Gene Genie

Less About David Bowie -
 - than Atomic Rooster.  Whom you might be forgiven for not knowing, as they are but a minor footnote in the annals of rock, and Conrad confesses he's not heard any of their stuff even if he knows their name.
     Okay, I am remedying that at this very moment, with Youtube playing "Devil's Answer" in the background.  Don't complain, it could have been "Spirit In The Sky".

The answer to the Devil's Question

     Anyway, back to that Genie.  We are not talking about vapourous spirits that emerge out of old brass fitments when agitated by the human hand.  Oh no.  What we mean here is a nuclear-armed rocket intended to shoot down/blow up/waltz off this mortal coil* invading fleets of Sinister bombers.  The AIR-2 Genie, as mentioned in yesterday's post, was a 1.5 kiloton yield rocket with a range of several miles, which would be fired at the target whilst the pilot responsible crossed his fingers and headed for home at high-speed.  Art?

The beast on it's bed

     The rather remarkable thing about Genie is her light brown hair that it was used in a live-fire demonstration of how gullible/brave/daft* human beings could be, because - forsooth, what is this!  Naught but a concatenation of warm bodies assembled 4 miles beneath the detonation of a Genie air-to-air rocket.  That's right, a group of VOLUNTEERS stood under the detonation of a nuclear warhead.  Art?

"Hi Mom!"

     Although they cringed a bit when the sonic shock wave washed o'er them, all 5 got by just fine.  Including the cameraman, for those who are wondering who took the picture.  Being four miles downtrack from an atomic foofoodilly going BANG is sufficient to preserve one's bones, especially if the warhead is in the Rather Pathetically Small Class That Dare Not Compare Itself Versus The Big Boys Class.
     Now, time to sit the motley down, present it with a cup of tea and deploy the scones and strawberry jam!**

But Sharks ARE Our Friends!
As you may be aware, Conrad ploughs a lonely furrow in trying to rehabilitate the shark's reputation, which is an uphill struggle I can tell you.  No sooner does the collective memory of "Jaws" begin to fade, than along comes "Sharknado" and Our Friends The Sharks are back in the doghouse.***

Sorry, couldn't resist

     So it was with some delight that I read about a Great White Shark (Carcharodon Carcharias) whom is so friendly to humans that he wants to help law enforcement.  Art?

No, no, the boat is smaller than the shark.  Think of it that way.

     He provided some back-up for the police, who were checking the legality of various boat owners.  You can guess how the conversations opened -
POLITE OCKER POLICEMAN     "Good afternoon, sir.  Can we see your licence and insurance documentation?"
ANGRY AND SHIFTY BOAT-OWNER: "Or what?  What right do you have?  I'm in international waters!  How -"
POLITE POLICEMAN NARROWS EYES AND GESTURES BEHIND HIS BOAT
SUDDENLY COMPLIANT BOAT-OWNER (WHO IS STILL A BIT SHIFTY): "Right you are!"

One day, perhaps.  A man can dream, can't he?

     This will doubtless be undone shortly when Sharknado #7 comes out.^

A Guide To Our Glossary
If you have been reading the blog for any length of time, then you know we have our own unique take on the English language, which includes nicknames for other countries.  These are not always obviously related to the real world, so I occasionally add a list for your education and amusement.  Steve?

M8's:  The French, because we're such good friends now (say it aloud for it to make sense)
Ockers: the Australians
The Polite Australians:  The New Zealanders
South Canadians: Americans (Conrad likes to pretend the American Revolution DID NOT HAPPEN)
British Americans: Canadians.  A smidgeon of historical truth behind this.
Teutons: the Germans
Sinisters: the Soviets
Ruffians: the Russians (after their behaviour at Euro 2012)
Norks:  Norwegians (if said with a smile)
Norks: North Koreans (if said with a sneer)
Populous Dictatorship:  Communist China
Perfidious Albion OR The Pond/Ice-rink/Garden of Eden:  Britain, obviously

     And there you have it.

The Sanjak of Novi Pazar.  We've not insulted them, yet, but we'll get around to it.

*  Pick least schmaltzy option
**  Radioactive scones and toxic strawberries
***  Metaphorically only.
^  I was joking, but this is a real thing <sighs>

The Future Is Not What It Ought

For A Start, There's Those Magic Smoke Flutes -
 - and I know, it should be 'There are' except that doesn't scan as well as 'There's', even if the former is generic and the latter is more specific.  Anyway, magic smoke flutes, which would have been beloved by Philip Kendred Dick, because - really, you want or need your nicotine fix without any of that nasty burning paper or vegetable matter?  Bingo!  Magic smoke flute is here.  Art?

Addiction in convenient handy package!

     What I wanted to point out is that the future is not shaping up as all those science-fiction authors of the Golden Age foresaw.  For one thing, Hom.  Sap. has discovered that nuclear power stations come with some drawbacks, because we only have atomic fission at present - no sign of nuclear fusion on the horizon anytime soon.  Then, we are utilising wind power via turbines to an extent nobody could have predicted back in the Fifties.  Art?

     Up to a third of all Perfidious Albion's electrickery produced by WHIRLING BLADES OF DEATHLY DOOM!*
     Still waiting for my flying car, though.
     Now, time to wrap the motley in clingfilm and leave it at the back of the fridge!
     (No pools of liquid terror today).

Fusion-Powered Fiction
Well, I suppose I'd better warn you that HERE BE SPOILERS concerning 'The Expanse',as I have just finished watching the last episode of Season 2, and a fitting end it was, too.  Or, perhaps I should say, 'un-fitting'.  It's slightly different from the novels, for dramatic reasons, as the 'Trivia' page about it on IMDB informs.
     Anyway, there's Naomi and Prax, footling about on the exterior of the 'Rocinante', cradling what appears to be the plutonium core of a missile warhead - we'll come back to that later on - in order to lure an hideous protomolecular monster out of the cargo hold.  HPM's are known to love radiation, you see. 

Hard to house-train

     They manage this feat, and before the HPM can seize hold of them and render them unto the sweepings on a butcher's floor, Prax throws the core to the rear of the ship.  The HPM is thus manoeuvred into the path of the Roci's Epstein drive, which turns it into plasma in about a picosecond.  Art?

Roast HPM coming up!

     Reminiscent, I feel, of Gollum's end in the fires of Mount Doom as he clutches his Precious.  The HPM is so busy cuddling and gloating over it's plutonium pudding that it never sees the fusion spike coming.  There you go, more about nuclear power.
     Don't go away!  At the climax of this episode a UN research ship is making a powered descent to the surface of Venus, there to examine the crater made when the asteroid Eros crashed into it. 
     "But wait!" burbled your humble scribe.  "That crewmember looked suspiciously like Adam Savage!"  Art?

From "Mythbusrers"

     That's because it was him.  Adam is a big fan of the show and managed to parlay his celebrity status into getting a cameo.  Don't get excited, he isn't on-screen for long as the whole ships gets mysteriously disintegrated to bits by the protomolecular-muddled Eros.
        Quickly, abort the missile launch!  Interception will fragment bacilli-carrying warheads!

      Just testing.  It's a quote from "The Omega Man" and although striking it's also rather silly if you follow it through.  Imagine a ballistic interception taking place 150 miles uptrack from the target; your anti-missile missile is going to go bang in a mass of high-explosive, which is very bad for bacilli in the locale, not to mention the long slow drift through the atmosphere, where all sorts of radiation will be queuing up to zap those microbes of mischief.  Conrad cannot help but think that not intercepting those bacilli carrying warheads is the riskier option.
     Don't forget, this is 1971 we're talking about, when South Canada saw fit to defend itself with nuclear-tipped rockets, a design known as the "Genie", and one of these going off would make all the difference mentioned above, except more so.  Quite whom decided that a rocket - NOT a missile, an unguided rocket - with a 1.5 kiloton-yield  warhead was a splendid idea is open to question.  Possibly a manager on secondment from First Bus.  They were no mere flash in the pan, either, because 3,000 were produced.  After all, when you're lighting up the sky with atomic firecrackers, quantity is important!

Er - Spirit in the Sky, anyone?

     We do seem to have gone round in a circle and ended up with nuclear warheads again, don't we?  Well, in another way that the present doesn't mirror what fiction folks of the Fifties expected, you've we've not wiped ourselves out.**





*  Forgive me my drama, I had a Doctor Who Title Moment.  Also, no horrid cheap puns.
**  Yet.