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Solstice

THE EVENING SKY AT THE WINTER SOLSTICE

THE EVENING SKY AT THE SUMMER SOLSTICE

THE UNCONSCIOUS ORIGIN OF THE HERO

It was the annual Solstice party at Wunderland Games, and I was especially excited to give my team a taste of old-school gaming magic. The star of the evening was the legendary Caroline, an interactive fiction pioneer who was going to showcase her retro text-based creations. Her passion had first inspired me years ago through the story of a young developer named Luna. Luna was a shy backend coder without much experience in game design. But she dreamed up the most wondrous text adventure ideas and would excitedly tell her friends about them. Most just laughed and told Luna to focus on “real” games with fancy graphics and sound. But Luna believed in the power of words and imagination, so she kept tinkering after hours on a passion project - a quirky text adventure she coded up on a terminal. It wasn't much to look at, just glowing green words on a black screen. But the world she conjured up was wildly creative. One day, veteran developer Gail happened to see Luna’s little game. She was utterly charmed by the ingenuity of the storytelling and gameplay. Thanks to Gail’s mentorship, Luna's text game became a cult hit, though she remained largely unknown. I was just starting out back then, but Luna’s story inspired me - proof that coding magic happens when you embrace creativity and imagination over industry norms. I vowed that if I ever ran a studio, I would champion provocative visions over profit-chasing. So when I became CEO of Wunderland Games, I recruited the legendary Caroline to help recapture the spirit of those text adventure pioneers like Luna. Caroline was delighted to accept. We planned an interactive showcase of her retro games for the annual holiday party. The office was buzzing with activity and laughter as we put the finishing touches on the decorations. Pixel art snowflakes and strings of 8-bit Christmas lights gave the space a deliciously retro vibe. The centerpiece was our huge Douglas fir Christmas tree, overflowing with gaudy 80's video game ornaments. I checked my watch. 5:15 pm. Caroline should've arrived by now for setup and rehearsal. Where was she? I felt a twinge of panic. Her interactive demo was meant to be the highlight of the whole evening! Just then, my phone rang. It was Caroline, speaking in a rush. "Bob! I'm so sorry, I'm running late. I'll be there in 15 minutes. Please stall for me!" she said breathlessly. I reassured her it was fine, we'll make it work. But inside, I was worried. This wasn't like Caroline to be late on such an important day. Right on cue at 5:30 pm, the doors opened and my team streamed in, laughing, trading gifts, and admiring the decor. The scent of fresh gingerbread and cinnamon wafted from the buffet. But still no sign of Caroline. I quietly asked someone to keep stalling as I slipped away to Caroline's demo room to check on things. Maybe she had arrived and was frantically getting set up? But when I entered the room, it was still and dark, empty except for a lone computer terminal glowing in the corner. Where was she? Just then my phone buzzed. It was Caroline, whispering. "I'm here but my codes got corrupted! I can't access my presentation. I'm so sorry..." She sounded near tears. My heart sank. After all this planning and anticipation, Caroline's big interactive demo wasn't going to happen. The team would be so disappointed. Then Caroline's face lit up and just winked conspiratorially. "Leave it to me, I’ll improvise something ten times better!" she whispered with a twinkle in her eye. I didn't know what she had up her sleeve, but I trusted her creative spirit absolutely. I hurried back to the party and grabbed the mic. "Sorry for the delay, everyone. I have a very special guest who's going to take you on an old-school adventure! Let's give a warm welcome to the legendary Caroline!" Right on cue, Caroline rushed onto the stage, slightly flustered but beaming. "Hi folks! So it seems technology has failed us tonight, but the human imagination never fails! Let's journey back to the magical days of text-based adventures. I'll be the computer, and you tell me what to do!" She turned to face the audience expectantly. They tittered, not quite sure what to do. "Come now, don't be shy! You there, in the holiday sweater - what's your name?" Caroline asked warmly. "Oh, I'm Susan." "Nice to meet you, Susan! What's your first command for me?" "Um, look around the room?" Susan offered tentatively. Caroline smiled delightedly. "Excellent! You look around the festively decorated room. Pixel art snowflakes twinkle down from the rafters, and the giant Christmas tree glows with 8-bit ornaments..." As Caroline brought the setting to life, people relaxed. Another person called out, "Open the present under the tree!" Caroline rolled with their idea. "You open the present and find a rare crystal orb, which begins to glow..." The audience oohed. Now they were getting into it, each building on the last. When someone yelled out, "Use the candy cane as a sword!" Caroline acted it out, getting laughs. Soon Caroline was effortlessly weaving each suggestion into an increasingly complex, fantastical world. Every detail she inventively improvised inspired new ideas from the crowd. As Caroline immersed the audience in her storytelling, I watched in awe from the sidelines. Her imaginative improv was far more engaging than any polished presentation could have been. The team hung on her every word, offering their input, laughing together. Caroline's passion was electric. Every new detail she conjured up made the world come more alive. I was transported back to those late nights as a kid, hunched over the glowing green terminal, getting lost in text worlds far more magical than reality. Time flew by in a blaze of laughter and curiosity. As Caroline brought the story to an uplifting conclusion, the room erupted in thunderous applause. She turned to me, eyes shining. "Thank you," she mouthed silently. I just smiled and nodded. No words were needed. The magic unfolding onstage said it all. As I looked around at the team's faces - delighted, inspired, connected - I knew my speech was pointless now. Caroline had already conveyed everything I yearned to say, and so much more. Her story was a gift from the heart that touched that childlike spark of imagination in all of us. As CEO, it was my job to provide direction to the team. But sometimes the best leadership is knowing when to step back and let creativity carry the torch instead. [Parts of this story were written using AI tools]

Ctrl, Alt, Imagine

Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . THE SOUTH POLE here CHAPTER XIV: THE SOUTH POLE I rushed on to the platform. Yes! the open sea, with but a few scattered pieces of ice and moving icebergs—a long stretch of sea; a world of birds in the air, and myriads of fishes under those waters, which varied from intense blue to olive green, according to the bottom. The thermometer marked 3° C. above zero. It was comparatively spring, shut up as we were behind this iceberg, whose lengthened mass was dimly seen on our northern horizon. “Are we at the pole?” I asked the Captain, with a beating heart. “I do not know,” he replied. “At noon I will take our bearings.” “But will the sun show himself through this fog?” said I, looking at the leaden sky. “However little it shows, it will be enough,” replied the Captain. About ten miles south a solitary island rose to a height of one hundred and four yards. We made for it, but carefully, for the sea might be strewn with banks. One hour afterwards we had reached it, two hours later we had made the round of it. It measured four or five miles in circumference. A narrow canal separated it from a considerable stretch of land, perhaps a continent, for we could not see its limits. The existence of this land seemed to give some colour to Maury’s theory. The ingenious American has remarked that, between the South Pole and the sixtieth parallel, the sea is covered with floating ice of enormous size, which is never met with in the North Atlantic. From this fact he has drawn the conclusion that the Antarctic Circle encloses considerable continents, as icebergs cannot form in open sea, but only on the coasts. According to these calculations, the mass of ice surrounding the southern pole forms a vast cap, the circumference of which must be, at least, 2,500 miles. But the , for fear of running aground, had stopped about three cable-lengths from a strand over which reared a superb heap of rocks. The boat was launched; the Captain, two of his men, bearing instruments, Conseil, and myself were in it. It was ten in the morning. I had not seen Ned Land. Doubtless the Canadian did not wish to admit the presence of the South Pole. A few strokes of the oar brought us to the sand, where we ran ashore. Conseil was going to jump on to the land, when I held him back. Nautilus “Sir,” said I to Captain Nemo, “to you belongs the honour of first setting foot on this land.” “Yes, sir,” said the Captain, “and if I do not hesitate to tread this South Pole, it is because, up to this time, no human being has left a trace there.” Saying this, he jumped lightly on to the sand. His heart beat with emotion. He climbed a rock, sloping to a little promontory, and there, with his arms crossed, mute and motionless, and with an eager look, he seemed to take possession of these southern regions. After five minutes passed in this ecstasy, he turned to us. “When you like, sir.” I landed, followed by Conseil, leaving the two men in the boat. For a long way the soil was composed of a reddish sandy stone, something like crushed brick, scoriae, streams of lava, and pumice-stones. One could not mistake its volcanic origin. In some parts, slight curls of smoke emitted a sulphurous smell, proving that the internal fires had lost nothing of their expansive powers, though, having climbed a high acclivity, I could see no volcano for a radius of several miles. We know that in those Antarctic countries, James Ross found two craters, the Erebus and Terror, in full activity, on the 167th meridian, latitude 77° 32′. The vegetation of this desolate continent seemed to me much restricted. Some lichens lay upon the black rocks; some microscopic plants, rudimentary diatomas, a kind of cells placed between two quartz shells; long purple and scarlet weed, supported on little swimming bladders, which the breaking of the waves brought to the shore. These constituted the meagre flora of this region. The shore was strewn with molluscs, little mussels, and limpets. I also saw myriads of northern clios, one-and-a-quarter inches long, of which a whale would swallow a whole world at a mouthful; and some perfect sea-butterflies, animating the waters on the skirts of the shore. There appeared on the high bottoms some coral shrubs, of the kind which, according to James Ross, live in the Antarctic seas to the depth of more than 1,000 yards. Then there were little kingfishers and starfish studding the soil. But where life abounded most was in the air. There thousands of birds fluttered and flew of all kinds, deafening us with their cries; others crowded the rock, looking at us as we passed by without fear, and pressing familiarly close by our feet. There were penguins, so agile in the water, heavy and awkward as they are on the ground; they were uttering harsh cries, a large assembly, sober in gesture, but extravagant in clamour. Albatrosses passed in the air, the expanse of their wings being at least four yards and a half, and justly called the vultures of the ocean; some gigantic petrels, and some damiers, a kind of small duck, the underpart of whose body is black and white; then there were a whole series of petrels, some whitish, with brown-bordered wings, others blue, peculiar to the Antarctic seas, and so oily, as I told Conseil, that the inhabitants of the Ferroe Islands had nothing to do before lighting them but to put a wick in. “A little more,” said Conseil, “and they would be perfect lamps! After that, we cannot expect Nature to have previously furnished them with wicks!” About half a mile farther on the soil was riddled with ruffs’ nests, a sort of laying-ground, out of which many birds were issuing. Captain Nemo had some hundreds hunted. They uttered a cry like the braying of an ass, were about the size of a goose, slate-colour on the body, white beneath, with a yellow line round their throats; they allowed themselves to be killed with a stone, never trying to escape. But the fog did not lift, and at eleven the sun had not yet shown itself. Its absence made me uneasy. Without it no observations were possible. How, then, could we decide whether we had reached the pole? When I rejoined Captain Nemo, I found him leaning on a piece of rock, silently watching the sky. He seemed impatient and vexed. But what was to be done? This rash and powerful man could not command the sun as he did the sea. Noon arrived without the orb of day showing itself for an instant. We could not even tell its position behind the curtain of fog; and soon the fog turned to snow. “Till to-morrow,” said the Captain, quietly, and we returned to the amid these atmospheric disturbances. Nautilus The tempest of snow continued till the next day. It was impossible to remain on the platform. From the saloon, where I was taking notes of incidents happening during this excursion to the polar continent, I could hear the cries of petrels and albatrosses sporting in the midst of this violent storm. The did not remain motionless, but skirted the coast, advancing ten miles more to the south in the half-light left by the sun as it skirted the edge of the horizon. The next day, the 20th of March, the snow had ceased. The cold was a little greater, the thermometer showing 2° below zero. The fog was rising, and I hoped that that day our observations might be taken. Captain Nemo not having yet appeared, the boat took Conseil and myself to land. The soil was still of the same volcanic nature; everywhere were traces of lava, scoriae, and basalt; but the crater which had vomited them I could not see. Here, as lower down, this continent was alive with myriads of birds. But their rule was now divided with large troops of sea-mammals, looking at us with their soft eyes. There were several kinds of seals, some stretched on the earth, some on flakes of ice, many going in and out of the sea. They did not flee at our approach, never having had anything to do with man; and I reckoned that there were provisions there for hundreds of vessels. Nautilus “Sir,” said Conseil, “will you tell me the names of these creatures?” “They are seals and morses.” It was now eight in the morning. Four hours remained to us before the sun could be observed with advantage. I directed our steps towards a vast bay cut in the steep granite shore. There, I can aver that earth and ice were lost to sight by the numbers of sea-mammals covering them, and I involuntarily sought for old Proteus, the mythological shepherd who watched these immense flocks of Neptune. There were more seals than anything else, forming distinct groups, male and female, the father watching over his family, the mother suckling her little ones, some already strong enough to go a few steps. When they wished to change their place, they took little jumps, made by the contraction of their bodies, and helped awkwardly enough by their imperfect fin, which, as with the lamantin, their cousins, forms a perfect forearm. I should say that, in the water, which is their element—the spine of these creatures is flexible; with smooth and close skin and webbed feet—they swim admirably. In resting on the earth they take the most graceful attitudes. Thus the ancients, observing their soft and expressive looks, which cannot be surpassed by the most beautiful look a woman can give, their clear voluptuous eyes, their charming positions, and the poetry of their manners, metamorphosed them, the male into a triton and the female into a mermaid. I made Conseil notice the considerable development of the lobes of the brain in these interesting cetaceans. No mammal, except man, has such a quantity of brain matter; they are also capable of receiving a certain amount of education, are easily domesticated, and I think, with other naturalists, that if properly taught they would be of great service as fishing-dogs. The greater part of them slept on the rocks or on the sand. Amongst these seals, properly so called, which have no external ears (in which they differ from the otter, whose ears are prominent), I noticed several varieties of seals about three yards long, with a white coat, bulldog heads, armed with teeth in both jaws, four incisors at the top and four at the bottom, and two large canine teeth in the shape of a fleur-de-lis. Amongst them glided sea-elephants, a kind of seal, with short, flexible trunks. The giants of this species measured twenty feet round and ten yards and a half in length; but they did not move as we approached. “These creatures are not dangerous?” asked Conseil. “No; not unless you attack them. When they have to defend their young their rage is terrible, and it is not uncommon for them to break the fishing-boats to pieces.” “They are quite right,” said Conseil. “I do not say they are not.” Two miles farther on we were stopped by the promontory which shelters the bay from the southerly winds. Beyond it we heard loud bellowings such as a troop of ruminants would produce. “Good!” said Conseil; “a concert of bulls!” “No; a concert of morses.” “They are fighting!” “They are either fighting or playing.” We now began to climb the blackish rocks, amid unforeseen stumbles, and over stones which the ice made slippery. More than once I rolled over at the expense of my loins. Conseil, more prudent or more steady, did not stumble, and helped me up, saying: “If, sir, you would have the kindness to take wider steps, you would preserve your equilibrium better.” Arrived at the upper ridge of the promontory, I saw a vast white plain covered with morses. They were playing amongst themselves, and what we heard were bellowings of pleasure, not of anger. As I passed these curious animals I could examine them leisurely, for they did not move. Their skins were thick and rugged, of a yellowish tint, approaching to red; their hair was short and scant. Some of them were four yards and a quarter long. Quieter and less timid than their cousins of the north, they did not, like them, place sentinels round the outskirts of their encampment. After examining this city of morses, I began to think of returning. It was eleven o’clock, and, if Captain Nemo found the conditions favourable for observations, I wished to be present at the operation. We followed a narrow pathway running along the summit of the steep shore. At half-past eleven we had reached the place where we landed. The boat had run aground, bringing the Captain. I saw him standing on a block of basalt, his instruments near him, his eyes fixed on the northern horizon, near which the sun was then describing a lengthened curve. I took my place beside him, and waited without speaking. Noon arrived, and, as before, the sun did not appear. It was a fatality. Observations were still wanting. If not accomplished to-morrow, we must give up all idea of taking any. We were indeed exactly at the 20th of March. To-morrow, the 21st, would be the equinox; the sun would disappear behind the horizon for six months, and with its disappearance the long polar night would begin. Since the September equinox it had emerged from the northern horizon, rising by lengthened spirals up to the 21st of December. At this period, the summer solstice of the northern regions, it had begun to descend; and to-morrow was to shed its last rays upon them. I communicated my fears and observations to Captain Nemo. “You are right, M. Aronnax,” said he; “if to-morrow I cannot take the altitude of the sun, I shall not be able to do it for six months. But precisely because chance has led me into these seas on the 21st of March, my bearings will be easy to take, if at twelve we can see the sun.” “Why, Captain?” “Because then the orb of day described such lengthened curves that it is difficult to measure exactly its height above the horizon, and grave errors may be made with instruments.” “What will you do then?” “I shall only use my chronometer,” replied Captain Nemo. “If to-morrow, the 21st of March, the disc of the sun, allowing for refraction, is exactly cut by the northern horizon, it will show that I am at the South Pole.” “Just so,” said I. “But this statement is not mathematically correct, because the equinox does not necessarily begin at noon.” “Very likely, sir; but the error will not be a hundred yards and we do not want more. Till to-morrow, then!” Captain Nemo returned on board. Conseil and I remained to survey the shore, observing and studying until five o’clock. Then I went to bed, not, however, without invoking, like the Indian, the favour of the radiant orb. The next day, the 21st of March, at five in the morning, I mounted the platform. I found Captain Nemo there. “The weather is lightening a little,” said he. “I have some hope. After breakfast we will go on shore and choose a post for observation.” That point settled, I sought Ned Land. I wanted to take him with me. But the obstinate Canadian refused, and I saw that his taciturnity and his bad humour grew day by day. After all, I was not sorry for his obstinacy under the circumstances. Indeed, there were too many seals on shore, and we ought not to lay such temptation in this unreflecting fisherman’s way. Breakfast over, we went on shore. The had gone some miles further up in the night. It was a whole league from the coast, above which reared a sharp peak about five hundred yards high. The boat took with me Captain Nemo, two men of the crew, and the instruments, which consisted of a chronometer, a telescope, and a barometer. While crossing, I saw numerous whales belonging to the three kinds peculiar to the southern seas; the whale, or the English “right whale,” which has no dorsal fin; the “humpback,” with reeved chest and large, whitish fins, which, in spite of its name, do not form wings; and the fin-back, of a yellowish brown, the liveliest of all the cetacea. This powerful creature is heard a long way off when he throws to a great height columns of air and vapour, which look like whirlwinds of smoke. These different mammals were disporting themselves in troops in the quiet waters; and I could see that this basin of the Antarctic Pole serves as a place of refuge to the cetacea too closely tracked by the hunters. I also noticed large medusæ floating between the reeds. Nautilus At nine we landed; the sky was brightening, the clouds were flying to the south, and the fog seemed to be leaving the cold surface of the waters. Captain Nemo went towards the peak, which he doubtless meant to be his observatory. It was a painful ascent over the sharp lava and the pumice-stones, in an atmosphere often impregnated with a sulphurous smell from the smoking cracks. For a man unaccustomed to walk on land, the Captain climbed the steep slopes with an agility I never saw equalled and which a hunter would have envied. We were two hours getting to the summit of this peak, which was half porphyry and half basalt. From thence we looked upon a vast sea which, towards the north, distinctly traced its boundary line upon the sky. At our feet lay fields of dazzling whiteness. Over our heads a pale azure, free from fog. To the north the disc of the sun seemed like a ball of fire, already horned by the cutting of the horizon. From the bosom of the water rose sheaves of liquid jets by hundreds. In the distance lay the like a cetacean asleep on the water. Behind us, to the south and east, an immense country and a chaotic heap of rocks and ice, the limits of which were not visible. On arriving at the summit Captain Nemo carefully took the mean height of the barometer, for he would have to consider that in taking his observations. At a quarter to twelve the sun, then seen only by refraction, looked like a golden disc shedding its last rays upon this deserted continent and seas which never man had yet ploughed. Captain Nemo, furnished with a lenticular glass which, by means of a mirror, corrected the refraction, watched the orb sinking below the horizon by degrees, following a lengthened diagonal. I held the chronometer. My heart beat fast. If the disappearance of the half-disc of the sun coincided with twelve o’clock on the chronometer, we were at the pole itself. Nautilus “Twelve!” I exclaimed. “The South Pole!” replied Captain Nemo, in a grave voice, handing me the glass, which showed the orb cut in exactly equal parts by the horizon. I looked at the last rays crowning the peak, and the shadows mounting by degrees up its slopes. At that moment Captain Nemo, resting with his hand on my shoulder, said: “I, Captain Nemo, on this 21st day of March, 1868, have reached the South Pole on the ninetieth degree; and I take possession of this part of the globe, equal to one-sixth of the known continents.” “In whose name, Captain?” “In my own, sir!” Saying which, Captain Nemo unfurled a black banner, bearing an “N” in gold quartered on its bunting. Then, turning towards the orb of day, whose last rays lapped the horizon of the sea, he exclaimed: “Adieu, sun! Disappear, thou radiant orb! rest beneath this open sea, and let a night of six months spread its shadows over my new domains!” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/164/164-h/164-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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SOLSTICE

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