Author: Augi Takahashi


I have a week to recuperate before the Township Council convenes next Monday, and it may take the entire week to get my head right for a terrible bout of questions, clarifications, and analysis that comprises a mission debriefing. Morris Connelly, my mentor, will preside which offers me some relief.  If he’s not visiting Dr. Alan Turing, he’s making time for tea with Ada Lovelace, so it’s a blessing the Old Man is in town to grill me over my two-year mission.

Morris is a funny old man, a wide-eyed explorer with a penchant for telling historical stories embellished with gossip and anecdotes that engenders brows to rise and faces to blush. I love the Old Man, after all, he’s a legend in my time and assuredly in others, as a matter of more fact than fiction. He pulled me aside at the homecoming to warn me of an uneasiness that’s stirring in the minds of the Council that invoking the Intervention Protocol is on the table, again. The protocol surfaced last at the apex of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and now it appears history is showing the world it can, indeed, repeat itself. The Cuban Missile Crisis was Morris’s gig, so he’ll set the tone for an invocation of a protocol designed to intervene when cooler heads of states fail to prevail during times of diminished civility and increased uncertainty.

To witness humanity suffer at the hands of those who favor war and terrorism over freedom, prosperity, and the pursuit of enlightenment disturbs me. And when worried about wildly massive issues, like invoking the Intervention Protocol, I seek the wise counsel of Morris, my mentor, my guardian parent.

Richard Crossman is hosting a small cadre of specialists and mission commanders at his ranch today, so I can catch up with Morris for a few sideline discussions about my recent mission and hear his iconic laughter and watch him animate his large, bushy eyebrows. He’s a sweet old man, and it’s difficult to imagine any civilized world without at least one Morris Connelly.

Augi out.



I arrived in Augustus Oregon, having returned home from journeys that diverged and meandered over roads less traveled. My birthplace, my first love, my sanctuary, Augustus Oregon is unique in all the world because it is and always has been a small, quiet town that has managed to prosper and evolve while civilization at large appears to unravel under dubious regimes and nefarious state players.

My homecoming, marked by celebratory events, included a gathering of friends and family at Jake’s Tavern and Town Hall, fabulous drinking and eating establishment that also serves as a central location for conducting town hall meetings. Amber ale filled steins, whiskey glasses held single malts, and vast platers of grilled meats and vegetables adorned every table. Everyone wore broad smiles on their faces and engaged themselves in friendly conversations and the swapping of wild yarns from the early settlement years. All had a good time.

Home once again, I felt grand and loved, but the back of my mind reminded me of the days to come. There was no escape from the debriefings that lie ahead before the Township Council. I filed extensive field reports of my travels to avoid a long series of debriefings by the Township Council. However, I knew too well that specific events I encountered during my journeys would require more in-depth discussions and analysis, in particular, those events that involved the escalation of territorial disputes in the South China Sea and the nuclear arms posturing between the United States and Russia.

For now, I was content celebrating with food and drink in the company of my friends and family.

Augi out.