R.I.P Comet Elenin (and rumors, too!)

It's dead, Jim.

Comet Elenin is no more.

According to both NASA and Sky and Telescope, Comet Elenin has disintegrated. A first-time comet, meaning it had never been into the inner Solary System before, Elenin was predicted by astronomers to be a bright, beautiful comet, if not quite in the same league as Hale-Bopp. It was simultaneously predicted by some (who didn't understand orbital mechanics) to be the end of the world. Instead, its falling inward toward the sun proved to be the end of the comet.

Coming in from outside the plane of the ecliptic, it would have made for a gorgeous sight for Northern Hemisphere observers, who haven't had a bright comet placed for good viewing in some time. The inclination of this comet relative to the ecliptic (plane of the solar system) would have changed that.

Instead, by April it was showing signs of coming apart at the seams. In August, it was hit broadside by a large coronal mass ejection from the sun, which blew away much of the volatile material that would have made it a lovely comet.

(Contrary to some claims, there was no "energy shield" which protected it from the CME. Any "sightings" of such a thing were likely inadvertent misinterpretations of a bow shock between the cometary material and the CME. Tetrahedral "shields" are unlikely in any event due to the difficulty in producing such a shape - spherical would be much more likely, IF such a shield had existed. I love the way the "true believers" shifted from "natural object" to "alien spacecraft" as soon as evidence for the former vanished in a puff of dust and gas.)

Three weeks before perihelion (closest approach to the Sun) which would have been on September 10, it completely disintegrated. According to comet expert John Bortle, "The decline/fade of Elenin was abrupt and dramatic."

All that's left of the once and never "planet-killer" is a loose, wispy cloud of gas and dust, rapidly dispersing, according to photographs.

Hopefully, so too will be the rumors of its threat.

-Stephanie Osborn
http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

First Book of a New Series!

Book 1 of the Displaced Detective Series, The Case of the Displaced Detective: The Arrival (for more information see http://www.sff.net/people/steph-osborn/DDTheArrival.html) will be released in November! The official release date is 15 Nov, but that's the day it comes from the printer. Books won't be available from stores (website or otherwise) until around 28Nov-1Dec. Currently Barnes-Noble is accepting pre-orders, and it will be on Amazon as well, but hold that thought for a moment.

Because I am proclaiming Thursday, 1 Dec, to be The Arrival Day!

I am asking all my fans to WAIT and place their orders/purchases on that day, 1 Dec, in the hopes that we can push it as high as possible on the best-seller listings! So please hold off ordering until that day, and then EVERYONE buy on that day! Also please feel free to forward this email to anyone you think will be interested in a science fiction spy mystery that INCLUDES Sherlock Holmes! That means SF fans, mystery fans, spy mystery fans, Sherlock Holmes fans, and anybody that likes a good read!

This story idea hit me and came spewing out in two months! I've never written so hard, so fast! I'm very proud of it and I think you're going to really enjoy it! So let's work together to ensure it does great!

-Steph
http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Ten Years. Not Forgotten. NEVER Forgotten.

September 11, 2001. A day that will live in infamy, if I may make so bold as to paraphrase a famous speech - and one that launched us into a war just as surely.

For though time has dulled the memory for some, it has sharpened it for others. And perhaps, on this tenth anniversary, it is time to refresh the memory, so that all may have sharp, poignant memories of that day. So that all may never forget - whether the families of the victims, whose hearts were ripped out that day; the terrorist perpetrators, who assuredly will one day receive their just deserts, whether at the hands of those they attacked or those of a Just Providence; and the rest of us, witnesses to the events of that horrible, dreadful day.

Ten years.

Two weeks before the attack, I myself flew out of the airport where the doomed flights originated; there but for the grace of God went I. The morning of the attack, I rose to prepare for work, turned on the television, saw one of the Twin Towers already ablaze and gaped in horror. As I watched, the second plane crashed into the other tower and I understood sufficient to know that we were being attacked. Since I was then working on a space defense program, I promptly called in and left a message for my boss to ensure that he and my coworkers would know what was going on. There was, in my mind, the possibility that our program could be called into active operations at any moment, though I considered it unlikely. Still, it is best to be prepared. Desperate times. Desperate measures.

Then I did my utmost to perform my morning ablutions in front of the bedroom television. So I saw, watching on in horror, when the towers collapsed. I knew they were full of both innocents and heroes, emergency responders who flung themselves into the heart of the catastrophe with no thought for themselves. I was helpless to do anything but pray. But that, I could do; and that, I did.

I saw the Pentagon attacked; heard of the fourth plane somewhere in the air. Considerably later I heard about the bravery of the men and women aboard it who prevented the terrorists from carrying out their evil deed. I also heard that the son of a friend, attending Penn, saw that crash take place with his own eyes and was deeply upset.

Eventually I made it in to work. By then all flights across the country had been grounded, and remained so for several days. Since the main Boeing campus, where I was assigned, was between the ends of the runways of Huntsville International Airport, and we were used to hearing all sorts of aircraft taking off and landing through the day, the silence was eerie. And ominous. One part of my brain longed for the familiar sound, but the other part knew that if I did, it likely foretold my imminent death.

Descriptions began coming back from people I knew who had either been in NYC at the time, or had to travel there shortly after the resumption of flight. The smoke, the stench of death, of decaying flesh that could not be alleviated: the realization that there were no bodies, really, left to recover. The victims - thousands of victims - had become integral parts of the rubble.

And the anger. The injustice. Crazed zealots determined to kill innocent people, men women and children, and themselves as well - simply because they could. Just because they hated this country. I could see performing a suicide mission in an act of desperation, to protect my family and loved ones. But just because I could?! Just to lash out at someone I disliked, someone with whom I disagreed, someone who didn't believe as I did? Dear GOD! I ask You - what were they thinking??

What ARE they thinking?

Since then, my friend Travis S. Taylor and I have written a science fiction novel revolving around futuristic terrorism and homeland security, called Extraction Point! In some ways I think it was our way of trying to put things into perspective, at least for oursleves. For my part, I don't think it succeeded, although by all accounts it certainly makes for a roller coaster of a read.

What are they THINKING?

I will never understand the thoughts of the terrorists responsible for 9-11.

But I can assure you, I will never forget.

-Stephanie Osborn
http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Extraction Point! Ch 1 part 3

Extraction Point!
by Travis S. Taylor & Stephanie Osborn

http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Ray turned the corner and nearly slammed face first into a brick wall, stopping just in time to scratch his right elbow up a little more on the rough brick as he caught himself against the wall. Ow. Really needed THAT. Quickly he scanned around for an exit. There was only one--a primer-coated metal staircase up the side of the building--and the man had a full story and a half head start on him. It was almost as if the man knew the route he was going and had known the staircase would be there.

Shoving his way through the pain and exhaustion, Ray threw himself up the staircase, keeping his pace steady and the man in sight. Twice he saw the man slip on the wet metal steps, and each time Ray made a slight gain on him, his treaded boots proving a better grip on the metal than the man's street shoes. Pushing harder than he thought he could, Ray closed the gap to only half a story behind the man as he went out of sight over the rooftop of the ten story building.

Ray crested the rooftop cautiously and there was the man, sitting on the edge of the rooftop barely a couple of meters away, looking over the edge at the street below and then at his watch–or one of them; for some reason, he was wearing two. Different ones, at that. His pale blond thatch, cut short enough to stand in upright spikes but not short enough to qualify as a buzz cut, wilted a bit in the rain.

"You… you are rather good," the man offered, wiped blood from his aquiline--though now slightly misshapen--nose, gasped for breath, and looked at his watch again with bright blue eyes.

"Listen, I've got backup right behind me. There is no way down and I can keep you busy long enough for 'em to catch you. What d' you say we just sit down, take a breather, and wait on 'em?" Ray panted and smiled at the same time, hoping to stall long enough that he wouldn't have to fight the guy any more before backup arrived.

"I've got a better idea." The man looked at his watch one last time and then leapt over the side of the rooftop, pushing off with his hands as he slipped gracefully from the lip of the ledge. There was a brief flash of white light--Ray assumed it was lightning--that caused him to flinch and cover his eyes for a moment. And the man was gone.

"NO!" Ray rushed to the edge of the building, peered over, and… saw… nothing. "What the hell!?" No blood on the street below, no screaming passersby, no squished and maimed body–nothing.

"Ray! You all right?" a voice from behind him gasped.

Ray stood there, confused--no, flabbergasted--peering over the edge of the building, visually searching every nook, cranny, alley, and pavement all the way down. Nothing. The man had simply vanished like a ghost. No body, no visible escape route, no sign.

The rain continued to wash the red blood from Ray's broken nose and swelling lip down the front of his already stained and ripped shirt and he could still hear the music off in the distance somewhere. He stood in a contemplative calmness, surveying the volume of space off the side of the building, and gasping for air as his heartbeat slowed. How in the. Bloody. Damn. HELL did he get away? This time, is it… nah, can't be.

"Your pistol, Ray." A young man in his late twenties with a blond military haircut and an athlete's build scanned the rooftop as he offered Ray his weapon.

"Huh? Oh, thanks, Jay." Ray took his favorite handgun, checked the magazine and safety, and slipped it in the clip holster on his waistband at his back. When he did, cold water squished from the holster, down his back and into his already soaked underwear, giving him a severe chill. He shivered violently for a second. He was still more than a bit dazed by what had happened moments ago--and the beating he'd taken--oh yeah, and the running.

"Uh, Dr. Brady?"

"What? I know, he got away." Ray panted, still having a hard time talking between breaths.

"Uh, no sir, uh, Ray, you've been shot." Major Sampson pointed to the bloody mess on his left shoulder. The young Army major said it nonchalantly as if he had seen the same situation before.

"Oh, that. It's just a flesh wound," Ray waved his hand in dismissal–right before he collapsed backwards onto the rooftop.

"Man down! Medic!" Sampson called over the radio.

---

Extraction Point! is available for purchase through Barnes-Noble and Amazon, as well as Twilight Times Books.

See other books by Stephanie Osborn at http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Extraction Point! Ch 1 part 2

Extraction Point!
By Travis S. Taylor & Stephanie Osborn

http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

Just as the thought occurred to him, the man regained his poise and his vision, and rushed at him wildly–at least it seemed wild, at first. So Ray sidestepped and attempted to Judo throw him. But the man countered the move with an Aikido circular motion that flung Ray around a full three hundred and sixty degrees and then downward and forward, sliding belly first and hydroplaning in the several inch deep rainwater. His belly slide splashed a double rooster tail of water out behind him. Ray tucked his right arm under his body--ignoring the pain caused from the street pavement peeling skin from his forearm--and used his momentum in a Judo roll to bring him back up to his feet just in time to be tackled from behind mid-back. I'm not doing too well with this guy, he thought, rueful. Jesus, this son of a bitch is fast.

Ray twisted and squirmed free, tossing the man backward, and barely missed him with a spinning back kick. In a flurry of elbows, backward head butts, punches, and blocks, the two men ended back in the exact same spot they had been a few moments before. Ray was face down in the same pothole struggling for his breath as his would-be assailant ground knees into his lower back and pummeled him from behind. But this time, to Ray's surprise, the man's grip let go sooner–much sooner.

As Ray forced his head up above the water again, he understood why. He could hear the semiautomatic weapon's fire splattering off the alleyway wall in front of them. The rain of bullets was obviously fired overhead as a warning, spraying yellow sparks and shards of brick ubiquitously, but it still startled the man and the break was all Ray needed to throw him forward. At first Ray covered, afraid of friendly fire, but the man he'd already chased for two solid freakin' miles into this alley entrance had bear-crawled his way to the turn in the alley and was getting away.

"Hold your fire," Ray heard someone call over the music and the rain and his pounding chest. With that, he lunged to his feet with all the strength he had left and headed forward in pursuit of the man, lungs burning, dredging endurance he didn't expect from some unknown, heretofore untapped place inside.

"You are NOT going to get away from me, dammit!" He sprinted around the corner in time to see the man climbing a chain link fence crossing the alley. "Shit!"

Over the fence, Ray said determinedly to himself. Ignoring various protesting bodily parts, he scrambled up to the top of the rusty fence and leaned over it, grabbing the other side of the fence with his hands, and then let his body weight flip him feet over head. He splashed down on the other side, already in a full sprint. Come on! Push it!

Ray was gaining on the larger man, but his heart was pounding at least two hundred beats per minute and felt as if it would explode at any instant. If only I hadn't dropped my damn pistol, I'd have him now!

Extraction Point! is available for purchase through Barnes-Noble and Amazon, as well as Twilight Times Books.

See other books by Stephanie Osborn at http://www.stephanie-osborn.com