas of national interest, free from all checks and balances, and free from the law itself.

 

Duck! Or You’ll Get Whacked by an E.T.


Just like the submarine drug runners of yesterday’s post, I have found another off-the-wall story that should be printed in Ripley’s Believe It or Not, but instead comes from Veterans Today. The news is this: China and the US are carrying out joint naval maneuvers off the US coastline near San Francisco. The purpose? Preparing for an invasion of unfriendly space aliens.

(Source:http://www.veteranstoday.com/2012/09/17/ufo-war-chinese-and-us-navy-off-san-francisco/ )

Holy cow! Call Batman! When I read it, I thought to myself, “Someone is pulling my leg.”

Then I stumbled on this video.

Ok. So what’s my point? First, let me ramble, then I’ll explain.

I thought Stars Wars (a.k.a. space based weapons/ defense systems) died with Ronald Reagan. Obviously not. Then it was the Russians who were the enemy. Recently we heard about Planet X headed our way to collide with the earth. Now we are preparing to protect ourselves from space aliens. Good thing we have big boats in the big Pacific Ocean to save us! Or are the joint maneuvers really to prep us for the greatest laser show on earth that is about to unfold in the night sky near you?

Whatever the truth is, this series of stories demonstrates the constantly changing technological information about which an author needs to be informed IF you are writing science fiction or doomsday stories. Even if your story is imaginary, it has to have a basis in truth to ring true to your reader. Good science fiction, even when set in the future, hangs on good science.

As the author of secretsun.blogspot.com says:

 I’d be remiss if we didn’t talk about where exactly Edgar Rice Burroughs came up with all of this stuff. It certainly wasn’t out of the thin air.

Drug Running in Submarines


Technology is moving faster than my imagination. Who knew that Latin American cartels have run drugs for years via semi-submersible and fully submersible vessels? Submarines are used to run drugs in the Pacific and Caribbean Oceans.

Crime writers have to keep up, at least, and stay ahead, at best, of technology that can be used in the field by criminals.

Sometimes I feel as if  I am using the equivalent of a rotary phone in terms of technology in stories I create. Today’s criminals are sophisticated, savvy and well-heeled enough to buy cool tools.

For insight into marine equipment used in drug running, read the following:

http://news.yahoo.com/feds-cant-catch-cartels-cocaine-filled-submarines-010821526.html

End of Day–Response to Song Prompt Bizet Had His Day


Most of September’s posts were prepared in August. Consequently, the inspiration I got from first listening to Bizet Had His Day fizzled as time passed. I made the mistake of thinking I’d remember the storyline 4 weeks later. Wrong. So here’s the newly inspired short story from the early September song prompt. Hope you like it.

End of Day

 by Fay Moore © 2012

 

The maestro is talking to the concert audience about the credentials of the solo pianist. The musician is about to play “Bizet Had His Day,” a popular composition with the annual subscribers.

 

“. . .attended Julliard. . .frequent guest soloist with the New York Philharmonic, Washington National Symphony, among others. . .guest appearances on Broadway and television. . . .”

 

Enthusiastic applause erupts as the performing artist walks on stage to the piano and seats himself. The house lights dim while the musician adjusts the back panels of his tuxedo jacket, ostentatiously flipping the fabric up and over the piano bench. He places his toes on the pedals, stretches his arms in front of himself to unbind the fabric of his sleeves from around his wrists and levitates his fingers over the keys. Once the audience is still as a midnight snowfall, the showman begins, playing with passion and flair.

 

 At the conclusion, the audience explodes, the concussion of clapping reverberating through the hall as the soloist leaves the stage, after taking multiple bows. Off-stage he is patted on his back repeatedly, congratulated on another fine performance. On his way to his dressing room, he passes the make-up staff clustered around a snack table exchanging gossip, jokes and plans for the evening. He backs up several paces and calls out to the retinue.

 

“Hey, do you know where there’s a jazz club?”

 

He’s caught them off guard, and they stare at him blankly like a herd of heifers. Finally, a heavily tattooed one states there’s a club three blocks away. The pianist thanks him, gets directions, then goes and changes his clothes. When he passes the make-up staff again, on his way to the exit, the entourage doesn’t recognize him: he’s dressed in stained jeans, a long-sleeved, half-zipped hoodie and a knit cap pulled low over his hair and forehead. He looks like the maintenance man.

 

 Once on the street, he pulls a harmonica out of his pocket and presses the instrument to his lips. He plays the blues in time with his slow strut up the urban street. When he reaches the closest intersection, it is choked with pedestrians, out enjoying the temperate fall evening. Some are walking home from work. Others seek a late dinner at one of many sidewalk cafes and pubs dotting the boulevard.

 

The pianist is hungry. He shoves his hand into his pocket and extracts his wallet. It’s empty. No cash.

 

“Damn. I’ve been picked by some stage hand again.”

 

He sounds more dejected than angry. He should know better. It’s for this very reason that he’s quit carrying a credit card to performance venues. He’s tired of the hassle of reporting lost cards. He’s learned to leave the card in the hotel safe and just carry a few bucks in his wallet. Most of the time, he stashes the wallet somewhere in the dressing room. Tonight he simply stuck the wallet inside one of his shoes. Big mistake.

 

 He pivots on his heel, and starts to retrace his steps. His hotel adjoins the concert hall. He rolls his tongue in his throat, mimicking regurgitation. The thought of hotel food nauseates him.

 

 The proximate noise of table conversation, the laughter of bar maids, the clink of glasses and flatware hook him. He rethinks his options. The well-lighted street is full of people. Most seem in good spirits: walkers are unhurried, diners are outside, those waiting in line for a table are talking animatedly with those around them. It’s a jovial vibe.

 

 He positions himself under a street light, pulls the knit cap from his head, and places it on the ground in between himself and the sidewalk traffic. It’ll do to collect money. He plays his harmonica with eyes closed, wailing notes lilting softly over the thoroughfare. He plays from his soul, undisturbed by repetitive clinks from a mounting number of coins thrown in the cap by passersby. It takes about an hour to accumulate enough money to buy dinner. In the time he’s been playing, the dinner rush passes. Tables open up at each eatery.

 

Carrying his cap like a money bag of old, he finds the jazz club, goes inside and claims a table. He piles the coins in dollar stacks in front of himself before perusing the menu. He meets the waiter’s sarcastic smile with a wink. He orders an Irish beer and a bacon cheeseburger.

 

 His plate is set in front of him during the best saxophone riff he’s ever heard. The waiter keeps silent, but asks with his eyes about another beer. The hungry street performer hands the waiter his empty glass. He bites the sandwich to find the burger is cooked perfectly. The bacon is crisp, the cheese sharp, and the sandwich hot. While he devours half of it, the jazz ensemble’s performance sizzles. Great music, good eats; it doesn’t get much better.

 

It’s the day’s end he’s been dreaming of.

Response to Forever Young Song Prompt


Forever Young

by Fay Moore © 2012

The halls smell like urine—stale urine, gone rank in the heat, ground into the cheap linoleum tiles laid decades ago when this building was new and this neighborhood was a good place to live. A wire cage surrounds the single light bulb illuminating the dingy corridor. Cecily pulls the door to the apartment shut behind her as she leaves. The soles of her shoes stick to the floor with every step.

Cecily cringes as she thinks of her mother, drunk and in the bedroom, lying under some guy. The grime in the halls doesn’t make her cringe. She’s used to that. She should be used to her mother’s whoring, too.

Her mother puts out for anyone who will pay her twenty bucks. She collects the money in an envelope in her dresser drawer. Momma always worries out loud about having enough money to pay the rent when the superintendent comes around. If the money isn’t there, the superintendent gets ugly. One time, when Momma didn’t have all the rent money, Cecily saw the man shove Momma to her knees. When he grabbed Momma by the hair of her head and fiddled with his zipper, Momma yelled for Cecily to run away, which she did. She made it to the bottom of the stairs.

That’s where she met Guido. He saw her crying and pulled her to safety inside his apartment.

Guido lives on the first floor. He’s older than Cecily by a decade. The apartment belongs to his grandmother, who has lived there forever. She’s got rent control, Guido says, so it doesn’t cost much to live there, so long as his grandmother doesn’t move away—or die. His grandmother is old, blind and crippled, so she stays in her room, playing funny sounding music from when she was young. Guido lives in the apartment, too. He sleeps on the couch. He takes care of his grandmother as best he can. He doesn’t have a regular job. He sells weed in the alley beside the apartment building, so he’s got pocket money.

To Cecily, Guido is fun. He takes her to the corner deli and buys her stuff. He tells her she is pretty.  Today he says he has a surprise for her. He says he’s going to make her a star.

Cecily doesn’t believe him about the star thing. That’s just how Guido talks. He’s always making things up about what he’s going to do when he doesn’t have to take care of his grandmother anymore. He says he is going into business and make lots of money.

Guido shows Cecily the kind of car he’s going to buy when he’s rich by pointing to advertising banners on the sides of the city buses. He wants a black Chrysler 300 with spinner hubcaps and leather seats. Cecily thinks it’s funny because Guido doesn’t have a driver’s license. Guido says he doesn’t need one: he knows how to drive. Cecily knows he steals cars sometimes to earn a few bucks.

When Cecily reaches Guido’s apartment, he’s excited. He has set up extra lamps without any shades on tables around the sofa. The room is really bright with light. He’s talking fast about making movies and selling them on the Internet. He tells Cecily he’ll pay her to act in his movies. She’ll be captured on film, forever young, like Halle Berry or Jennifer Hudson. She listens to him, thinking this is more of his big talk. Then he brings out a small digital video camera and sets it on a makeshift camera stand. He explains that all Cecily has to do is take off her shirt, then her pants, then her underwear while he takes her picture. He’ll pay her twenty bucks.

Cecily isn’t listening to Guido any more. In her head, she is seeing her mother down on her knees, crying out for Cecily to run. Cecily listens to the words of her mother and runs out of Guido’s apartment. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she doesn’t look back.