Lunar Cops (Part III)

You will want to read Part I and Part II before reading this.

Coleman watched TV on the hopper as they flew back to Luna City, after getting off the maglev. Lall was sleeping off the effects of being stunned. Colleman wanted to see if their case had hit the news. He didn’t like having his name on the air, but sometimes people with useful information would come forward if a case was covered by the media. After you sifted through the crazies that would invariably call. He thought. All he could find was a business report. It was about the falling price of water. A lot of people were losing a lot of money in the commodities markets. The reporter was explaining how water had continued to decline in price for almost three months now, in spite of the fact that production had not increased significantly.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Friedman said. “It flies in face of basic economics.”

“Either demand has fallen, or the supply really is increasing, and it’s just not showing up in official inventories of water supplies.” Coleman said.

“You mean there is more water being traded on the black market?” Friedman asked.

“That seems more likely to me than demand suddenly falling off for no reason.” Coleman said.

“But, if that’s true, then where are the black marketers getting the water?” Friedman asked.

“That’s a good question, I suppose…” Coleman’s voice trailed off as he focused his attention back on the TV. A news report had come on about Andrew Lee’s break-in at the UN Government Substation. There wasn’t any mention of anything being stolen, just that it was probably an act of terrorism. The screen jumped to an old picture of Lee. The reporter then transitioned to the next story: “And now a report on a local pooch and his owner who are dog tired after breaking the record for doggie dancing…” Coleman turned off the TV. He pulled up the bio. on Dr. Lee, and began to peruse through it. Before he inexplicably quit about three years ago, Dr. Lee had been a highly respected Lunar geologist –a selenologist, as they preferred to be called- at the UN Lunar Science Ministry. Some people thought he had been kidnapped or murdered. Others said that he had joined the secessionist movement.

“Why do you think someone like Lee is doing this?” Friedman asked, who was reading the same report as Coleman.

“I think he is a secessionist.” Coleman said. “The resources he has at his disposal indicate that he is working for a well-funded organization like that: The memory storage device he used to steal the data is an expensive black market item and taking down the communications satellite over the maglev would have required enormous resources. It also makes sense given what we know about Lee’s political views.” Coleman pointed to a section of Lee’s bio that described how he had been rumored to be a political writer on the Lunarnet known only as “J.L.”. J.L. wrote mostly essays and op-eds on why the moon should break politically with the Earth. J.L.’s writings also suggested that he wanted the break with Earth to be done through peaceful political means, but then he had stopped writing –right around the same time that Andrew Lee disappeared. Coleman wondered if Lee had decided that working through official UN channels to achieve Lunar independence was futile. Coleman noticed that one of the essays written by J.L. was titled “The Squatter Problem”. Without thinking about it, he opened it, and began to read:

…the squatter problem is a problem spawned by UN policy. Homelessness on Earth, by which I mean large numbers of people, who want to have a home, being unable to afford one for long periods of time, is always caused by bad law, such as rent controls creating shortages. Similarly, in this case, UN policy generally flies in the face of man’s nature and the requirements for his survival, and one particular “law” (for can it really be a “law” if it violates natural law?) is responsible for the misery of the squatters. That law has its origins in the 20th Century, and the UN Outer Space Treaty. Under UN law, the right of Lunarians to create, own, and possess the material goods needed for survival is abrogated in the name of the “greater good”. But who’s greater good? It certainly isn’t the greater good of most people living in Luna City, who cannot afford the price of what would be a closet back on Earth. It isn’t the greater good of even most of the people living back on Earth –why would they care where the people of the Moon live, as long as the H-3 continues to flow? No, it is the “greater good” of that undefined and un-definable “social collective”. It is, perhaps, even the “greater good” of the politicians at the UN (although “greater power” might be a more accurate description of their interest)…

Coleman skipped a few pages, and began to read again:

…The solution to the squatter problem is simple: turn the squatters into homesteaders. Establish a system of property acquisition and courts to enforce and define those property boundaries on the moon.

Coleman knew that the UN politicians back on Earth would never willingly allow this to happen. First, it was contrary to the rhetoric of most UN politicians, who spoke of the need to control unchecked growth in order to prevent “sociological displacement” and “ecological damage”. Furthermore, Coleman knew that their power on Earth was based in the rents that the H-3 companies on the moon paid, since that was where it got the majority of its revenue. Giving Lunarians a property interest in lunar real estate would make the Moon seem more like their home, instead of just a place of temporary employment. This, in turn would call into question why the rents that the H-3 corporations paid were necessary. The rents cost the corporations profits, which, in turn hurt wages, and they all went back to Earth, so they were already disliked. If the people of the moon began to think of themselves as homesteaders and colonists of the moon, instead of migrant laborers, here on the moon on a temporary basis, it wouldn’t be long before they moved to curtail or abolish the rents paid to the UN, which would in turn destroy the UN’s power back on Earth.

“Well, whatever he stole, I guess Lee’s going to get away with it.” Friedman said.

“Why do you say that?” Coleman asked.

“They weren’t able to track Lee after he left the train on the hopper because of the downed communications satellite.” Friedman said. “He could be anywhere now.”

“I’m pretty certain we can discover where he has gone once we get back near Luna City.” Coleman said.

“Okay, don’t make me grovel for it.” Friedman joked. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“We’re pretty sure that Lee wasn’t originally planning to go to Luna City.” Coleman began.

“Right, his suit was damaged, and he had to steal a ticket to get on the maglev.” Friedman said.

“So, there are two questions: where was he going, and how was he originally planning to get there?” Coleman asked rhetorically. “I think Lee is a member of the Lunar resistance, and that he was doing work for them associated with their attempted secession.”

“Okay, that seems reasonable, given the fact that he probably is the political essayist known as “J.L.”. What do you think “J.L.” stands for anyway?”

“Let’s not get distracted with unessential questions,” Coleman scolded Friedman before continuing. “I think that, generally speaking, Lee must have been going to someplace where it would be safe to have an illegal cloned UN terminal system, which would allow him to download the information contained on the memory device he stole from the substation. Furthermore, my Dear Watson,” Coleman added playfully, “…we know that however he was originally planning to get to this secret secessionist hideout, it must have involved a transportation device that was close to his initial landing spot when he jumped off the cargo transporter that he hitchhiked on.”

“Maybe somebody was supposed to be waiting there with a hopper, and something happened to them?” Friedman asked.

“Doubtful.” Coleman responded. “The hopper traffic that near Luna City is tracked, and an unscheduled landing and takeoff from that location by a hopper would attract the attention of the authorities, and would also probably be intercepted.”

“Okay…Holmes,” Friedman said sarcastically. “How was he planning on getting away, and how is that going to help us find him now?”

“What did Lee land nearby after he jumped off the cargo transporter and damaged his suit?” Coleman asked.

“Ah…I get it.” Friedman said. “You’re thinking he planned to use the mass driver.”

“Exactly!” Coleman said.

“But, that driver isn’t rated for human transport. Its track is too short, and it would have to accelerate a person beyond the limits of his physiology to put him in orbit…” Friedman’s voice trailed off, and since Coleman could see that he had almost arrived at the correct conclusion, he gave him a second to figure it out, rather than explaining it. “…oh, I get it.” Friedman continued. “Lee wouldn’t have had to reach orbit, since his destination was presumably somewhere on the moon. Therefore, he wouldn’t have needed to be launched at a rate of acceleration too great for his body to withstand.”

“Correct.” Coleman said.

“I’ll tell the pilot to take us to the mass driver, oh god of crime-busting.” Friedman said sincerely, and without a hint of sarcasm.

***

“I don’t understand what we are doing here.” Lall said groggily as they cycled through the airlock at the mass driver’s control station.

“Friedman will call you and explain it to you.” Coleman said over his suit radio, then sub-vocally, to Friedman: “Get this jack-off up to speed, please.” Coleman took another look at the mass driver’s employee roster. Before they had arrived, Coleman had had Friedman do a criminal background check on all of the driver’s personnel, then he had cross-checked the ones with records against those employees who had access to the mass driver’s velocity control computers. A mass driver worked by accelerating a metal container, filled with whatever you wanted to put into orbit, with magnetic coils on a long, strait track until the container had sufficient velocity to reach orbit. The velocity control computer controlled the final speed of the container, and therefore controlled how far the container would travel. If the velocity was lower than that required to reach orbit, then the container would eventually fall back to the surface of the moon. Coleman was guessing that Lee and his associates had simply bribed someone with access to the control computer at the mass driver facility, since its systems weren’t connected to the Lunarnet, making a hacker attack difficult.

“How can I help?” The mass driver’s manager said once they had cycled through the airlock, and shown him their badges.

“We need to speak with one of your employees –a Richie Tran.” Coleman said, naming the only employee at the mass driver who had both a criminal record and access to its control computer.

“Just a minute.” The manager said as he stepped to a terminal. “Tran, someone here to see you.”

“Who is it?” A voice on the terminal queried back.

“Don’t tell him it’s the cops…” Coleman whispered from behind the manager. “Tell him it’s a girl looking for him.”

“Er…” The manager said, fumbling his words. “It’s…a girl, looking for you…she said you’d know who.”

“Oh, okay. Tell Betty I’ll be there in a second.”

A few minutes later Richie Tran walked into the room, saw Coleman and Lall, and turned to run back out. Lall tackled him before he could make it out the door. “What the hell is going on?” Tran asked loudly. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Is there someplace we can talk with him in private?” Coleman asked the manager.

“Yeah, first left out this door is a conference room.”

Coleman let Lall manhandle Tran into the conference room and into a chair. Coleman then sat down across the table from Tran. “You’ve got yourself a little bit of a record, there, Richie.” Coleman said with mock amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, well, I had a bad childhood.” Tran said sarcastically. “But, I’m on the strait-and-narrow now –and I owe it all to Jesus.”

“Yeah, you’re just the type to take the ‘good book’ to heart aren’t you?” Coleman said dismissively. “Do you know an Andrew Lee?”

“Never heard of him.” Tran said.

“Richie, Richie, Richie…” Coleman said with feigned sadness. “Do you know what the penalty is for aiding terrorists?”

“Terrorists?” Tran said, with surprise, and growing fear that now seemed genuine. “I don’t know nothing about no terrorists.” Coleman suspected that Lee and his secessionist associates hadn’t told Tran what they were doing when they bribed him, and he had probably assumed it was for smuggling. In fact, Coleman knew from his rap sheet that Richie Tran was a minor criminal. He had done a little time for smuggling and a few other misdemeanors. Coleman knew that the possibility of a charge like aiding terrorists, a major felony, probably scared a little fish like Richie Tran.

“You’d better get out in front of this, Richie, or that is what you’re looking at.” Coleman said, faking a concern in his voice for Richie Tran that he didn’t actually feel.

“Look, I don’t know anything about any terrorists…” Tran began to say, with a quiver in his voice.

“You’re lying!” Lall said, slapping the desk in front of Tran. Coleman was slightly annoyed by Lall getting involved in his interrogation, but he knew that Lall was entitled to be there, so he ignored it.

“I’m not lying.” Tran said, almost pleadingly. “I don’t know what you’re talking…”

“Oh, okay.” Coleman said. “I guess we’ve got the wrong guy here. So, when I go and look at the logs for the driver’s control computers, I’m not going to see that you reduced the velocity of one of the containers, and if I go and get a warrant, I’m not going to see that you recently made a deposit of a sizable sum to your bank account.” Coleman stood up, as if to leave. “Come on.” He said to Lall. “I guess Mr. Tran doesn’t want to help himself out of this jam.”

“Okay! Okay!” Tran said, standing up, and holding up his hands in surrender. “Somebody did pay me to reprogram a launch trajectory so that the container wouldn’t make lunar orbit insertion. He paid good money, and I just thought he was smuggling something, I didn’t know anything about any terrorist plot.”

“Who paid you?” Coleman said.

“Simons –John Simons.” Tran said. “He works here at the driver facility, prepping containers for launch. Is Simons really a terrorist?”

Coleman began to walk out of the room.

“Hey, what’s going to happen to me?” Tran asked. “I cooperated, right?”

“Yeah.” Coleman said with sarcasm. “You’re a model citizen. After we check your story, you’re free to go, but I bet you’ll need to find yourself a new job.” He walked out of the room. The manager was waiting in the hallway. “Do you have a John Simons working for you?”

“We did until today.” The manager answered. “He tendered his resignation and walked off the job about an hour before you guys showed up.”

“I’ll put out an APB for him.” Friedman said.

“I doubt he’ll be found.” Coleman said to Friedman as he turned away from the manager. “But it doesn’t matter at this point anyway. We know how Lee was originally planning to get away after he jumped from the cargo transport, so we also know where he was going.”

Doctors Remove 6 Organs to Get at Tumor

I was so impressed by this story last night on the news that I thought I'd mention it here. The doctors removed 6 organs from a woman's abdomen, removed a tumor, and then put the organs back in. Incredible. Only in America.

San Antonio Needle Exchange Charity Targeted

I find it hard to believe that there are actually people in the world who believe that so-called "needle exchange" charities should be illegal, but I do live in Texas, so I'm not that surprised. Conservatives here care more about enforcing Christian morality -at the point of the government’s gun- than they do about freedom for the rational individual.

The underlying principle controlling the issue of “clean needle” charities is private property rights. An individual has an absolute, inalienable right to be free to create, gain, keep, sell, and exchange property. This means that individuals should be free to create any substance they want, or any device they want, and to sell or give them away under whatever terms they choose. In practice, this means any private group that wants to give away syringe needles should be free to do so. Law enforcement in such circumstances should be limited to ensuring that the private property rights of others are not violated, which means, for instance, that people obtaining clean needles in that area shouldn't be allowed to trespass on the private property of neighbors to the private charity. The fact that such private "clean needle" charities help to reduce the spread of disease is a logical consequence of greater freedom. Socialism, more specifically, governmental violations of private property rights, always creates death and misery. Freedom creates the social conditions necessary for promoting man's life.

Lunar Cops (Part II)

(You will want to read Part I before reading this.)

“Wouldn’t the sudden acceleration injure someone using this?” Lall asked, after looking at the specs for the magnetic-rocket device that the thief had used to escape from the substation with. They both fell forward into their seatbelts slightly as the hopper decelerated as it approached Luna City.

“The hardsuit he was using is designed to protect the occupant from extreme accelerations.” Coleman answered.

“This guy is not bright.” Friedman said in Coleman’s ear. Coleman smiled slightly.

“Well, what do we do now?” Lall asked.

“I suspect that our perpetrator would have jumped ship before the hopper reached its destination at Luna City, in order to avoid detection by people working at the landing area. Therefore, we follow the path of the cargo transporter, and have our hopper’s external ground surveillance cameras check for signs of his make of hardsuit on the surface below.”

“That’s quite a jump down to the surface, and just barely inside the limits of his hardsuit’s endurance specifications.” Friedman noted over the hopper’s speaker phone system, so that Lall could hear him too.

“I think our perp. decided he was just going to have to take a risk that the hardsuit would withstand the fall.” Coleman said.

“It looks like his gamble didn’t pay off.” Friedman said over the speaker phone. Images of the impact sight below their hopper appeared on the screens in front of Coleman and Lall. The image was too far out for Coleman and Lall to discern any trace of the hardsuit’s impact. Coleman noticed that the perpetrator had landed near a mass-driver facility used for putting cargo into Lunar orbit for shipment to Earth and the other colonies. He began to zoom in on the spot illuminated as the impact sight on his screen. “There are pieces of his hardsuit’s leg on the ground that must have come off when he hit.” Friedman said.

“Are you sure this is where he landed?” Lall asked.

“The pieces match the design specs of the hardsuit we know he was wearing, and the trail of prints away from the impact sight match the footprint for that type of hardsuit.” Friedman said. “Given the fact that we are fairly sure that he must have used the cargo transporter to escape from the substation, and the fact that this spot on the surface is directly over the cargo transporter’s scheduled flight plan, we can safely assume that there is no other logical explanation.” Freidman said with the condescension in his voice kept so minimal that only Coleman caught it.

“Where do the footprints lead to?” Coleman asked, as he began to zoom in on the impact site.

“Towards Luna City.” Friedman answered.

“Alright, let’s follow those in. Friedman, get us clearance to fly the hopper in near the city.”

The trail of footprints led directly to the nearest public airlock at Luna city. Coleman clearly saw from the pattern of the footprints that the suit had been damaged by the jump from the cargo transporter, and had probably been rapidly leaking air. Once they had cycled through the public airlock, they were greeted by its foreman.

“Your assistant, Mr. Friedman appraised me of the situation over the phone.” The foreman said. “We have the hardsuit for you right over here.”

“You didn’t happen to see the owner did you?” Coleman asked as they walked over to the suit.

“No, I just came on shift.” The foreman responded.

“Alright, we’ll need to get the names and numbers of the people who were working here at the time the owner came in.” Lall said, then he began to ask the foreman what Coleman regarded as a series of useless questions under the circumstances, like “What’s your name?” “Where were you last night?” As if the foreman had anything to do with this crime. Coleman knew that Lall thought everybody was a criminal who hadn’t gotten caught yet. He walked away from them, and over to the hardsuit. One of its legs was visibly damaged.

“I called for someone from the Luna City forensics lab, and she should be here in a couple of minutes.” Friedman told Coleman.

“Good.” Coleman responded. “I want DNA so that we can perform a database check, and find out who we’re dealing with. If we get a hit, then I want you to put out an APB for this guy in the city. Tell city patrol to double police presence at all public airlocks and at the maglev station.”

“You don’t think our perp. is sticking around?” Friedman asked.

“No. Coming to the city was not part of his original plan. He wasn’t planning on damaging his suit when he jumped off that cargo transporter.”

“Then where was he going?” Friedman asked.

“I have a theory about that…” Coleman began to explain when Lall came over.

“Why did you ask for doubling patrol at the airlocks and train station?” Lall asked incredulously, after hearing the APB over the city patrol WAN. “We should be telling city patrol to round up known black market fences -try to catch this guy selling the data.”

“Let’s get something clear.” Coleman said angrily to Lall. “You are here in a supporting capacity only. This case is a matter for the Property Crimes Division, which means I outrank you.”

“We’ll see about that, after I tell your Chief Inspector how you are screwing up this case.” Lall said, as he stormed away, dialing his phone.

“Let the Chief know what we’re up to, and that Lall doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Coleman said to Friedman sub-vocally. “I don’t want this clown politicking his way around my authority.”

“Will do.” Friedman said.

The woman from the city forensics lab was able to get a DNA sample from inside the suit, and began running it through all available databases. “It shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes to do the search.” She said as she lit a cigarette.

“I told the Chief that Lall is an idiot and shouldn’t be listened to –but in a nice way.” Friedman said as they waited. Coleman didn’t respond, deep in thought.

“What is it between the two of you anyway?” Friedman asked.

“We were partners back when I was still a patrolman.” Coleman said. “And, we had –have- two very different approaches to law enforcement.”

When Coleman had first been partnered with Lall, he felt that there was something wrong with his method of police work, which was notably different from his own. It wasn’t anything he could put into words. Lall always followed procedure –to a fault. Coleman found Lall’s dogmatic approach off-putting a lot of the time. Lall never exercised any discretion or judgment. If an arrest could be made, he would make it. If a citation could be written, he would write it. At first, Coleman tried to convince himself that Lall’s single-mindedness was really an admirable trait, but a voice inside his head said that just wasn’t true. After a year of patrolling with him, Coleman’s could no longer even pretend to respect Lall. His resentment had festered into disgust. It finally came to a head after they had come upon a squatter camp while out on patrol.

The Squatters had been a problem even back then, although the problem was significantly worse now. Under UN law, no private individual could own land on the moon. All H-3 mining operations paid rent to the UN, which formed the bulk of its revenue base back on Earth. Luna City was the only officially sanctioned habitation on the moon. All Lunar colonists were, by law, required to live there, in order to maintain “controlled growth”, as the official UN Policy called it. But, while Luna City’s facilities were always being expanded, the permitted expansion was never at a rate fast enough to keep up with the growing Lunar population. This meant that the population density inside Luna City was far beyond the densest city back on Earth, and even the smallest apartment was beyond the financial means of the average family. The inhabitants of Luna City did the best they could under the circumstances. Most families shared an apartment with other families. People with different work shifts would split a single-room flat, so that when one was working, the other was off work and sleeping. Most people ate at public dining halls because their own apartment was too small to have its own kitchen. Bathrooms were mostly public as well. People with any type of apartment to live in were the lucky ones. Others just found a quiet corridor somewhere, and slept there when they weren’t working.

It was difficult for the UN back on Earth to understand the toll it took on a person’s psyche not to have a private space of one’s own. Coleman himself shared a one-room apartment with two other cops, and had for years. But, he knew he had it better than most people, because he was permitted to travel outside the city at will. About every other month, when he began to feel the pressure of all those bodies closing in on him in the city, he could use his status to suit up and take out a rover. He would bring a portable habitat, which was illegal for most people to own, and travel into the Lunar outback to camp out for a number of days. Camping outside the city was illegal for most, because people who did so for any length of time tended to make their “camping trips” permanent, thereby increasing the squatter population.

In fact, the squatters Coleman and Lall had happened upon back then had started out as “campers”. At that time, camping wasn’t illegal, you just had to get a permit. A lot of people got the permit, which enabled them to buy the necessary supplies, and then went out, and never came back. Coleman understood why the Squatters did what they did, and so long as they didn’t turn to banditry or commit what he considered a real crime, he tended to look the other way, -but not Lall. They had arrested several groups of squatters while they had been partners together, with Coleman only doing enough not to get into trouble with their superiors for dereliction of duty during the busts. Usually the squatters went quietly, but not this time. The global recession back on Earth caused by the UN Central Bank’s inflation of the UN Dollar had finally hit the moon, and many people could simply no longer afford their meager apartments in Luna City, forcing them to either be homeless or to leave the city illegally. When the shooting started at the squatter camp, Lall had called in a SWAT team that killed almost every adult in the squatter camp. Most of the children got caught in the cross-fire, and were also killed. Coleman had refused to fire his weapon, despite his orders, and had withdrawn from the site of the slaughter.

Coleman had received a reprimand in the following months for his dereliction of duty, and had been planning to quit the Lunar Patrol. But, before he could, he had gotten involved with the investigation of the kidnapping of the Campisi daughter. One of Coleman’s confidential informants had told him where he would find the girl, and, after she was rescued unharmed, Coleman’s role in her rescue was published in the newspapers. Mr. Campisi, a very wealthy and powerful man on the moon, had seen to it that Coleman was promoted to Detective, and given his choice of divisions. Coleman chose Property Crimes Division because he knew that he would only be arresting robbers and thieves, real criminals to his way of thinking, not squatters.

“I didn’t know you felt such strong sympathy for the squatters.” Friedman said as Coleman finished his story.

“When I was a kid in school, I told one of my teachers that I wanted to be a cop so that I could catch ‘bad guys’.” Coleman said with genuine affection for the innocent child he had been. “I guess that’s still what I want to do –and squatters aren’t…’bad guys’.”

“We got a hit on the DNA search.” The forensics woman said, walking up to Coleman. “A Dr. Andrew Lee.”

“A medical doctor?” Asked Coleman.

“No, a selenologist –former selenologist. He dropped off the grid about three years ago. Quit his job, and just disappeared.” Friedman said, as he read Lee’s file back at headquarters.

“Run a facial recognition check against all cameras in the city since the time he entered the public airlock here.” Coleman said.

The search was quick. “Got him.” Friedman said. “He’s at the maglev station now.”

“Lall.” Coleman yelled out. “Time to go!”

***
“I can’t believe the UN would actually attack one of our cargo ships like that!” A woman declared hysterically in response to the news on the bus’ radio, which was reporting that a ship from Earth had attempted to reach lunar orbit, and had been destroyed by the “Lunar Defense Network”. Coleman and Lall had decided to take one of the numerous busses that ran throughout Luna City rather than wait for a private car from police headquarters to arrive. The busses were computer controlled, so they were still running, despite the general strike in support of the secessionists –at least until they started to break down, since most of the mechanics and technicians were pro-secession and had walked out. Coleman knew that the name “Lunar Defense Network” was a euphemism for a group of unmanned, weaponized satellites in orbit around the moon, allegedly there to “protect” the lunar colony from any country back on Earth asserting political domination over the moon. In reality, it was there to maintain control over a population that was largely hostile to Earth governance. “These terrorists are going to get us all killed!” The hysterical woman declared. Several others on the bus took issue with the woman for calling the secessionists “terrorists”, and for her lack of patriotism.

“I heard that the members of the Lunar Assembly have fled to a secret secessionist city.” Coleman overheard someone else say to his traveling companion.

“That’s ridiculous, how could they construct a secret city without it being spotted from orbit.” The bus passenger’s companion answered him. They continued to debate as they exited the bus at the maglev station. Coleman and Lall headed for the city patrol substation.

“Where was Dr. Lee last seen on camera?” Coleman asked Friedman.

“On the camera located at baggage claim B-5. That was 10 minutes ago.”

“Has he bought a ticket?” Coleman asked.

“Not as far as I can tell.” Friedman answered.

“I don’t think he will.” Coleman said. “Watch the incoming 911 calls, and let me know as soon as there is a report of any theft or assault here at the station.”

“You are hot today.” Friedman said a few minutes later. “Just got a 911 for a purse theft. Some lady put her purse down, turned her back for a second, and when she turned back around, it was gone.”

“Alright, now keep an eye out for anyone using the complainant’s maglev pass, and tell me what train to get on.” Coleman said to Friedman. He then filled in Lall on what was going on while he waited to hear back from Friedman.

“The victim’s maglev pass was just used on train 34.” Friedman informed them by phone, about five minutes after the purse theft.

“Let’s go.” Coleman said as he and Lall ran to the boarding dock for train 34.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” Yelled one of maglev train 34’s attendants as Coleman and Lall jumped onto it, just as it was about to seal up for departure. Coleman worked on resealing the air hatch, since he knew Lall wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to flash his badge. “Official business.” Lall said to the attendant, then put his badge back in his pocket.

“We’re looking for this man.” Coleman said as he beamed a picture of Andrew Lee to the attendant’s personal computer. While the attendant was examining the picture, Coleman glanced outside. The maglev train had already taken them several miles outside of the city, at its usual high rate of speed.

“I don’t recognize him.” The attendant said.

“Check the train’s internal cameras.” Coleman said sub-vocally to Friedman, then paused for a few seconds, waiting for a response. “Friedman?” Coleman said again, this time aloud. He then turned to Lall. “See if you can dial out.” He said as he also tried to dial Friedman on his phone, which came back with a dead signal.

“I can’t get reception.” Lall said.

“I think somebody has just knocked out the overhead communications satellite.” Coleman said. “Looks like we’re on our own here.” Coleman realized that Andrew Lee would need to be part of a well-funded and well-connected organization to be able get a hacker to disable a communication satellite. “We need you to take us to the train’s security office.” Coleman said to the attendant.

The security office was a small 4x4 meter room, with a bank of monitors and a computer on one wall. When Coleman and Lall opened the door to the office, the security officer jumped from his chair, startled from sleep. After flashing their badges, Coleman sat down at the computer, and beamed Andrew Lee’s image to it. He then began the train computer’s out of date facial recognition program. The computer slowly cycled through all of the train’s internal cameras. After 5 minutes the program finished running without a hit.

“He must be hiding somewhere out of camera site, waiting to make a run for it at the next station.” Lall said.

“I don’t think so.” Coleman said.

“You don’t think that he’s hiding or that he’s waiting to run at the next station?” Lall asked.

“I think neither.” Coleman said. “Getting on this train wasn’t part of his plan. It was just a way for him to get out of the city. So, I doubt that he has any desire to go to the next station. ” Coleman turned to the security officer. “Does this train have external cameras?”

“Yes, a few.” The security officer said, as he reached over Coleman and punched a few keys on the computer. Coleman began cycling through the camera views by hand. The third camera view showed the roof of the train. A hopper was flying about 15 meters above the train, matching its speed.

“It’s a patrol hopper!” Lall declared.

“No…” Coleman said. “I don’t think so. Where’s the airlock for that car?” Coleman asked the security officer.

“There is an airlock at both ends of every car.”

“We’ll have to split up.” Coleman told Lall, as he headed for the forward airlock.

Coleman didn’t see Lee when he reached the airlock. He pulled a pressure suit out of a closet, and quickly put it on. After a quick pressure check, he stepped inside the airlock, and cycled through it. Once he was outside, he climbed up a ladder built into the end of the car. Coleman wasn’t particularly concerned about falling off because a Lunar maglev train was an extremely smooth ride, due to the lack of contact with the tracks and the fact that there was no air resistance. When he reached the top, he peaked over the edge, peering down towards the end of the car. A space-suited figure wearing magnetic boots was slowly walking along the top, towards the hovering hopper, which had lowered a cable. Either Lall had gotten to the other airlock too late, or Lee had neutralized him. Coleman momentarily wondered if he’d really be that upset if it was the later, although he doubted Lee would kill someone just to get away. Coleman didn’t bother trying to go out there. His suit had magnetic boots too, but he wouldn’t reach Lee before he was secured to the cable and lifted away by the hopper. He climbed back down the ladder, and cycled through the airlock.

Coleman found Lall regaining consciousness near the other airlock. “The bastard stunned me.” Lall said incredulously.

“Yeah.” Coleman said, less surprised, but fully amused, as he helped Lall to his feet.

Lunar Cops (Part I)

The following is a novelette I wrote and submitted to a science fiction magazine (rejected). My plan is to post my fiction to the Internet when I can't get it published. I will post weekly instalments for it. I've changed the title several times on this, but I've finally settled on "Lunar Cops"

UN Lunar Detective Daniel Coleman felt the Lunar Hopper begin to decelerate. The pilot announced over the intercom that the vehicle would touch down at its destination in 5 minutes. Unlike the surface to orbit scramjets back on Earth, the hopper would stop and hover above its destination, then slowly reduce the power on the thrusters under its belly, making it more like a helicopter than a plane. Coleman mentally tuned out the news program he had been watching and looked out his window. They were almost over the UN Government substation, located about an hour outside Luna City. The scene of the crime. Coleman thought melodramatically, then something on the news caught his attention:

“…after being disbanded by the Governor, a majority of the members of the Lunar Assembly, now calling themselves the Lunar Congress, have gone into hiding, and issued a proclamation on the Lunarnet declaring Lunar Independence and calling for a general strike by all government workers, most of whom, have complied. The new Lunar Congress has agreed, by unanimous vote, that it will now work with the UN-outlawed Lunar Resistance movement to establish an independent Lunar Republic. We now go to Trisha Abimbola.” The camera view switched to another reporter. “Thank you Bill, I’m here at the now-empty Lunar Assembly building, which, just hours ago, was shut down by Governor Pierson under the authority of the UN Lunar Anti-terrorism Act. I have just been sent a statement, allegedly issued by the new Lunar Congress, declaring all UN law null and void…”

“They’re using a public-key, private-key encryption system for all of their legislation and appointments.” A voice said in Coleman’s ear.

“What was that?” Coleman said out loud, distracted from the news report.

“No need to talk out loud, it’s a subvocal system.” The voice in his ear, Friedman, said again.

“Sorry.” Coleman said silently, following Friedman’s advice. He had just gotten the new implant a few weeks earlier, and was still getting used to it. In the past, he had had to phone Friedman when he needed him. Now his assistant back at headquarters could see everything Coleman saw, and was in constant contact with him.

“You’ll get used to it.” Friedman said before launching into one of his technical discussions. “The new Lunar Congress has issued a proclamation on the Lunarnet that includes a public key. It says that all Officers of the new Lunar Republic will have the private key. Pretty smart system for them to implement. That way, you can know who really works for the Lunar Congress and who doesn’t. All you have to do is encrypt a message with the public key, and send it to the purported Republican Officer to decrypt with the private key. If he can send you back your message decrypted, then you know he’s legitimate, if not, he has no authority. They also use the private key to encrypt all of their legislation, which can only be decrypted with the public key…”
Coleman ignored the rest of Friedman’s technical lecture, and turned his attention back to the news program. He could feel the hopper starting to descend. “The UN embargo will eventually kill this so-called ‘revolution’.” A news analyst noted sarcastically. “So long as the UN maintains military control of Lunar orbit, it will control Lunar trade with Earth and the other colonies, and Lunar succession cannot succeed. The secessionists will eventually be forced to negotiate a compromise with the Governor and the UN or starve to death.”
Coleman turned off the newscast as the Hopper touched down. “Now to business.” He said as he stood up, and donned his suit helmet. “Seal is secure.” His suit said as he walked to the airlock and stepped inside. “Have they set up the evidence collection ‘bot yet?” He asked Friedman as the outer door of the hopper opened up, and he walked down the steps to the Lunar surface.

“It’s finishing up its sweep now.” Friedman responded after pausing to check his computer back at headquarters.

“Did it find any biological material for a DNA database check?” Coleman asked as he walked over to the substation facility about 15 meters from the landing site of the hopper.

“These old evidence collection robots really leave a lot to be desired.” Friedman said as he sent the data over to Coleman’s computer. “They’re really nothing more than glorified vacuum cleaners.”

Coleman examined the ‘bot’s collection results and analysis on the display on his helmet visor. “No DNA.” The outer lock to the substation facility opened as Coleman approached, and he stepped inside.

“Yeah, the perp wore a hardsuit, and he never took it off. There’s camera footage though.”

“I’ll take a look at it on a wall screen when I get inside.” He said as the airlock cycled. “What was stolen?” He asked, embarrassed at having forgotten to ask the obvious. I’ve got to pay less attention to politics and more to my job. He thought. There had been talk of a Lunar break from Earth for years, but he had never really believed it would happen. Coleman was in the Property Crimes Division, and dealing with secessionists was for Internal Security to handle, along with the squatters. Could I do that job? He thought. No. He decided. He wasn’t sure why, but the secessionists didn’t seem like criminals to him. And the squatters definitely weren’t real criminals. He thought bitterly. The secessionists weren’t trying to take what didn’t belong to them and their activities had been fairly peaceful to date. They didn’t blow things up, and they didn’t engage in assassination. They also seemed to have broad support amongst the Lunar population. He didn’t know if a break with the UN government was the answer, but he had never been that interested in politics to study it in detail.

“Top secret UN data.” Friedman answered.

“Are they going to tell us what the data is?” Coleman asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

“No, they say your job is just to recover it, and you don’t need to know what it is to do that.”

“Great.” Coleman answered, annoyed at the UN’s typical secretiveness, but not surprised. As the inner airlock door opened, Coleman again glanced at the data from the evidence collection ‘bot that Friedman had sent over. “That’s odd.” He said to Friedman.

“What’s that?”

“The ‘bot gathered up a lot of regolith. I thought this substation was a clean-room environment for the computers.” Coleman said.

“Yeah, the scrubbers were offline when the break-in occurred. Our burglar used a computer virus to shutdown the substation’s power systems in order to knock out most of the security systems. The computer systems have their own 2-hour power supply, so they continued to function. Then, he just downloaded the data he needed and walked out.”

“Did you notice the anomalous nature of the regolith?” Coleman asked.

“No, what do you mean?”

“Look at the Helium-3 levels in it.”

After a few moments, Friedman said, “That is weird. Why would the H-3 levels be 1/3 less than the normal levels found on this side of the moon?” The substation, like Luna City, and most of the other facilities and human habitation on the moon, was on the far side from Earth precisely because the Helum-3 levels in the lunar regolith were higher here.
The entire Lunar economy was built around Helium-3 extraction, which had become the lifeblood of mankind. About half a century ago, Helium-3 fusion reaction technology had been perfected, creating the potential for a new era of abundant and clean energy. The only problem had been that the Helium-3 isotope was rare on Earth. Even before the perfection of H-3 fusion technology, the market value of H-3 on Earth had been about 120 times the value per unit weight of gold. The incentive to find cheaper sources of H-3 had led men to the moon. The high concentration of H-3 on the moon was the result of billions of years of exposure to the deadly solar wind. Unlike the Earth, the moon had no magnetic field to divert the solar wind around it, causing its H-3 particles to be deposited in the regolith. Over time it had turned the moon into a mine for “solar gold”, as the media had taken to calling H-3.

“Let’s take a look at the camera footage of the burglar.” Coleman said as he walked over to a wall screen. Friedman routed the data feed to the unit Coleman was looking at, and the camera footage appeared in front of him. The burglar was wearing a powered hardsuit. This type of hardsuit was about seven feet tall, and it had motors built into all of the joints. It was designed to give the operator about 3 times his normal strength and endurance. It was also designed for extreme environments, and was therefore visorless. The operator used built in cameras to see his external environment. “That’s not going to help much on making an ID of the burglar.” Coleman noted as he watched him enter the substation through the airlock and walk to the main terminal. The burglar pulled a small device out of an arm compartment, and inserted it into a slot on the terminal. “What’s that?” Coleman asked Friedman.

“It’s a dedicated memory storage device designed specifically for this type of terminal. Only UN personnel with clearance are supposed to have them, but they can be purchased on the black market for the right price. It is the only way to download data off of this type of terminal system.”

“And only the UN has this type of computer?” Coleman asked.

“Officially, yes, and the data couldn’t be uploaded to any other type of computer terminal, so the data he stole would be useless unless he could upload it to another terminal like this one. Once again, there have been rumors that a cloned model can be obtained on the black market, but they are also rumored to be so expensive that I doubt a mere criminal could afford it.”

“It took him less than 15 minutes to download the data, too.” Coleman noted as he watched the burglar pull the memory storage device out of the slot and walk out of the substation. “He knew exactly what he wanted.”

“Incoming call.” Friedman said.

Coleman activated his phone without checking the caller ID. “Detective Coleman here.”

“Daniel, you’re going to be getting some help on this case.” The caller, who Coleman recognized as the Property Crimes Division’s Chief Inspector Simpson, said, and then continued before Coleman could respond, “it’s Lall.”

“There’s no way I’m working with that son of a -.” Coleman began angrily.

“Detective Coleman!” The Chief Inspector said, cutting him off. “These are your orders, and they come directly from the Minister of Justice at the Governor’s Office. Lall should be touching down at your current location any second now, and I want you to work with him. Do not cause problems for me.” The Chief Inspector then hung up before Coleman could respond.

“Who’s Lall?” Friedman asked.

“An old partner from back when I was still a Patrolman. We had a falling out.” Coleman said out loud, in a tone of voice that told Friedman not to ask anything more about it.

“Well, the substation’s sensors say he should be coming into this corridor in about 10 seconds.” Friedman said. Coleman looked over towards the door as Fred Lall entered the corridor.

“Detective Coleman.” Lall said curtly.

“Detective Lall.” Coleman said with courteous lack of emotion. “I assume you’ve already familiarized yourself with the evidence collected so far?”

“I have. Have you discovered anything else of significance?” Lall said, looking at the wall screen.

“The video footage didn’t show anything that was significant.”

“I’d like to watch it myself, and draw my own conclusion.” Lall said with hostility in his voice. Coleman knew that Lall could care less about viewing the footage himself.

“Do what you want.” Coleman said. “I’m going back outside to examine the area for footprints matching the hardsuit the suspect was wearing.”

“Wait a minute, and I’ll go with you.” Lall said, as he began viewing the footage.

“You can catch up with me.” Coleman said, then, unable to keep his feelings about Lall in check, he added as he was walking out: “Maybe I’ll find some people to arrest for jaywalking while I’m out there.” Coleman saw Lall’s face turn to an angry scowl as he walked out the door. It shut just as Lall was about to respond to the quip.

“Wow.” Friedman said. “Sarcasm from you; I thought that was my job.”

“Mind your own business.” Coleman said angrily.

“Yes SIR.” Friedman said with mock seriousness. Coleman knew that he had hurt Friedman’s feelings, and would need to apologize later. He resolved not to let Lall get under his skin during this case.

Once he was outside, Coleman extended the camera unit on his suit, and sent the feed to Friedman back at headquarters. “Check for footprints matching the suspect’s hardsuit.” One good thing about solving crimes on the surface of the moon was the lack of rain or wind to blow away a suspect’s footprints. The bad news was that in well-traveled areas, there could be so many footprints, many of them years-old. The hardsuit that the suspect had used was rare, so Coleman suspected they would only find one set, which would belong to him, unless he deliberately wiped them away as he walked, which would also leave a distinctive trail for them to follow.

“Found them. They travel off in that direction.” Friedman said, lighting up an imaginary yellow line that was projected onto Coleman’s helmet heads-up display. Coleman followed the line. “By the way, Lall is coming up behind you.” Friedman said. Coleman grunted to acknowledge the information, but didn’t turn to wait for him.

“Coleman!” Lall said over the radio. “Hold up, I’m behind you!” Coleman continued to walk, ignoring him. The trail ended at the edge of a deep meteor crater.

“I don’t see any visual evidence that he went down there.” Coleman said. Lall finally caught up with him.

“Are we going to have a problem, Coleman?” Lall asked angrily.

“I said everything I wanted to say to you years ago.” Coleman said to Lall. “Now, I just want you to stay out of my way.”

“Yeah, the pattern recognition software back here isn’t seeing any evidence that he went down there either, but this is where the footprints end.” Friedman said.

“Hmmm…” Coleman thought.

“Looks too steep for him to have climbed down there.” Lall said, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. Coleman knew that most of Internal Security’s police work consisted of undercover work and informants, which meant that Lall knew next to nothing about solving a property crime, and he knew it would be easy to throw out a sarcastic reply to Lall, but he checked his emotions and focused on solving the case.

“Friedman, see if any hoppers passed overhead around the time that our burglar exited the substation.” Coleman said, after suddenly realizing how the perpetrator had gotten away.

“An unmanned cargo transporter passed overhead about 10 minutes after the substation’s internal cameras show him exiting the facility.” Friedman said after checking.

“That’s how he got away.” Coleman said aloud. “He probably used a rocket with an electromagnetic head and a cable attached to the other end.”

“That makes sense!” Friedman said excitedly.

“Wha-. What are you talking about?” Lall said.

“They’re used by the military for quick pickups.” Coleman explained to Lall. “The head of the rocket has an electro-magnet, and the bottom end has a cable, which is also attached to the operator’s suit. Then, he launches the rocket at the over-passing hopper, the electro-magnet activates, and it attaches to the belly of the vehicle. Then the operator is carried away, attached to the other end of the cable.”

“What was the hopper’s flight plan?” Coleman asked Friedman.

“It was headed straight to Luna City.”

“Then that’s where we’re headed.” Coleman said.

Even Eliot Spitzer Has Individual Rights

When I first heard that Eliot Spitzer had been caught with a prostitute, I initially wanted to see prosecutors nail him to the proverbial wall. That was my emotional reaction. Allow me to explain: I obviously think that a consensual sex act between adults should not be illegal, so for anybody else busted for prostitution, I would be disgusted at the waste of scarce law enforcement resources that could be used to catch robbers, rapists, and murderers -who are real criminals. The only legitimate purpose of government is to protect individual rights to life, liberty, and property by restraining those who have violated rights. But, in the case of Mr. Spitzer, who made a profession out of prosecuting people under bad laws, like the laws prohibiting adult prostitution, I thought it only fitting that he should now get a little taste of what he had dished out for years as a politically ambitious prosecutor. Then, I regained full context, and remembered that even hypocritical people like Eliot Spitzer have individual rights, and that nothing can justify the violation of those individual rights, regardless of how emotionally satisfying that would be to me.

Age of Consent Laws

Last night, 20/20 had an article about a couple, now apparently in their 20's, who became sexually active prior to marriage, when the husband, Frank Rodriguez, was 19 and his wife, Niki, was 15. The sex was completely consensual, but due to the age difference, he was arrested and charged, presumably under Texas's "indecency with a child" law, which currently prohibits consensual sex with anyone under 17, unless there is only a 3-year age difference –or they are married. After serving 7 years probation, and having to move out of his family's home because he could no longer be around his 12-year-old sister or any other child, Mr. Rodriguez eventually married his "victim", after she turned 17, and they now have several children together. He will have to be registered as a sex-offender for life, which means he is legally lumped together with pedophiles and rapists, forever. I also sensed from the 20-20 article that there might have been a racist, "selective enforcement", aspect to this prosecution on the part of the police and prosecutors of this small Texas town. Mr. Rodriguez is Hispanic and his wife is white. Proving that the police and prosecutors were motivated by racism would be difficult, but we all know that there are plenty of white people in these small bible-belt towns who don’t like the thought of “race-mixing”, and will use whatever legal means at their disposal to send a message to minorities in their jurisdiction.
Clearly the system broke down in this case. In fact, I think this example points to a question as old as human civilization. This question is something like: What is more important; rules and statutes, or justice for the individual? I think that most intellectually honest people would think that Mr. Rodriguez is being treated unfairly, although a small minority of people might disagree with me. A Republican, "the rules are the rules type-person", such as the Texas state legislator interviewed in the TV article, will simply shrug regarding any unfairness, and say something obtuse like "we are a nation of laws, and he broke the law". (Fortunately John Stossel asked the obvious question -Is this a good law?) A more honest advocate of the current legal regime will probably say that it is better to let a few people like Mr. Rodriguez be treated too harshly than to let a real pedophile harm a child, or a real rapist commit more crimes.
Another (honest) argument in favor of the current regime is that it's a question of "line-drawing". I agree that children are not intellectually and emotionally mature enough to consent to sex with an adult, and that an adult has an inherent power advantage over a child that makes all sexual contact with a child rape, regardless of any alleged "consent". If it is acknowledged that this is the case, the question then becomes: Where to draw the line on the age of consent? The problem with any age of consent law is that there will be exceptions, because different people mature, both mentally and physically, faster than others. This appears to have been the case with regard to the couple in the 20-20 article. The issue of mental and emotional maturity also works in the other direction. We've all met plenty of 17-year-olds having sex who were clearly not ready for it, and quickly get into trouble. I've also met 30-year-old people, who had fully functional brains, who really weren't mentally mature enough to handle sex, and also got themselves into trouble. I am not certain at this point what reforms of the current legal regime are necessary to deal with this problem, if any. Different states and nations can have very different laws on this subject. Even in Texas, the "indecency with a child" statute has an exception if the (legal) adult and (legal) child are married. In other words, if a 19-year-old has sex with his 15-year-old wife, it is legal, but not if they get a divorce. (It would appear that in Texas a minor could theoretically petition a court to marry even if he is under 16, and, I would assume, that a person legally married in another state or nation who is under 16 would be recognized as married by the state of Texas, so this is at least possible under Texas law.) The more fundamental question to ask about any law is: what is the purpose of the law in general? If the purpose of law is to protect individual rights, then the law must judge individuals, and their specific situations. I regard the protection of individual rights to life, liberty, and property as the one and only purpose of all rules, statutes, and regulations that the legislature passes. The courts are there to interpret those laws, and ensure that they are applied fairly in individual circumstances. Legislative statutes are there to provide clear guidance on what individual citizens can and cannot do. Basically, by following the letter of the statutes, an individual should be able to avoid any possibility of being prosecuted for violating individual rights. This doesn’t mean that the opposite is necessarily true. Just because a person violates the technical wording of a statute doesn’t mean he has violated individual rights. Statutes should be regarded as sort of “prophylactic”, in the sense that so long as you obey them, you are guaranteed that you will not be prosecuted. The statutes are there to provide clear guidance to the individual, but, in addition to the statutes, there must be a mechanism for ensuring that even when the wording of a statute is violated, that there was, in fact, a violation of individual rights. (This is commonly referred to as the “spirit of the law”, which is the protection of individual rights.) This mechanism for ensuring a technical violation of a statute is a violation of individual rights is the judicial process. The courts, as a separate but equal branch of government, must ensure that even if there is a technical violation of the letter of a statute, that there was, in fact, a violation of individual rights in the particular circumstance. This probably means that in the case of “age of consent” laws, the courts should be free to look at the facts and circumstances of a particular case, and determine if the individual defendant actually violated rights to life, liberty, or property. In the case of the Rodriguez’s, the courts should have been free to look at the facts and circumstances of the case, and determine if the alleged “victim” in this case was, despite her age, mentally and physically mature enough to have consented to sex with her future husband. I think that if a court had recognized the “spirit of the law” in that case, and not just the “letter of the law”, the result would have been quite different.

San Francisco Site

I have created a site describing some of my experiences in San Francisco.

Precinct 219

Yesterday I went to vote in the Democratic primary. I mostly went to vote for Obama, but I had also researched the other candidates on the Internet and decided who I would vote for on things like the Democratic nominee for US Senator and for various state offices, like Texas Supreme Court Place 7. The reality is that most of these Democrats will loose in the general election, but I tried to pick candidates who were both ideologically more to my liking, and also had electability. For some things, I just didn't vote. The Democratic Nominees for Texas Railroad Commissioner all seemed like environmentalists to me, so I left that section of my ballot blank. As a lawyer, I was also interested in the judicial candidates. They tend not to say too much about what they believe in, other than vague generalities that nobody would claim to be against. Saying "I'm for justice." is about as useful as saying "I'm for breathing." It's what that candidate considers justice to be, and what concrete steps they would take to secure justice that really distinguishes them. The only judicial candidate that seemed particularly interested in talking specifics on his website was the Texas Supreme Court Place 7 candidate Baltasar D. Cruz. Some of his proposals for modifying the Texas Rule of Civil Procedure seemed sensible, and I wanted to reward him for talking specifics, so I voted for him, even though I didn't necessarily agree with all of his ideas. For US Senate, I voted for Rick Noriega because he seemed to be the most electable.
I arrived at the polling place around 10am, and waited about half an hour to vote. Then I left, worked all day, and came back at about 6:50pm for the caucus portion. The polling place for my precinct (number 219) was a rather small Methodist church. I had to drive to a post office several blocks away to park. I then walked to the church which had a long line of people out in the parking lot still waiting to vote in the primary portion. I went into the church cathedral, where the caucus portion was going to be held. Since most people were still voting in the primary, I easily found a seat, and then waited for about 3 hours. By the time they started handing out the sheets of paper where you put down your name and preference for President, the building was way over capacity. I filled out my information on the sheet, and my presidential preference, and then headed for the door. It was my understanding that once you had put down your preference on this piece of paper, you had effectively made your “second vote”, and that the rest of the meeting was just picking the actual delegates who would go to the next level of conventions. I had wanted to stick around to watch this portion of the meeting, but by then it was 10pm, and, as an independent voter, I figured I’d leave the rest of the meeting to the actual party people. I found the whole process very entertaining.

Texas Democratic Party Primary: Vote Twice

If you are planning on voting in the Democratic Party Primary for Texas this March 4, then don't forget to come back at 7:15pm that evening to caucus. This article explains how Texas has a "hybrid" primary and caucus system. Also remember that Texas is an open primary state, so even independents and Republicans can vote in the Democratic Primary.

Struggling to Achieve One’s Goals

I regard people who are born with wealth, and do nothing with their lives as especially contemptible. It angers me to see people who could basically go to any school they want, and that also have the money to be properly trained in any career they want, do nothing with their lives. It is a slap in the face of those of us who haven’t had it so easy. On the other hand, I hold a great deal of respect for anyone born to a wealthy family who makes something of his life and career, even though he doesn’t really need the money, and I have now discovered that being born into wealth and fame can sometimes make one’s life harder rather than easier. This week it was revealed that one of the grandchildren of the monarch of Great Brittan secretly served in combat in Afghanistan for over two months before his “cover” was blown by the media, and he had to return home. Harry Windsor of Great Brittan (I refuse to use medieval titles of nobility) had chosen a military career, and wanted to undertake all of the obligations that go along with such a career, which means serving in combat when the nation goes to war. Few of us will ever have our dedication to our chosen purpose in life tested in such a unique way, but this story proves that wealth, power, and fame can sometimes be a curse rather than a blessing.