An Informal Proof of Lockhart's Inscribed Parallelogram Theorem

Screenshots from this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1gT2f3Fe44

Lockhart observes in his book Measurement that if you mark and connect the midpoints of the sides of ANY quadrilateral, you will inscribe a parallelogram. 

Here is my informal proof of why that is:

1. By induction, any quadrilateral can be formed by joining 3 pairs of congruent triangles where all the triangles are similar. 

2. In order to form a quadrilateral from such a set, one and only one pair of congruent triangles must share a side. 

3. The pair that share a side must form a parallelogram because they are congruent.

4. In order for the quadrilateral to have straight sides, all the triangles must be similar. That is, the other four triangles must share a side with the ones forming a parallelogram. 

5. Marking and joining the midpoints must create a set of congruent triangles because each set of opposite midpoints will be equidistant from midpoint of the shared side where they form a parallelogram. 

Not an elegant proof, but hey, at least it's shorter than that time Russell and Whitehead took 360+ pages to prove that 1 + 1 = 2. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Principia_Mathematica

As a lemma, if you connect the opposite instead of adjacent midpoints, you will cut the figure into four smaller versions of itself. 

There's probably an interesting progression for how many congruent circles of a given number can fit inside a larger circle. I'll leave that as an exercise for the reader. 

Is there a relationship between the Mandelbrot Set and the Riemann Zeta Function?

 Rotate one of them 180 degrees, and they look similar.

How My Brain Works

 See boobs:

Think traditional Arabic numeral for 5:

Mysterious Black NSA(?) Screens

Below is a screenshot from the following YouTube video I made of a strange event on my old laptop back in 2021:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Y38c59YfAY

I count 4 windows that look like command prompts. They would appear on the screen for less than a second before vanishing, and only when I was connected to or about to connect to the internet. At the time, I'd had that laptop for 7 years and never seen anything like that. I've spent thousands of hours using computers of all sorts for 30+ years, and I'd never seen anything like that until 2021. The screens appeared rarely, and I was lucky I had my camera ready to capture this image. After I uploaded the video to my old laptop, I never saw the screens again. 

As a former NSA employee, I find all of this suspicious, and the most likely explanation seems obvious. 

Hired Raygun - part 6

 

The time came for the next mission. Once more into the breech, as the old saying goes. From the porthole, I could see a armada of warships. Some were bombarding the planet and other were regular troop transports like the one I'd been riding the whole time. I could see beams of plasma and waves of missiles raining down on the surface. Something really big was going down, and I was feeling ill-prepared for it. The briefing was vague and not much more than an introduction to the various vehicles the enemy was using. Their weak points were shown as were the best weapons for attacking them. Given the choice, I'd rather shoot vehicles than droids or anything man-sized. Aim small, miss small, as the old saying goes. It's always easier to hit a larger target, though often harder to destroy them. That's what the grenades and rocket launchers were for. Given that each of us of could only carry so many, that explained why so many of us would be fighting together in the coming battle.

Time to drop. We were going to be planet-side for a while, so our suits were outfitted with various injectors: nutrients, stimulants, and painkillers. Fighting hard without a good meal is a special kind of hell, and another hardship we'd be forced to endure. My companion and I both loaded up with bandoliers of grenades, a rocket launcher, and carried more rockets in backpacks. Otherwise, the only other weapon we carried was the liquid ammo pistol, but neither of us expected to use it. From the briefing, it looked like the enemy consisted only of tracked armored vehicles, which made me wonder why our side didn't have any to send to meet them. Too costly maybe? It was impossible to say, and the answer wouldn't have mattered anyway. Even so, it was stupid to send out armor without infantry or air support. I dreaded encountering either without suitable armament.  

We touched down in the staging area near several other friendly troop ships. A few kilometers in the distance, the battle was raging. The atmosphere of the planet conducted the sound of it well. It seemed to have a thicker atmosphere and higher gravity. For as far as the eye could see in every direction were the ruins of an immense bombed-out city. To my left and right, I could see maybe a hundred or so friendly troopers total. Of course, we weren't told how many of the enemy we faced which I took as another bad sign. The high gravity made our march to the frontline and agonizing trudge. Perhaps the gravity was the reason the enemy stuck to vehicles. It was out of sheer laziness. Why walk when you can ride in style and let the other dumb bastards fumble around. Given the difficulty of movement, it seemed like the best strategy was to find a good hiding place and ambush the tanks as they rolled by.

Various troopers made the "disperse" hand signal, and so I gradually found myself alone. Not too far in front of me were the ruins of a multistory building. I could see windows and holes, so that would give me various options to shoot from. Given the high gravity, relocating wouldn't be easy unless I could improvise something. I figured the best thing would be to wait for a convoy. That way I could disable the lead and rear vehicles and thus trap the ones in the middle. Then it would be easy to destroy the rest of them. I decided to stick to the highest floor I could reach in the hope that the enemy guns couldn't elevate high enough to shoot back at me. You'd be surprised how often tanks and even ships have been destroyed in combat because they couldn't point their guns high or low enough at the enemy. That gave me another idea. After using up the rockets from my perch, I'd try to come at the enemy from street level.  

It was an exhausting climb to the top of the structure, so much so that it would be a serious struggle to retreat even in a dire emergency. I wanted to ration my nutrients and stimulants as I had no idea how long I'd be out in the field. At some point, I'd most likely run out of ammo, in which I'd be forced to either lie low somewhere and wait for the evacuation signal, or make the long, slow journey back to the landing zone in the hope that the empire made an ammo drop from us. We'd been briefed about ammo drops, which was one of the few encouraging bits of news that came before we landed. Another advantage of having the high ground was getting an excellent view of the battlefield. I could see several enemy columns and how fast they were moving. So far, none were headed in my direction, so I decided to prepare a few fighting positions near my vantage point. I put a few grenades from my bandolier near openings on each side of the building. That lightened the load a little and so made it easier for me to move from one to the other.

If the enemy armored vehicles were anything like the ones on earth, the armor on the top would be the thinnest and easiest to penetrate. It occurred to me just then that the high gravity meant I'd need to greatly adjust my usual grenade throw, so I practiced tossing around a few chunks of rubble until I was confident I could hit the top of tank that was just under any of my fighting positions. It was a long wait for a column to roll past me. Though the streets were wide enough, they were choked with rubble, and that made it slow going for the enemy. Gradually, the sound of engines and treads became louder. I peeked out from a hole in a wall and saw a column of five tanks. All had sentry guns of some sort on top that were meticulously scanning for threats in all directions. I had no way of knowing what sort of sensors they had, but I was certain that if I used the rocket launcher, I'd quickly be in their sights.     

 

Grenades it is then, I thought. Good. Fortune favors the brave. I armed one, dropped it onto the top of the lead tank, and scrambled to the next fighting position. I barely made it two steps before the enemy sentry guns were lighting up where I'd just been a moment before. It was at this time I became concerned that a stray or ricocheting bullet would set off my grenade cache at that position. It was a stupid mistake not to move them farther from the opening. C'est la guerre. No plan survives the first 30 seconds of contact with the enemy. The good news was that while they were busy shooting at where I wasn't, I was able to arm another grenade and throw it onto the cupola of the trailing vehicle just as the first grenade exploded. Beautiful. I love it when a plan comes together, I thought. There was a good spot to throw grenades to destroy the other stranded tanks, so I decided now was the time to use the rocket launcher. 

I loaded the launcher and moved down a few floors. Given that my targets were stuck now, I could take my time in finding a good spot to take my shot. Assuming the tanks had crews, I figured the survivors would all be abandoning their vehicles and trying to escape. A few floors down, I found a suitable window and took aim. The rocket took off with a satisfying WOOSH and I immediately dove for cover. I repeated this action on the two remaining vehicles and thus exhausted my rocket ammo. Good riddance. That launcher was heavy as hell in normal gravity. I figured by this point I'd done enough for the cause, and it was time for a little rest. Using the control panel on my right arm, I gave myself a boost of nutrients and stimulants. My water IV was mostly full, so I let that run a little even though it meant I need to take a leak in the near future. Oh well, my own waste was the least of my problems at this point.   

If the enemy attacked my position again, which was likely, they'd attack in greater numbers and destroy the building from a distance. Thus, I had to move. I gathered my grenades and the rocket launcher and moved to the shorter building across the street. Even though the rocket launcher was useless for the time being, I kept it anyway in case I somehow got more ammo for it. Also, I pretty sure I'd get punished if I abandoned an expensive and functional weapon simply because I didn't feel like lugging it around. In retrospect, I really wish they'd just given us a grenade launcher and skipped the rockets. That would have simplified things. In a way, it was nice to know that an interstellar empire could still make boneheaded tactical mistakes like that. Nobody's perfect, no matter where you go in the universe. I made up my mind that I wasn't going to go back for ammo at the LZ until I ran out where I was. As it stood, I had 25 grenades left, and I wasn't sure how I'd use the rest of them.  

My mind would have been so much more at ease had I known 142 was nearby. Instead, most likely, it was fighting its own isolated battle, along with all the others. It made sense for us to split up the way we did, yet it dampened our morale. As it got dark, it became harder to see much of anything. It was against our implicit orders to return to the landing zone, but I decided to make the trek anyway. Distances always seem much longer in the night. As I gazed over the cityscape, the plumes of dozens of fires belched black smoke into the sky. We had hit the enemy hard at least, but at what cost? When I reached the landing zone, to my surprise and relief, there were dozens of jetpack type devices lying about. There were also many crates of extra rockets and grenades. Now this would make finishing off the remaining enemy easy work. It was dangerous to fly at night for various reasons, not the least of which was that flames from the exhaust would make me an easy target against the night sky. 

There must be something about high gravity planets that affects the weather. The sky was mostly overcast with a few stars and moons shining through here and there. Near the ground, a thick fog a few meters thick slowly slid across the ground. I made a few short flights to get the hang of the device. During some down time, we'd watched a training video on how to use the jetpack. It seemed self-explanatory, though the high gravity meant that I'd need to land carefully to avoid injury. At that point, I just wanted to finish the job, get off that awful rock, and have a nice shower. It's always the little things that make bad situations bearable. A little respite here and there goes a long way. I couldn't wait to be back aboard our ship with my partner and enjoying a nice hot meal all the other amenities on board. They were spartan accommodations, yet so much better than being stuck in the midst of a warzone. 

I really hoped 142 and I would survive the battle unscathed, but at that point there was no way of knowing. The enemy is always smarter than you think, and I dreaded whatever hostile surprises laid in store. It was one of those times when a stoic detachment was the only way to stay sane. 

Hired Raygun - part 5

We landed on the resort world, which reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Hawaii, except the colors were all different. The sand was pink, the sky purple, and the ocean was orange. Oddly enough, the atmosphere and other conditions were earthlike enough that I didn't need a spacesuit, nor did my companion. 142 came from a hardier race able to survive in a wide range of conditions. It told me that the planet was somewhat similar to its home world, which was covered in a shallow sea filled with archipelagos. One of the first things I noticed is we didn't have to pay for anything. The locals freely offered us food, drink, and trinkets. I guessed it was a tributary world or protectorate of whatever empire we were fighting for. It made sense that they didn't pay us until our discharge. Giving us any kind of money would reduce the leverage they had over us as well as making it harder for us to escape from them.

The ocean was pleasant enough to swim in. It seemed to be water, but whatever it was, it was safe for humans. I suspected some sort of dissolved mineral accounted for the odd color. It reminded me a bit of a hot spring, except the gentle breeze created mild waves like on a gulf coast. Overall, it was an idyllic place that I gladly could have stayed for months if not for the memories of family and home gnawing at me. The locals, while friendly, were a most bizarre species. As far as I could tell, they were telepathic shapeshifters. Depending on which of us was interacting with them, they would morph so as to resemble me or 142. One of them morphed into a very good imitation of a woman I'd been fantasizing about and beckoned me to follow it into a hut. I admit to being a bit curious, but in the end, I confess no desire to explore whatever strange new world was between the legs it had just grown. 

The creatures had trouble keeping the same shape for more than a few minutes. It was as though it required effort, like holding your breath, and whatever organs were involved had a limited capacity. Their default shape reminded me of an amoeba, and they were about the size of a large tire. Such creatures could be valuable as spies, and I began to wonder if that was the reason their planet had been conquered. Otherwise, their biology and anatomy greatly limited their military value. It seemed likely that whatever envoys had been sent them in the past merely presented them with an ultimatum that they must serve the empire or be annihilated. It was an uncomfortable realization that my employers essentially depended on various forms of slavery to keep their empire going. At least I was lucky enough to be an indentured servant rather than a chattel slave, but I wasn't going to get paid until my discharge, and I had no idea how many years away that was.

I tried to relax and enjoy the unusual luxuries. The food was much better than my usual rations, and the scenery far nicer than the interior of the cramped ship I had spent so many months in. I'd given up on keeping track of the time not long after a boarded the ship. The only thing that really mattered was how many years would go by on earth until my return. To pass the time, when I got tired of the beach, I hiked in the hills and forests around the resort and strolled through the local village. The amoeba people were industrious, and it was interesting to watch them shapeshift into various forms depending on whatever task they were doing. They were particularly adept at stretching themselves out in order to pick fruit from what looked to be trees. On the whole, a peaceful and helpful race. I felt sorry for their predicament as the unpaid servants of whatever mercenaries the empire dumped on their world to look after. 

Our vacation ended without fanfare. When our ship landed and the ramp was lowered, that was our cue to board immediately and leave. I was pleased that I was able to take many photographs of the place and collected a small assortment of baubles that I hoped to bring home as gifts. I was fairly sure that if my memory was wiped or if I got killed, my camera and other personal possessions would be returned to my next of kin. It comforted me that whatever happened next, there was some record of what I had experienced and where I'd been. My companion had likewise collected a few souvenirs. It implied it had made first contact, so to say, with a shapeshifter that impersonated the other gender of its kind. 142 was certainly more adventurous than me. We had spent so much time together and yet I still didn't know whether it was male, female, or whether such terms were even applicable to its species. It was all irrelevant anyway, as the only real rule we had was to look out for each other. 

Sometime later, perhaps a few days, we landed on the planet with the weapons range. It was every bit as harsh and desolate as the resort planet had been lush and pleasant. Dunes of ash gray sand stretched in every direction except for a few large rock outcroppings sporadically dotting the landscape. We were back to wearing our bulky spacesuits as the ambient temperature varied from well below freezing at night to boiling hot during the day. The planet was baked by a trio of red giants whose shapes dominated the daytime sky. As for the weapons range itself, it was located in a rocky field bordered on three sides by cliffs. There were shot up mechanical hulks of various sizes littering the field. Some were larger than any machine I'd ever seen, which made me nervous about whatever enemies we'd be fighting next. This feeling got worse when the teaching droids introduced us to the larger weapons in the arsenal.

     

They handed me some kind of shoulder-fired weapon and indicated that I fire at one of the larger piles of wreckage a few hundred meters away. When I shot, a projectile like a rocket zoomed out and caused a massive explosion when it hit. It looked like a mushroom cloud from a nuclear blast except much smaller. I doubt it was actually a nuclear weapon as our masters were likely vulnerable to radiation poisoning too and didn't want to turn planets into wastelands if they could avoid it. If I had to guess, it was some kind of thermobaric weapon, just much more powerful. I'd heard such devices described as rocket-propelled flamethrowers. The thought of nuclear weapons got me wondering if the empire had ever used them. If they had faster than light travel, then surely, they had atomic bombs and such. Perhaps, just as on earth, there was a kind of stalemate brought on by the threat of mutual assured destruction. 

The next weapon was similar to a hand grenade, except it stuck to surfaces and so could also be used for demolition. It exuded colored smoke which slowly turned from blue to red. It was a convenient way of letting the user know how much time was left until it exploded. They could be thrown or launched from a bazooka-type device. Its blast was immensely powerful, and I was no longer concerned about going up against armored vehicles so long as I had such explosives. I remembered reading about something called an ampule gun. It was used in one of the big wars on earth hundreds of years ago. Basically, it shot a glass bulb full of flaming liquid. It was used against vehicles and area targets. That's what the alien grenades reminded me of. 

So yeah, 142 and I played around some more with the new bang-bang toys for the next few hours. After that, instead of returning to the ship, they told us to bivouac in the wreckage. I guess it was psychological conditioning of some sort. Some of the hulks in the distance were still burning from what we'd shot at them. It was going to be a long night. We didn't have to, but decided to take turns sleeping in shifts, since that's probably what we'd need to do in the real thing. I remember nudging 142 awake. I tried to be gentle, but the guy was a heavy sleeper. When it was my turn, it threw a rock at my leg to wake me up. I didn't blame it for getting rough. Our lives were in each other's hands. Because we were both stuck in our suits for more than a few hours, I and I presume it, had to answer the call of nature several times. This is the sort of thing you don't learn about in war movies or comic books. Sitting in your filth and waiting for the sun to come up.

In this case, we had to wait for all three suns to come up, which took a lot longer than I expected. The ship landed, the gangplank extended, and we trudged aboard. I signaled that 142 could disrobe and shower first. A few more minutes in my soiled power armor wasn't going to kill me. Then it was my turn, and man did that shower feel good. Any fool who blabs about the glory of battle has never felt his pelvis drenched in his own human waste. At least the rations we got afterwards were better than usual. I ate with 142 on purpose as a show of solidarity. We offered each other bites of our rations. Later, for the sake of honesty and comradery, I mentioned that before I did not eat with it because it made annoying sounds while it ate. 142 replied that likewise, I had made disturbing sounds while I ate. Having reached this new and refreshing understanding, we resolved to eat alone from then on.  

Like I said before, it's hard to explain exactly what we said to each other because it was all through pantomime and showing each other pictures on our wrist screens. Even so, for what mattered, our communication was clear enough. I pondered how many times in history where the language barrier had only been partially breached, and yet that was enough to enable all kinds of expeditions and other cross-cultural cooperation. In the late Roman Empire, many of its soldiers either didn't speak Latin at all or only as a second language. The French Foreign Legion all learned French as a foreign language. What I found in my interactions with various aliens was that the most important thing was the desire to understand and be understood. Mutual respect was always the key. 

We had some more downtime before the next mission, but there were many more briefings. It was hard not to get rattled. It was hard to understand who exactly we were up against next, but they certainly were no pushovers. As far as I could tell, they were a mechanical race who originated on a high-gravity planet. Consequently, their war machines were as big and tough as they come. No wonder we'd gotten training on heavy weapons. I wish I could have written a letter home because I had serious doubts about my survival. The both of us spent more time at the ship's range with the lighter weapons, though this was mainly to boost our own morale. We were definitely going to die if we couldn't figure out a way to use the heavy weapons to the greatest advantage against our colossal foes. 

Once more, I asked 142 to join it in prayer. I did my best to explain that I was not religious myself but felt it best to pray anyway. There are no atheists in foxholes, no matter what planet they're on, I guess.  

Hired Raygun - part 4

I piled regolith over the rest of the shallow grave to make a small mound. As there was no wind, precipitation, or wildlife here, I suspected it'd serve as a clear marker until the time the dead alien's comrades came inspect the damage and gather their dead. Just to be sure, I fired bursts into the backs of both sentry guns. They had probably gone offline anyway when the reactor exploded. I wasn't sure how long it'd take for enemy reinforcements to show up, but I'd already wasted too much precious time burying the corpse. What can I say except that it seemed like the decent thing to do. I had no idea how the firefight on the other side of the base was going, though since it was just droid on droid, I presumed they would duke it out until only one of them was left standing. I bounded through the boulder field where 142 had been doing overwatch for me.

When we rejoined, I could see a puzzled look in his eyes, as if it was wondering why a carried that corpse out of the base and buried it. I did my best to mimic the prayer gesture I once saw 142 make, and it seemed instantly understand my intent in that action. I hadn't heard anymore explosions for a while, so rather than call for evac, I suggested via hand signs that we do what we could to help out our droid allies. We approached the ruins of the base and 142 signaled he'd find some cover and do some sniping. My cloaking device still had some power left, so I figured now it was my time to act as a diversion. The smoldering ruins of the base added some ambient light, and that made it harder to hide. Often in conditions like these, it's hard to distinguish friend from foe. The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for a friendly fire incident.  

In this case it was a little easier. I knew the enemy was immediately in front of me, and when the fired, they revealed their positions. The light from the discharge of their weapons was dimmer as most of it was blocked by their bodies. The weapons our reinforcements off in the distance had somewhat brighter muzzle flashes. Whenever I saw a dim flash of light, I fired a burst in that direction and immediately bounded a few meters left or right. I tried to make the distance and direction random so I'd be a harder target. As the enemy fell one by one, more fire concentrated on those that remained. When the last one was eliminated, the fire quickly tapered off. 142 signaled me with his laser pointer, and we moved in to inspect the wreckage. Our droid reinforcements did likewise. It had been in a tough fight, and only half a dozen of them were left standing. All of them had been hit, but the damage was not critical. 

One of them was intently surveying the scene, I presume to make an after-action report. I helped gather enemy weapons from others. It seemed they wished to scavenge equipment from the enemy. Some of the wrecked droids, both friendly and enemy were deemed salvageable, so we gathered those as well. I was left wondering how many times the same droid had been shot up and repaired, or how many times the same metal had been melted down and recycled into a new droid. Given the pains they took to scavenge wreckage, the war must have been going on for a very long time. A friendly dropship touched down nearby not long after. After loading it with the captured loot, the droids motioned us aboard and we took off. It was a short ride before we got transferred to our regular ship. After removing our spacesuits and stowing our gear, we were directed to the theater.

The hologram projector showed us the after-action report for the mission. It was all pictures, but easy enough to understand. A star map displayed all the known locations of similar facilities throughout the galaxy. There looked to be about a dozen. The one we just blew up had a big red X stamped on it while an explosion sound effect played. It was good to know we were making a difference. The droid losses were about even, 20 or so for both sides, but the scrap salvaged made up for it slightly. 142 was the hero of the battle and had racked up most of the kills. It turned out to have a real talent with the x-ray vision sniper rifle. It felt good to have a skilled warrior as my partner. Perhaps once we had done enough damage, they'd let us go home. That seemed to be the implication of the report: fight hard and destroy enough, and you'll get to go home. It was a glimmer of hope that would sustain me for a long time. 

Our next stop would be on a barren desert planet. We were set to get demolitions and heavy weapons training. Though exciting and relatively safe, it could only mean the next mission would be that much more dangerous. It wouldn't be just the two of us at the range either. The photos of the other trainees were displayed. It was quite a rogue's gallery. We were all different species and I looked to be the only mammal among them. The roster was heavily with reptilians and insectoids, though one or two looked to be avian or fungoid. But before all that, it looked like we'd earned some vacation time, and would be spending a few days on a lush planet with a beach. At that, we returned to our cabin to bathe, eat, and sleep.   

Later, I took the alien name tag to the theater and held it in front of what I figured was a camera. I figured it was worth a shot to see if the computer would tell me anything about it. Sure enough, info about it popped up on various screens. I couldn't read any of the text, but from the pictures, I could see the location of the alien's home planet and the various star systems they controlled. It also displayed some images and videos pertaining to their culture and technology. I was able to gather they were allied with a consortium of other races who were also seeking to maintain and expand their influence. We never ended up getting much training in either the spoken or written language of our masters, and I suspect that was intentional. Aside from the difficulties of translation and language instruction, they only wanted us to know just enough to obey their orders.

At least I got some answers, though I still felt guilty about killing an unarmed creature I bumped into at random, even it was in the midst of a life-or-death struggle. I began to wonder why our masters relied on mercenaries and droids rather than fighting themselves. I suppose it was for similar reasons so many humans have supported and fomented wars while do everything they could to avoid combat themselves. I never had much respect for people who said in effect "hey, let's you and him fight", yet that faction is numerous and has a long history. Thinking back to what I knew of military history, soldiers frequently went to war for dubious reasons while under questionable leadership and being mostly ignorant of both the strategy, goals, and causes of the war. That was certainly the case in the First World War, which was the result of an assassination and a set of alliances. 

In a larger sense, it didn't matter who we were fighting and why, how long it would take, and so on. My goal was to survive. Helping my partner survive was the most logical course of action. We spent many more hours teasing bits of information out of each other. It would take far too long to recap our conversations since we spent most of the time trying to figure out what the other was saying. Gradually, through pantomime and other visual aids, we were able to share basic information on our cultures, planets, families, and ourselves. Of course, we had no way of knowing how much we truly understood of each other, but at least it was a start. Something is always better than nothing when it comes to knowledge and rapport. We even tried each other's rations a few times despite concerns about poisoning and being reprimanded. 142's food was better than I expected and didn't make me sick. Otherwise, I vastly preferred the rations made specifically for me, despite their odd appearance.

We spoke at length about what we'd do when we got back to our homes. It turned out our backgrounds were essentially the same in that we came from desperately poor families where one child was expected to take a gamble in order to benefit the rest. We agreed that this was an honorable and sensible thing to do. It seemed taking one for the team was a value our cultures had in common. Once I asked 142 what it would have done had it been assigned by our masters to a platoon of its own kind. It said they'd organize a rebellion, steal weapons, commandeer a ship, and head for home. I replied that I'd have done the same thing and added this was certainly part of the reason why our masters deliberately kept us isolated from our owe kind and also in pairs rather than larger groups. It wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest if there had been rebellion and escape attempts already. 

It was all starting to make sense in an odd way. Our masters avoided teaching us their written language so we couldn't pilot the ship if we mutinied and took control of it. They used mercenaries and droids for their wars because too few of them were willing to take the risk. That implied they lived relatively safe, prosperous lives compared to the mercenaries they recruited. Most wars on earth were over the control of land and resources, so I assumed it was the same on the interstellar level. I began to wonder if that was true. If our masters and presumably their opponents were already safe and prosperous, why fight? Was there some greater ideological or religious war going on? Was it just a matter of status and bragging rights? The Scramble for Africa in the 19th century was mostly the result of different European countries competing for prestige. Colonialism in general turned out to be more trouble than it was worth. 

Another possibility was that war was bedrock of their economy, and thus constant war was a necessity. In the Roman Empire, the Gates of Janus temple doors were kept open during times of war so people could pray for victory. Since there was almost always a war going on, the temple doors rarely closed. There was a stretch where they stayed open for 400 years. Any civilization that has an excess of labor and wealth is going to plow it into some grand project. The most popular choices have been monuments and war. While conquest has diminishing returns as weapons become more expensive, the political benefits of a successful war make it a sensible choice for ambitious politicians. It reminded me of the Falklands War where Argentina went to war with Britain over an utterly insignificant island. The ruling junta thought it would score a quick and easy victory that would distract Argentina's population from domestic crises and boost patriotism. Instead, it was an expensive and embarrassing rout, though costly for the British as well. Indeed, the cost of the war for both sides outweighed any possible economic benefit.

So perhaps that was our situation. We'd unwittingly signed up for the interstellar equivalent of a forever war every bit as absurd as a pie-eating contest. In that case, my mottoes were "bon appetit" and "laissez le bon temps roulez".