Analog (noun): is a situation on Earth that produces effects on the body similar to those experienced in space, both physical and mental/emotional. These studies help us prepare for long duration missions.
As an analog for future planetary science concepts and strategies, marine science also will be performed under the guidance of Florida International University’s marine science department.
NASA astronaut Kjell Lindgren will command the NEEMO 22 mission aboard the Aquarius laboratory, 62 feet below the ocean surface near Key Largo Florida. Lindgren was part of the space station Expeditions 44 and 45 in 2015, where he spent 141 days living and working in the extreme environment of space. He also conducted two spacewalks.
Fun Fact: These underwater explorers are referred to as “aquanauts”
Lindgren will be joined by ESA (European Space Agency) astronaut Pedro Duque, Trevor Graff, a Jacobs Engineering employee working as a planetary scientist at our Johnson Space Center; and research scientists Dom D’Agostino from the University of South Florida and the Florida Institute of Human and Machine Cognition.
While living underwater for 10 days, the crew will:
Test spaceflight countermeasure equipment
Validate technology for precisely tracking equipment in a habitat
Complete studies of body composition and sleep
Assess hardware sponsored by ESA that will help crew members evacuate someone who has been injured on a lunar spacewalk
Why do we use Analog Missions?
Analog missions prepare us for near-future exploration to asteroids, Mars and the moon. Analogs play a significant role in problem solving for spaceflight research.
Not all experiments can be done in space – there is not enough time, money, equipment and manpower
Countermeasures can be tested in analogs before trying them in space. Those that do not work in analogs will not be flown in space
Ground-based analog studies are completed more quickly and less expensively
“Imagine the earth to be a bag of rubber filled with water, a small quantity of which is periodically forced in and out of the same by means of a reciprocating pump, as illustrated. If the strokes of the latter are effected in intervals of more than one hour and forty-eight minutes, sufficient for the transmission of the impulse thru the whole mass, the entire bag will expand and contract and corresponding movements will be imparted to pressure gauges or movable pistons with the same intensity, irrespective of distance. By working the pump faster, shorter waves will be produced which, on reaching the opposite end of the bag, may be reflected and give rise to stationary nodes and loops, but in any case, the fluid being incompressible, its enclosure perfectly elastic, and the frequency of oscillations not very high, the energy will be economically transmitted and very little power consumed so long as no work is done in the receivers. This is a crude but correct representation of my wireless system in which, however, I resort to various refinements. Thus, for instance, the pump is made part of a resonant system of great inertia, enormously magnifying the force of the imprest impulses. The receiving devices are similarly conditioned and in this manner the amount of energy collected in them vastly increased.“
Okay, I am super pumped for tomorrow. Wanna know why? Cause I am a part of the Sterek Reverse Bang and I am posting tomorrow!!! Keep your eye out around 5-6 pm California time for the link to the fic and the amazing art :)
So, I wrote this to expel all my extra excitement like the productive writer I totally am ;)
It had been a long day for Stiles Stilinski. Not so much in a supernatural way, thank the lord. That had already happened and filled this week’s quota when a new Wiccan group wanted to negotiate the use of the Preserve. The talks had resulted in access to new herbs and such for Deaton to help the pack with and the Wiccans getting a safe haven from prying eyes and a place to be more rooted in nature. Ha, rooted. No, today was perfectly mundane , plain in its lack of “emergency pack meeting” texts sent out or lore needing to be studied to save a life.
Yet, somehow, it had still been one huge shit storm built on several hurricanes of fuck with a one hundred percent chance of frustration with an advisory warning of mental break downs in the near future. Wow, that analogy really got away from him. But with the day he had had, he deserved hours worth of tangent filled ranting.
Doing a double major at Berkeley would be the death of him. Not vampires or covens or faeries or those goddamn trolls. No, it would be all the criminology/folklore course he had to do as his third year progressed. It was rough and painstaking and he wasn’t above admitting to his fair share of tears, not knowing if he could make it in life. But that’s okay because nothing could beat coming home.
Home. Stiles stumbles into the apartment, cursing as he drops his much too heavy school bag onto his foot. His voice cuts off when he catches a whiff of the greatest smells he has ever had the pleasure of smelling. Well, maybe not the best, but when you have been had a long day of classes and studying, anything that isn’t coffee or energy drink scented is a god send.
He takes a deep breath, following the scent of lemon and basil pesto, finding Derek in front of the stove. He smiles dopily, shuffling forward quietly despite knowing he was heard from long before he even reached for the front door. He puts his hands in the pockets of Derek sweats and presses his cheek to a bare shoulder, nuzzling in before settling with a sigh.
“Cooking shirtless is dangerous.” The werewolf snorts, but doesn’t shake Stiles loose.
“For a human.”
“You’ve already burned yourself, haven’t you.”
“Three times.” Derek puts the pan he’s cooking pasta in and sets it on a different burner to cool. He turns and wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders. The weight and warmth settle something intangible deep in his chest. The gentle lingering kiss to his temple lets the air he pulls in go deeper than he’s managed alone all day.
Derek carefully leads them to their thrift store couch, leaving Stiles there for a moment. He returns with steaming plates of pasta before Stiles can pull in enough breath to whine over being abandoned.
After food and a little idle chit-chat, Derek simply gathers Stiles’ long limbs into his arms and carries him to their bed. He gives a cursory comment that involves three attempt to not slur the word ‘emasculating’ while Derek smiles soft and fond like he’s grown to do over the past few years. He sets Stiles down and rids them both of jeans and t-shirts before curling them up under the covers. They lay in contented silence, peaceful space filled with easy breaths and calm breaths. Yes, home is always a nice place to be.
Stiles flips onto his stomach, curling his arms under his pillow after he drags Derek large, warm palm over his bare back. He arches, asking with a hum for a back rub knowing Derek loves the scent marking as much as Stiles enjoys the massage. After a little while, Derek takes up tracing the lines that connect his moles. Stiles knows the patterns almost by heart with how fond Derek is of the activity. Just as Stiles begins drifting off, something changes.
It isn’t bad, nothing is wrong. Derek is still soft and relaxed next to him, a warmth lining his left side, but there’s a shift somewhere and he can’t quite pinpoint what.He lays there, not too bothered but curious until he figures it out. Derek is no longer tracing his moles, but a new pattern that takes Stiles a few minutes to decipher. When he does, his heart melt like a popsicle in the Sahara.
They hadn’t said it before, it wasn’t entirely necessary. Stiles knew and he knew that Derek knew, it showed in the everyday things - Derek making dinner, Stiles forking over the extra cash for the body wash that didn’t meddle so much with his chemo-signals, Derek reading him to sleep on bad night, Stiles not saying a word when Derek crawls into bed with his back to Stiles in silent question. They didn’t say it, but that didn’t make it any less true.