Posts published by “Raymond Adkins”

Dr. Barrette Valencia excused herself from the pedantic fluster exciting her students Timothy Philip, Daniel James David , Andy Peterson, and Dani Straw.

Mid-summer bathed the sprawling military compound outside Rome with mature temperatures as its rays filtered through a haze of dust that seemed to settle into every crevice of the temporary structures. Inside the sweltering administrative building, oscillating fans circled overhead, stirring papers on metal desks. The technical sergeant’s uniform hung loose to breathe with them as he stood at attention and complained with accumulating frustration to the captain of the maintenance company, “The War Department is sending home fathers and replacing them with fresh faced enlistees.” He extended a weathered hand towards the open window behind them where the maintenance yard was seen stretched in its orderly rows with corrugated roofs shimmering in the heat, he continued, “Morale is suffering. Work orders are slow to completion.”

The Captain looked up from a stack of requisition forms, his reading glasses perched focus from the bridge of his nose. Around them the staff section bore the makeshift quality of wartime efficiency with maps tacked to plywood walls, filing cabinets that had seen better days, and a perpetually percolating coffee pot. Removing his glasses and massaging his brows, the captain, by standing emphasized, “We are a linchpin for the 51st Carrier Squadron’s efforts to return men and equipment to peacetime through the Ciampino Airport.” His normally emotionless countenance revealed lines of exasperation as he looked past the sergeant toward the Battalion Commander’s office, where an open door allowed leadership to be heard on its terms. The plaintive look he cast as they walked toward it spoke volumes about the pressure bearing down from above.

From this spartan corner office, the Lieutenant Colonel boomed with the authority that obscured expected mayhem from his motor transport responsibilities, “They will be treated to a USO performance here on September 29th.” He shuffled the consolidated morning reports and then impatiently drummed his fingers on them, the current general orders, and the unit journal, “In the meantime, I have a USAAF liaison officer breathing fire about needing one of our Scout cars for a bigwig. Can we spare anyone to make the delivery?”

Lit up with sudden inspiration, the sergeant resolutely straightened his posture, “By all accounts, our most responsible remaining technician is Private Bill Blythe. He is showing maturity, competence, and is talkative. Moreover, his closest friends are some of those fathers, and he isn’t going home without exception.”

“You are suggesting we give the conscientious private this temporary duty?” The Lieutenant Colonel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest to calculate its ease.

“Yes. We can, further, save manpower by having him join one of the transport trucks heading north for demobilization.”

Approval emerged from the Lieutenant Colonel’s demeanor for their collective decision. “This private becomes the goose of liberty for the battalion. Excellent. Sergeant, return to the maintenance park and see to its organization. Blythe should view the assignment and special pass as commendations.”

Corporal Joyce Damico was summoned from her post. Her typewriter sat momentarily silent, a report still awaited finishing keystrokes, and a cup of lukewarm coffee grew cold beside a framed photograph of her family back in West Virginia. She fluidly rose from her chair, brushing her uniform skirt as she approached the Captain, who was already moving toward the door. Her dark eyes took in everything and held a question even before she spoke. “What is the excitement about?” she inquired, watching as the Captain gathered his cap and official documents.

“We are providing a car for the new USO tour set to begin in Tuscany,” he said while pausing in the doorway. “One of our T4s, Private Blythe, will deliver the vehicle this afternoon after completing the preventative maintenance checks and services. We are giving him an overnight pass with the expectation that the trust we are extending will encourage him to help fill the leadership vacuum by example.”

Her face softened and with the soothing cadence of her Appalachian upbringing Joyce replied, “He is affable and sweet. We have shared meals and stories of his childhood in Texas and mine in West Virginia.” as her stature raising expressiveness concluded, “Believe me, he needs this as much as the repair bay needs his fastened diligence.”

The Captain nodded approvingly before heading toward S-3, where operation orders were drafted amid the constant clatter of typewriters and the rustle of carbon paper, and then to S-1, where personnel decisions like leaves and passes were created and recorded.

Directing her back to the present, the commanding officer ordered, “I want to speak to Lt. General Cannon of the USAAF by phone again, please”.

Joyce settled back at her desk, the black Bakelite telephone receiver feeling familiar in her hand as she placed the call, her fingers working the rotary dial with practiced efficiency.

Outside, dust and sand from the Sahara, carried by the hot Sirocco winds, yellowed the morning sky in sepia and promised an uncomfortable day of desert thickened air. The open-sided bays and equipment storage areas of the maintenance park took on an otherworldly quality in the strange light.

The technical sergeant returned to his domain with renewed purpose. He immediately gathered the tools and parts needed for the next job. Private Bill Blythe joined him with the careful attention to detail that had earned him his reputation. His face, still bearing traces of the Texas sun that had bronzed it during his youth, embossed concentration as he unhesitatingly broomed up the service lane, prepared the portable jacks, and pulled the reconnaissance car with its canvas top rolled back into position with mechanical precision. The sergeant set the tools, brake shoes, spark plugs, and windshield wipers next to the jacks with intended distribution for methodical progression from one task to the next as a chorus to the rhythm of military life. Both men employed proficient alacrity, their movements synchronized by months working together. The Scout Car’s engine ticked as it cooled. Blythe wiped his brow with a rag that had seen better days, leaving a streak of grease across his forehead, when he heard the distinctive hum of the Battalion Commander’s GP Jeep approaching. The sound was unmistakable, “Sergeant, are we being inspected?” His nervous voice hinting at the respect any good soldier feels when senior officers appear.

Wiping his hands on his coveralls, the sergeant pliantly asked “Lt. Colonel Miller, how can we help you today?” as he stepped with purpose from the vehicle to survey the maintenance park with the practiced eye of someone who had spent years evaluating military operations.

“This bay is outstanding, sergeant.” He motioned approval as he noted the organized tool layout, the clean surfaces, and the evident pride the men took in their workspace.

“Private Blythe’s consistently dedicated work ethic has provided leadership for newly arriving mechanics.”

Lieutenant Colonel Miller’s attention turned to Blythe, “Is the scout car ready?”

His men nodded.

“As a trusted Deuce and a half certified mechanic, Blythe, you will deliver this car to the Hassler Villa and, then, at the Via Salaria fuel depot join a convoy of those trucks headed north to Livorno for demobilization.”

Buoyantly, Blythe celebrated, “Yes, Sir!”

“Impressive.” The Lieutenant Colonel seconded his established approval. “The quartermaster is ready to fit you for this detail. Corporal Damico will have your orders and leave.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Joyce appeared at the entrance to the maintenance bay. She approached with the careful balance of military protocol and personal affection, and when the Lieutenant Colonel departed, she closed the distance to Blythe. She carried a simple, black, leather-covered prism and two documents. “This is a big moment for you, Billy, but I am hoping you will spend some of your leisure time taking a 35 mm color photo of the altar sanctuary of the Basilica of Santa Maria in Aracoeli. We had an heirloom painting of it lost in a fire before my birth. I have written the details on this note.” she whispered, embracing him in a congratulatory hug. “I will miss seeing you front and center at Roll Call, so hurry back!”

“Underneath the lantern,
By the barrack gate
Darling I remember” Billy hummed incredulously as he slid into the driver’s seat of the M3 Scout Car General Clark personally reserved for the transportation of & the rousing of fanfare for Marlene Dietrich while she dedicated herself to supporting troop morale with performances across Italy. Tasked with delivering the vehicle to her attaché at the requisitioned Hassler Villa, he wondered if he’d see her.

As part of the 2630th Transportation Corps Motor Transport Battalion for the Penisular Base Section, he arrived to its organization, completion of support for Operation Torch, and its landing in Salerno. His battalion had rehabilitated the roads now taking him to the Spanish Steps looked upon by the Hassler Villa. As he drove the busy thoroughfares along Capitoline Hill and pocketed the note Joyce had written, confused emotions tugged him between the listless uncertainties of home life, the pulse she enlivened in him, incessantly barked orders, and discovering for the first time the aura of recognition. The distraction diverted his attention from the landmarks he learned about in his favorite Graham Greene spy novels.

Towering above the summit of the Spanish Steps, the cream colored hotel painted itself as a cumulus cloud for the Roman sky, its Renaissance facade catching the amber light of early afternoon. Below the Via Sistina, the hotel’s gardens surged toward the exhaust worn Piazza di Spagna.

In front of the hotel, two women stood with an officer on the sidewalk. The seasoned woman magnetically radiated presence. Her younger companion had softer features, the same yearning intelligence, and flowing auburn hair with a copper sheen given no consideration by Lieutenant General John K. Cannon. The stars on his shoulders gleamed seniority through his set in and scowling gray eyes that had overseen the strategic bombing of Italy and now the complexities of occupation.

After parking in front of them, Blythe saluted the Air Force Lieutenant General. The women quickly stepped forward. The older of the two commanded “I expect to be saluted as well private or I will have you court-martialed for insubordination.”

Blythe guffawed, “Ma’am?”

To which she promptly flashed her captain credentials.

Shaken, embarrassed, and scarleting, he murmured an apology as the younger woman, equally crimsoned cried out in laughter, “Mom don’t torture the poor sop.”

Sympathetically, she offered her hand with the practiced grace of a woman who charmed kings and generals, her voice carrying just a trace of the Berlin accent she never wanted to lose. “I am Marlene. This is my daughter Maria. We were only having a bit of fun to see if it would evoke a smile from Lieutenant General Cannon who has been quite stern in our company.” All looked at Cannon whose attention followed the approach of a company grade officer.

Captain Rosenthal strode with the measured pace of a man who had survived fifty-two bombing missions over Nazi Germany. His dark hair was combed back neatly, his uniform impeccable despite the dust of Roman streets, and his eyes held the sharp acumen that had made him invaluable in the cockpit of a B-17 and soon fair-minded purpose in an adversarial pursuit of justice. He crossed the stone terrace, two sealed envelopes in his left hand and handed the messages to Cannon. “You serve with distinction Captain. Do not disappoint me in your next assignment. Continue in your charge to see Captain Dietrich and her daughter to Livorno.”

Turning, “Blythe.” He frowned in guidance, “You will join a ‘Deuce and a Half’ in its convoy tomorrow at 0:500 en route for the demobilization of divisions in the IV corps.” Reaching into his pocket, “Tonight, this social calling card will get you quartered. Keep it clean. It will also gain you entrance to the Officers’ Club Rome. Do not overstay your welcome or embarrass me.”

He bowed, “Ladies.” and returned to his expected duties.

Marlene swiftly moved to give Rosie, Captain Rosenthal, a hero’s welcome, but he winced a bit “Still tender?”

“It is nothing,” he replied. “Private, you are in for a rough ride tomorrow. Not only that but you will need to find your way to the fuel supply depot at the intersection of the Via Salaria and Via Flaminia, Cannon’s card will instruct a motor pool officer to drive you there in a Willys.”

“Yes, sir. I understand my duty to keep the rig steady,” Billy responded.

Smiling broadly between the tousles of her strawberry blonde hair being neatly tucked behind her ears, Marlene asked “Are we really in such a hurry? Couldn’t we drop him there as we get underway? I’ve just arrived back in Rome. I want to introduce my daughter to the city. Besides a drink or two and a nice meal might soften the ride north for us all.”

With empathic precision, Maria prayerfully grabbed Billy’s hand to plead “The war has spared no one” as the perfumed aroma from her loosened chiffon bound the new companions in memories of silent gardens.

Stoically, Rosie misted discontentment for his crew killed by enemy fire over Germany. His eyes abruptly met Billy’s to acknowledge war’s equality. “You are in for a treat tonight my friend. The fillets, desserts, drinks, and entertainment are rarely surpassed. Let’s go inside.”

The marble-floored lobby filled with footsteps as the four figures moved beneath chandeliers dimmed by rationing. The frescoed walls now centrally bore military notices and directional signs in both Italian and English.

“Will there be pen and paper in the room for a letter to my wife?” Billy peccantly asked.

Marlene and Maria tittered the boff.

“Hotel stationary is everywhere. Finish your letter before orders. I will have it airmailed.”

“I recently met Lt. Colonel Charity Adams. The Six Triple Eight will see it delivered within a week”

“The Central Postal Directory Battalion is exceptionally commendable. You two better have honed afternoon itinerary”

“Thank You”

“It is only a few stops” Marlene sarcastically protested. “It begins in the highly praised courtyard. Meet us there.”

Rosie instructively oriented Billy’s nescience with the administrative wing. “First Lieutenant Fred Seymour supervises the Billeting Office in room 101. It replaced the concierge here on the ground floor,” he explained, gesturing past temporary partitions that had converted former guest suites into various military quarters. Behind repurposed reception counters, clerks processed housing assignments.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how do you know the billeting officer?

“Just call me Rosie. He was at Thorpe Abbots, England when I arrived for duties with the 418th Bomber Squadron. He is genuine, honest, trustworthy, kind, and surprisingly still a bachelor.”

Appearing from behind them, the short and thin lieutenant with a receding hairline greeted Rosie with awestruck humility, “Every one always praised your flying skills. I never thought I read about them.”

“Fred, let me introduce the married private, Billy Blythe. He is eager to write home.”

“Private,” Fred said while generously offering his hand, “Lt, General Cannon has informed me of your needs. At the moment, the room formerly used by Major General Twining is the only available native suite returned to service. It is on the sixth floor; it has hotel stationary; and there are spectacular views of the city from it. Here is your key.”

“Who did you impress Billy and how?” Rosie affably chuckled rhetorically with inimitable respect. “Find your way to the room and meet us downstairs in an hour.”

“Fred do you know where I can get a car for tonight? The private delivered an MP car for the USO tour. Its rear mounted machine gun makes it unsuitable for leisure with the show’s star performer Marlene Dietrich.”

“The departure of senior staff has left my office responsible for the security of a 1942 Buick Century Series 61. Its tank is full and at your disposal if you get her autograph on a publicity photo for these shows I have on my desk.”

“Get the keys, the picture, and dress for the Officer’s Club Rome. We have a few stops to make, but will return for your front door pick up shortly after 1900.”

“I’ll walk you to the car now. We will use the Via Sistina entrance to recover it from Villa Borghese.” The friends exited the building in hushed conversation on a swift uphill path lined with sycamores and umbrella pines and accented by oleander toward the grand park waiting for its escape from wartime.

Marlene and Maria moved knowingly toward the central staircase with its burgundy velvet runners, familiar with their route to their second floor room. The hallways retained their original sconces, though bulbs had been replaced with lower wattage for conservation.

“You are leading us back to our room. Were you surprised to see the Captain again, Mom?”

“Of the many heroes in this war, I admit, his fulminant courage pitches for crests. There is privilege in the enticements from his staid eloquence.”

“Did you pack your teal rayon crepe and your veiled pillbox hat?”

“You know my mind and were quicker to expectations for the evening with your decision to wear that A-line skirt and … my ivory silk blouse. I would complain bitterly if it were just a tuxedo night. All you need is a small tilt hat to save you from the aeolian sky. This Roman air will also keep unpowdering us, so we should share to keep our clutch bags light.”

“How are we going to keep the private focused?”

“More food than spirits and encourage his homesickness to breathe. They will manage him as well a key fob,” she said as they entered the room.

Billy found and entered the suite and knew it was beyond his ability for description. The air, still and perfumed by cypress, was a balm for his anxieties, but not his restlessness. Its decor was a masterclass in grandness, reflecting a richness unscathed by war. He drew back the heavy damask curtains, a pair of starlings could be seen resting on the window sill, and tied them open with their silken cords to look on to the city through the tall and arched framed windows. Sunlight spilled from the haze across the polished floor. Its shine filled walls adorned with demure portraits and silk tapestries depicting classic scenes.

Breathless, he sat on the inviting velvet sofa flanked by two upholstered armchairs to read Joyce’s letter and understand her instructions.

Billy,
The Colonel and the General you will meet today are cousins. During
their phone call this morning, it was learned that you would be
quartered in the Hassler’s Presidential Suite San Pietro. I haven’t used
any of the film included with my new camera. All but one of the
exposures is yours to use. My family’s heirloom painting included the
entire altar with the first Damico wedding held at the foot of its
sanctuary. It encapsulated divine love with doves and eternity with a
flaming heart. A broad an unobstructed photo is needed for an oil
painted recreation.
See you soon,
Joyce

He rose quickly and placed the letter and stationary together on the carved desk stirring history from the corner it occupied in the room. He planned not to disturb the master bedroom or its four-poster bed with sleep. Still unsettled, he opened a hinged French door and walked onto the terrace to observe church bells scattered within the checkerboard of rooftops and how the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica controlled the skyline unmuted by the haze of the afternoon. Rome, in its laid bare chaotic beauty, was defiant. He spent an exposure to record the living canvas on the other side of the Spanish Steps then left the suite unexpectedly disconsolate from solitude.

Accommodations for the 2629th WAC Battalion members at the Hassler Villa were tight. The single rooms held four occupied bunks. Equally, Marlene and Maria always anticipated the privilege of having rackmates because it strengthened their bond with perspective. When settling into their room after breakfast, they were briefly introduced to Private First Class Ruth Ann Damico and Corporal Elizabeth Branch whom they listened to and watched prepare for their clerical assignments.

Captain Lillian Harris knocked on the door puzzled by their early return. “Captain Dietrich,” she said impressionably in her battledress blouse with its two imposing epaulet silver captain bars, the gold sleeve bars, and the deservedly displayed service ribbons above her left breast. “I was informed that you had already departed for your weekend performance.”

Thinking quickly Marlene answered, “Our liaison, Captain Rosenthal, received urgent orders about his permanent change of station, so we are delayed while he arranges the transport of his pro-gear. He has set our departure at 0:400. “

“Beth and Ruth will be returning soon. Look out for them,” she curtly intimated as the door closed behind her.

“Your dress revealed our plans.”

“Captain Harris has seen war. Stylishness won’t keep secrets from her. It celebrates them with a Victory Number. We will follow her suggestion and wait for our NCO friends to return to the room.”

“How will we test the waters with Rosie?”

“We will invite them to the table.”

When given their battlefield promotions, Ruth and Beth realized immediately that their aptitude testing had set them apart from others assigned to Advanced Communications in the Signal Corps, S2, and Operations, S3. Both were, nonetheless, initially surprised and slightly dismayed when informed by Captain Harris of their selection for transfer to Okinawa as part of her staff until Letters of Commendation evoked within them a deep imbue of patriotism and service. Luminous, they chased regrets away with conversant awe for the fame of the women they imagined juxtaposed in waiting for their return to quarters.

Maria promptly detected lingering tension in their smile curled cheeks. She casually mentioned “We are going downstairs for coffee. Please follow us outside. I have so many questions.”

Her mother nodded emphatically as if coaxing their agreeable “absolutely” given simultaneously.

“We were among the first to have a delightful breakfast within its stone walls. Brigadier General Mollison personally intervened and authorized its verdant restoration days after the war ended in Europe and pushed our installation commander to open it within a month.” Ruth contemplatively noted.

“I told you they were listening.” Beth ruddily interjected.

Fred, as if routine, took the wheel of the stately car in silver trim and conveniently returned them to the hotel where there conversation deepened with discussion of his mixed Polish-Jewish heritage and missing relatives.

Approaching with deliberate grace, Marlene, trailed reminiscently by Maria, uplifted the forlorn commiseration in striking counterpoint, “Our new sisters are joining us here.”

With unbidden enthusiasm plucking his composure, Fred preened, “I am Lt. Seymour, the Billeting Duty Officer.” After Rosie repositioned his coffee, he, befuddled, momentarily closed his eyes and drew, in response, a breath to quell embarrassment, then continued less nervously, “I …” Marlene stealthily kissed his cheek before they opened and he could finish. The move dispensed tension and formalities with laughter.

From the bar, Billy nostalgically watched hierarchies dissipate in the scene until quietly calling out with instinct “Joyce,” as Ruth walked by alone and sidled Maria.

“Where is Beth?” Maria quietly asked.

“She is caviling about your astuteness probably to hide from me misgivings she has about our new duty assignments with Captain Harris in Okinawa.”

Overtaken by curiosity and enticed by the fragrant potted citrus, geraniums, petunias, and shadowing scent of ivy and jasmine from the stone walls, he joined the growing party with a newcomer smile, was welcomed first by Maria, and, with mild shock, introduced to Ruth Damico.

Agreement finalized their evening plans as a party of six. Fred returned to work and Ruth to console Beth upstairs. Marlene thoughtfully announced “I don’t want to absorb your afternoon with my visit to CLN party headquarters at Piazza Venezia, 12, in its attempt to meet, thank, and learn from Ivanoe Bonomi and to the Liberal Party headquarters at Via Frattina, 89, to inquire about Benedetto Croce this afternoon.”

“I have read Croce’s Manifesto of the Anti-Fascist Intellectuals.” Rosie sparked eagerly.

Maria demurred, “Mom, you said they were friends. It sounds like an uncertain quest.”

To validate his claim to personal time and possibly solve her despair, Billy handed Maria Joyce’s note to read. “Corporal Joyce Damico is my closest friend in Europe. ” With homespun persuasion, he added, “I just met her sister.”

Maria circulated Joyce’s instructions. “I don’t want to relive the broken history of this war. He is gifting a family continuity I know to be irreplaceable.”

Her mother nodded approval as Rosie clasped his hands as bars to the tips of Billy’s shoulders in a friendly shove before giving him the keys. “You are our driver and will need to help make our visit to the Liberal Party’s headquarters inconspicuous if this unauthorized foray is to successfully use celebrity to coopt the provision of privacy and political security to satisfy curiosity.”

Furthering his analysis, he continued “Though the weather provides another safeguard, Marlene, the military veil that has kept your presence in Rome quiet since your arrival this morning will not last. If we remain intrepid, however, spontaneity will not lose its advantages.”

“


Fearing word of his womanizing would get back to Velma, Floyd would book his sons’ band identifying as Dalton. With the war ending, demand for musical performers for holiday events paused for it surged and their AM radio notoriety did not go unnoticed. Hot Springs offered to make them the headliner for its Christmas season dance, so Floyd, without hesitation, made quick agreement in anticipation of escaping the river by managing their music career.

Vee believed she had married a sweet boy who had been assigned to the motor pool. Without documented children and combat experience, the points he had otherwise accumulated for service time and overseas duties were not enough to qualify him for his magic carpet ride until the holiday. Her nursing duties had made it clear, however, that the war left scars upon all who returned from it. Would Billy be the same?

“Howie, it looks like Dad has found another Linda,” Harry chuckled.

“A Linda?” Howie responded.

“Yes. Just a nice young woman who needs quick help to fix everything.” Harry continued with a grin.

Settling Scores, The excitement of Rouen, a pothole, Harvey Parks, Comstock & Johnson, Silver Wings* or decisions decisions the heart to heart dialogue between married women near a river dock that brought an end to a radio program.

The Mobius Strip: Expensive Configurations (draft)

“Alpha, adjust your gravitational projection three degrees toward the dark matter density spike,” Commander Rawls’s voice crackled over comms from Epsilon, the command deck. “We’ve detected fluctuation strains along the twist.”

Astronaut Andy Adkins, positioned at the control node of the four-KBO Möbius configuration, sighed and adjusted his magnetic interface gloves. The particle accelerator injected beneath his feet hummed with increased intensity as he redirected the gravitational beam from the console on his forearm sleeve. “I’ve made the calibrated adjustments to the focal coordinates as ordered” he confirmed, watching the holographic display show the subtle shift in the massive gravitational field connecting the four Kuiper Belt Objects. “Dark matter readings stabilizing.”

“Barely,” Krishna Shah amused from Beta Station. “You nearly overcorrected. We are here to build a track not overwork the targeting and laser systems of the spotter array.”

“Finesse, not brute force, is required” added Samir Singh from Gamma Station, his voice betraying a hint of smug jealously. “Perhaps if you weren’t so rusty with your handling skills.”

Andy’s face flushed. “My handling skills are irreproachable.”

Delta Station’s Dani Straw smirked, tongue in cheek, “That’s not what I heard from Dr. Chow before we left Earth. How long has it been since you’ve experienced any intimacy Andy? This century?”

Laughter echoed across comms, including a faint chuckle from command.

“If we could focus on the mission,” Andy said stiffly. “We’re clearing negative correlates in the highest-energy dark matter seam in this sector to create a hyperspace lane. One mistake and we will ruin the stochastically distributed shedding needed to embed teleportational propulsion and directional control.”

“Oh, he’s sensitive today,” Dani teased. “Maybe we should harvest his parts while he sleeps. His particle detector would be more useful in my station anyway.”

“I heard that suggestion before,” Captain Lisa Valerie silkily added. “But regulations, unfortunately, prevent harvesting crew members, no matter how tempting.” The holographic display suddenly flashed red, and everyone fell silent.

“Quantum instability detected at 52-Mark-23,” Captain Valerie, all business now, announced. “Krishna, Samir we need counter-phase gravitational pulses immediately. This distortion could destabilize the entire field.”

Andy watched as Beta and Gamma Stations lit up on his display. Their particle accelerators firing precisely modulated beams to stabilize the growing anomaly with adjusting spin rates.

“Nicely done, Krishan and Samir,” Captain Valerie said as the warning indicators faded. “I believe this calls for a reward. Finally, silver bars for your epaulets when we complete this mission. Your teamwork just saved us from an impassable collapse.”

“What about me?” Dani asked from Delta Station.

“You get to continue enjoying Andy’s discomfort,” Lisa replied dryly. “Puerile entertainment at the expense of the socially hapless is its own reward.”

Andy adjusted his field modulator again, watching the configuration he first derivatively imagined after hypothesizing consciousness to be a responsive co-occurring system stabilize further. The four massive KBOs continued their impossible dance, rotating and revolving around each other in a pattern that defied conventional physics, all held together by their experimental particle accelerators and the magnetic safety systems that translated their intentions into precise gravitational manipulations.

“Another anomaly is forming,” he announced, noticing a subtle shift readings. “This one’s different, almost like the dark matter is responding to the KBO behavior we are manifesting.”

“Fascinating,” Captain Valerie murmured. “We’re not just clearing a path we’re communicating with it. Andy, you may be awkward, but you seem to have a way with exotic matter. Increase your projection intensity by seven percent and let’s see how it responds.”

As Andy complied, the others fell silent, watching their instruments as the massive bodies adjusted, creating what would soon become the galaxy’s first reliable hyperspace lane through a high-energy dark matter seam, assuming they all survived the next phase of the experiment. And assuming, Andy thought grimly, that they didn’t tear a hole in reality first.

“While we wait for the dark matter to stabilize, let’s run the strategic simulation,” Captain Valerie announced . “Everyone, initiate your quantum entanglement protocols and access the virtual environment.”

Andy sighed. These mandatory team-building exercises always felt like a waste of valuable mission time. He tapped his neural interface and felt the familiar disorientation as immersion entailed disembodiment within the shared simulation space. The virtual environment materialized around them as a simple square map with distinct corners marked by cardinal directions. Andy found himself standing in the northwest corner, Krishna the northeast. Samir the southeast, with Dani in the southwest.

“This is Sim Zeta-5,” Captain Valerie explained. “Today’s scenario involves spatial game theory with non-standard topological constraints. Your objective is to maximize territorial control while maintaining system stability.”

Andy immediately recognized the setup. This wasn’t just a simple territorial game, it was a Nash equilibrium problem disguised as a spatial exercise. Each corner represented a position of influence within the configuration they were maintaining in the physical world.

“Begin simulation,” Valerie directed. “Be strategic.”

Andy, recognizing his position as another control node, brazenly proclaimed, “I’m maintaining position!”

Dani, from the southwest corner, suddenly waved at Krishna. “Girl talk! Strategy session!”

Krishna raised an eyebrow but nodded.

Dani intentionally spoke loudly enough for Samir to hear, “Let’s assess our Andy problem. What are we looking at?”

“Classic head in the clouds personality,” Krishna replied. “Thinks three moves ahead but misses what’s right in front of him.”

Dani nodded. “Exactly. His superiority complex must be absent-minded. But what about Samir?”

They both turned to look at Samir, who was contemplating his position in the southeast corner.

“He could be our secret weapon,” Dani mused. “Andy takes him too seriously.”

Samir suddenly brightened. “Wait! That’s it! The entire premise is flawed! If boys are north-south, but I’m in the southeast while Krishna is northeast, then we’ve created a logical impossibility!”

Dani snapped her fingers. “Samir is right! Andy’s entire strategy depends on cardinal directions making sense!”

“But they don’t!” Samir exclaimed. “It’s like Schrödinger’s compass. I’m simultaneously adhering to and violating the rules!”

Andy, who had been quietly watching, suddenly cleared his throat. “Actually” He slowly unfolded a virtual representation of their spatial configuration, revealing a crucial detail. “This is a Möbius strip map.”

The others stared in shock.

“A Möbius what?” Krishna asked.

Andy smirked. “A Möbius strip. One-sided surface. Which means” he pointed to each of them, “all of you are actually on the same side while I’m on the only other position that exists.”

Samir blinked. “That’s impossible!”

“Check the fine print,” Andy replied, pointing to tiny text along the edge of the map. “Non-Euclidean topography. The cardinal directions were just a distraction.”

Dani groaned. “You took Theoretical Physics for fun last semester, didn’t you?”

“And that,” Andy said, collecting the map, “is why you never play spatial games with someone who minored in topology.”

The simulation space flickered as Captain Valerie’s laughter filled the environment. “Very good, Andy. You’ve identified the underlying principle of today’s exercise. In non-Euclidean space, conventional competitive game theory breaks down. The Nash equilibrium cannot be maintained through traditional strategies.”

The simulation shifted, revealing the true nature of their positions, not a square but a twisted Möbius configuration that perfectly mirrored their actual stations orbiting the dark matter seam.

“This isn’t just a game,” Valerie continued more seriously. “It’s a metaphor for what we’re actually doing out here. The dark matter seam doesn’t follow conventional physics. It’s a one-sided manifold in four-dimensional space-time. Andy recognized this first because his position at the Control Node gives him the only true perspective on the entire configuration.”

Krishna’s virtual avatar crossed her arms. “So you’re saying Andy actually does have the superior position?”

“Not superior,” Valerie corrected. “Unique. In a prisoner’s dilemma on a Möbius strip, there’s no traditional dominant strategy. The only winning move is cooperation across what appears to be opposing sides.”

Samir’s expression changed to understanding. “Because there’s only one side. We’re not opponents at all.”

“Exactly,” Valerie confirmed. “And that’s the lesson for today’s mission. The dark matter seam isn’t an obstacle to overcome—it’s a partner to dance with. In topological game theory, you don’t win against the system; you win with it.”

As the simulation faded and Andy regained full embodied awareness, he looked at the holographic display with renewed clarity. The dark matter wasn’t resisting their attempts to create a hyperspace lane. It was responding to them, adjusting to their manipulations, and fixing its own equilibrium.

“Captain, I think I know why the anomalies keep forming. We’re treating this as a standard navigation dilemma, but we are failing to anticipate the innate responsiveness of the dark matter. We must cooperate with its axions, neutrinos, and weakly interacting massive particles if we are going to confine and order how they are arrayed.”

Valerie’s voice held a note of respect when she replied, “Now you’re thinking with the right topology, Andy. What do you propose?”

Andy methodically instructed his console. “Instead of forcing a path through the seam, we will invite it to form one naturally. Krishna, Samir, Dani reduce your projections by twenty percent and follow my lead. Let’s show this dark matter how to play nice.”

The four stations harmoniously adjusted their gravitational fields perfectly. In response, the dark matter seam pulsated with equilibrating energy, not fighting against their intrusion but welcoming it, shaping itself around their Möbius configuration as a dance partner.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Valerie whispered. “It’s working.”

And as the first stable hyperspace lane began to form through the heart of the dark matter seam, Andy couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes, the most complex problems had the simplest solution once you understood the topology of the game. Andy returned to dock at the shuttle bay where the others had already arrived..

“Welcome back, hero of the hour,” Dani warmly greeted him after the airlock cycled open, her earlier teasing completely absent. “Your studied insight has proven invaluable and instructive. ”

Andy blinked, momentarily thrown by her friendly demeanor. “Thanks, Dani. I just applied basic topology principles on the importance of network redundancy for memory consistency to our work in creating efficient distance marking within the energy time constraints determining the sustainability of the quantum gravitational field ” he said, adjusting his gear bag. Then, trying to navigate this unfamiliar terrain of pleasant conversation with her, he asked, “How are Timothy and James coming along with the receiver array installation?”

“Timothy’s still calibrating the quantum entanglement matrices, and James is struggling with the phase variance compensators,” Dani replied, falling into step beside him as they moved through the corridor. “They could probably use your expertise once you’ve had a chance to rest. That mind of yours seems particularly well-suited to non-Euclidean problems today.”

Andy nodded, wondering if this newfound appreciation would last beyond their next training simulation. With the crew of the Möbius configuration, nothing was ever straightforward sometimes even kindness hid motives.

Raymond Adkins

Unbuttoned light gently shimmers across
Provocatively perched to reveal parts
Fixed upon dawns grown from fearless hearts
Touring travails exhaled by clenched censure.
Writing as trialed torments of hostage,
Tragedy kept close to dissuade others
By quickly laming heedless adventure.
Without pauses or questions of knowledge,
Kettled enchantments spout promise through covers
Pressed open and mixed for tomorrows’ cause.

In hope sputtered moribund controversy,
Abandoned homes stood lifeless
To starve pay from forgotten neighbors
And empty minds with vanished literacy
Greedily seized to mock survival.
Bunched limbs shouted over long tracked arrival
Unprepared & unrecruited but settled in purpose
With sweat & will for freedoms labors
Stretched too far along to contest vacancy
Posted as allure to settle gentry.

Days passed as centuries beneath forgotten stones
Where pill bugs burrowed fertility into clay
As epixylic flies, springtails , & woodlice
Pursued unabated fungivorous delight
From mineral streaming watermarks traced
By decay destined shoots & sprigs awaiting feeted midguts
Yet to ensnare centipede eyes or spider chelicerae.
Hushed chittering belied the quiet harmony
In which colonies collect & fulfill an unpromised tomorrow.

There is music in your eyes,
When saccades dart away & nigh
To focus rhythmic minds with time
Then play dreams with lullabies.
Watching blinks is listening to winks
With drawn out wonders singing comply
Bleating hearts to patterned eros
I am counted amongst the mirroring chorus.
Well lit by resilience,
But battered, chipped, & muddy.
Your silence tones kindled brilliance
In tuned glances to renew & ruddy.
Will you pair their wiles with my company?

Presence doesn’t blind, but personas drown me.
Your memories stitched dreams played only once
By threadbare consumed survival questions.

Quiet approaches write mirror context
With entrained recall of youth built promise
Seen as fancy but clear as remedy
For daylight fashioned stood even eyes
Assembling calm sharpened agency.

Time wantonly castigates perfection
In saddeningly cold reflection;
Change is incomprehensive to illusion.
Growth outpourings devil diminution
Stood frank & awful across tabled eyes
Wet from agency repressed by surprise.
Life binds fancies of everyday madness
As if bored by knowing what escape is.
When stung, defensive minds enact cruelty
while persuaded hope envisions duty.

Andy Adkins