Astronaut Steven Nagel, who flew on four space shuttle missions in the 1980s and 90s, including two as mission commander, has died after a long battle with cancer, NASA confirms.
Nagel, an Air Force pilot who had logged many hours in fighter jets and as a test pilot, joined the NASA astronaut corps in 1978 in the first crop of trainees selected for the space shuttle program.
Although trained as a shuttle pilot, Nagel's first mission, aboard STS-51G (Discovery) in June 1985, was as a mission specialist.
"I really wanted to fly as a pilot, so at the time — because there was no explanation that went with it — I wondered, 'Are they telling me I'm not good enough to fly as a pilot?'" Nagel told a NASA interviewer about his 1985 assignment to the shuttle Discovery's STS-51G crew, according to Space.com. "Nothing against mission specialists. I would trade my pilot's slot to go be a mission specialist and do a [spacewalk], certainly, but it's just that 'What are they trying to tell me here?'"
"But I think what it really was, our class was very large, and they're getting down to the point where I think [they] probably wanted to get us all flown, and this was a way to do it a little quicker," Nagel recalled.
According to his official NASA bio, Nagel went on to pilot Challenger (STS-61A) four months later. Among other things, the flight still stands as the only time eight people launched into space at the same time on the same vehicle. It was also the last successful Challenger mission — the orbiter exploded shortly after launch on its next mission, on January 27, 1986. All seven astronauts aboard were killed and the shuttle program was put on hold for two years.
Following the Challenger disaster, Nagel represented the Astronaut Office in efforts to develop a crew escape system.
"This was my best time at NASA, actually," Nagel stated. "Nothing I ever did was more fulfilling than that two years, to be honest, even flying."
"This was better, because everybody was so focused on getting the shuttle flying again," he remarked, Space.com says.
Space.com writes that on Nagel's final flight nitrogen leak disabled the system used to flush waste water from the orbiter's toilet:
"So Nagel and his crew had to divert the water from its tank into a contingency bag.
"'Periodically we'd have to empty the bag,' Nagel recalled. 'You dump the water overboard out a port on the side of the orbiter ... except instead of gas pressure to dump, one of us would have to squeeze the bag to dump the waste water.'"
"'It got us through the mission,' [he] continued. 'So who argues with success?'"
In total, Nagel logged 723 hours in space.
He retired from the Air Force and the Astronaut Office in 1995, assuming the position of deputy director of the Operations Development, Safety, Reliability and Quality Assurance Office at Johnson Space Center in Houston.
The following year, he transferred to NASA's Aircraft Operations Division as a research pilot and retired from the space agency in 2011.
In his final years, he taught at the University of Missouri in Columbia, Mo.
"It will always be my honor to know Steve," says Brian Kelly, director of Flight Operations. "He blessed our lives in many ways. His humor, positive approach to life, and constant smile is something we will all cherish. His service to our great nation and NASA is inspirational."
Nagel died Thursday. He is survived by his wife, Linda, and two daughters, Lauren and Whitney.
Until recently, no video games on the market have told the story of an indigenous people from their perspective. A group of Alaskan natives have partnered with a game developer to change that.
Their game is called Never Alone, and its creators hope it will set a new standard in video game development.
As in movies, native characters in video games tend toward stereotype. Few of them are heroes, but this game is different. Never Alone is based on a traditional story known as Kanuk Sayuka and the experiences of Alaska elders, storytellers and youth. The story follows a young Inupiaq girl and an Arctic fox as they go on an adventure to save her village from a blizzard that never ends.
Game developer Sean Vesce has 20 years of experience in the industry working on action titles like Tomb Raider. He recently went to Barrow, in far northern Alaska, to watch the students play a demo of the game. He says that day was his most memorable experience from the project.
"It was such a special moment because they were literally sitting forward, you know, yelling and screaming at the players to avoid enemies and to navigate around obstacles," Vesce says.
Vesce's introduction to Alaska native storytelling began two years earlier, arriving in boxes of transcribed stories. He says they contained tales and creatures as interesting and imaginative as anything in the movies today.
"We were just blown away at the richness and the beauty and the depth of that storytelling tradition and we realized that none of that had really been ever explored in a videogame," he says.
Vesce made a dozen trips to Alaska with his team to gather more stories and imagery. Helping connect Vesce with native stories was Amy Fredeen, who, as an Inupiaq herself, served as the cultural ambassador between the developers and indigenous storytellers. She says that in native culture everybody depends on each other and that was the most important part of both the game's story and creating the game itself.
"The last thing we wanted was this game to be kind of a cultural appropriation," Fredeen says. "We didn't want this to be an outsider's view of what the Inupiaq culture was. We wanted it to come from the people themselves."
One connection Fredeen made was with Jana Harcharek, who works in the Barrow school district to promote and preserve Inupiaq culture. Harcharek says when the students learned that the developers wanted to hear from them, the kids began telling their own stories.
"The ideas just started coming out," Harcharek says. "They were like 'well, are you going to be able to maybe do this, because I'm a whaler and I'm a hunter and I have this experience and it would be really cool if we could make this happen or that happen.' There was a lot of excitement right from the start."
The whole idea for Never Alone came from the Cook Inlet Tribal Council in Anchorage. Two years ago, president and CEO Gloria O'Neill asked developers if games could be used to share traditional stories. O'Neill says the tribal council was looking to invest its money in a way that would also benefit Native Culture.
"We started thinking about the future because our board also said to us 'never forget who we are and where we come from, but think about how we can connect with our young people in the future,'" O'Neill says.
Over time, O'Neill started to believe that the perfect way to do that is through video games, something even people in the most remote parts of Alaska want to play.
"Not only we could make money with the right partners, but we had a medium in which we could share our culture with the world; that we could create this invitation of courageous learning with the world," she says.
Never Alone is slated for release later this year on multiple platforms.
Iceland today raised an aviation alert level to reflect growing concern over underground rumblings at its Bardarbunga volcano in the central part of the island nation.
A sub-glacial eruption caused Icelandic authorities to raise the aviation alert level to red, indicating "significant emission of ash into the atmosphere," The Associated Press reports.
The AP notes: "Seismic data indicated that lava from the volcano was melting ice beneath the Vatnajokull glacier, Iceland's largest, Met Office vulcanologist Melissa Pfeffer said."
"She said it was not clear when, or if, the eruption would melt through the ice — which is between 100 to 400 meters (330 to 1,300 feet) thick — and send steam and ash into the air."
Iceland, located along a seismically and volcanically active mid-ocean ridge, saw the eruption of another volcano, Eyjafjallajokul, in 2010. The eruption four years ago spewed an ash cloud into the sky that wreaked havoc on international air travel in the region for a week, cancelling more than 100,000 flights to and from Europe.
And, in 2011, Iceland's Grimsvotn volcano erupted, briefly threatening a repeat of Eyjafjallajokul.
Iraq's ethnic Kurds are longtime U.S. allies and have put up the toughest resistance to the Sunni extremists in the so-called Islamic State that has captured swaths or Iraq's north and west.
They're getting help from U.S. air strikes, but also need heavier weapons of their own to match the firepower of the Islamic State, also known as ISIS. Weapons have been promised by the U.S. and other countries, but getting them through the central government in Baghdad has hampered the mission, according to Kurdish commanders.
"We have heard weapons are coming, but so far we haven't seen any. As you know, the Iraqi Ministry of Defense doesn't give us any weapons. And that just encourages ISIS to attack us," says Esmat Rajab, a commander in the Kurdish forces, known as the peshmerga.
Rajab speaks on a hilltop overlooking the terrain that's at stake in the Islamic State onslaught. Before him is the village of Bashiqa, which minority Yazidis fled as the Islamic State took over. They still hold it. Beyond the village is the large city of Mosul, which the Islamic State took over in June.
The Pentagon said this week that Baghdad is shipping some "equipment and assistance" to the Kurds, but the U.S. is exploring more direct options.
In Erbil, the capital of the Kurdish northern region, peshmerga spokesman Helgurd Ali says morale is strong since the Kurds retook the Mosul dam from the Islamists. But he's frustrated at Baghdad's attitude toward arming the Kurds.
"In the face of this crisis, if Baghdad still says 'no' to international weapons, then let them send us the weapons. We've waited for 8 years; they didn't send anything. Not one belt of ammunition," he says. "We can't trust Baghdad, and that's why we have to turn to the international community."
Baghdad's Mistrust Of The Kurds
But countries have been reluctant to ignore Baghdad's objections and arm the Kurds directly — though the Kurds say a small amount of arms has started coming into Erbil's airport.
Ali says they need heavier weapons, including something strong enough to pierce the armor on the U.S.-made vehicles the Islamists captured from the Iraqi army when its fleeing soldiers left them behind.
Baghdad's reluctance to see weapons flowing to the peshmerga — which is widely considered the most able fighting force to counter the Islamic State — seems counter-productive. But analysts say there's some logic to it.
Toby Dodge, director of the Middle East Center at the London School of Economics, says one reason for Baghdad's distrust of the Kurds was apparent as the Islamic State took Mosul in early June.
Amid the confusion and fear of the Islamic State advance, Kurdish forces swept into the city of Kirkuk and took over. Control of the oil-rich city has been contested between Baghdad and the Kurdish Regional Government (KRG) for a decade. Dodge says that overall, the Kurds have expanded their territory by some 40 percent recently.
"That's what's worrying Baghdad. The KRG has expanded its territory by 40 percent by force of arms," he says. "Once ISIS has been defeated, that will become a profound problem going forward for all parties concerned, the Kurds as well as the government in Baghdad."
A 'Coup-Proof' Iraqi Army
That dispute complicates any sustainable solution to the security problems in the north. Dodge says the mistakes date back at least as far as the Bush administration, which rebuilt the Iraqi army more to police the country internally than to handle military offenses or protect the borders. Outgoing Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki made things worse, according to Dodge.
"In effect what he did was to 'coup-proof' the army by breaking the chain of command, rubbishing its esprit de corps, and placing of men loyal to him at the senior ranks," Dodge says. "Which explains, along with the profound corruption, why the Iraqi army collapsed so quickly in Mosul."
The Kurdish forces are one-fifth the size of the Iraqi army. They can be increased somewhat, but are not suited to fighting a mobile, opportunistic adversary like ISIS. Once the peshmerga ventures out of areas populated by Kurds, they are off their familiar home turf and surrounded by suspicious locals.
Dodge says that what Iraq needs is a new government in Baghdad, which is currently under negotiation, that can undo the damage caused by Maliki's rule.
"(They need to) refocus on restructuring the Iraqi army, to make it a fighting force that can defend the territory of Iraq for all of Iraq's citizens, not just for its ex-prime minister," Dodge says.
That's essentially what American forces thought they were on the way to doing before they pulled out of Iraq.
Ferguson, Mo., found a degree of civic calm this week after days and nights of angry clashes between protestors and the police.
Now the city is working to restore trust with residents after a white police officer fatally shot black teenager Michael Brown on Aug. 9. City leaders and residents say one way to do that might be to equip police with personal video cameras.
"All the cops have to have body cameras and dashboard cameras," says resident Alonzo Bond, "so everybody can be accountable."
Earlier this week, the city of Ferguson said it was "exploring" the possibility of buying dashboard cameras and body cameras for its police department. And Ferguson is not alone. Around the country, body-worn cameras have become the go-to technology for troubled police departments.
Police chiefs are just as enthusiastic about the cameras as police reformers, sharing a belief that the cameras can resolve disputes by recording what really happens.
"Everybody's got their version of a story, but when it's on tape, it's on tape," says Philadelphia Police Commissioner Charles Ramsey, president of the Police Executive Research Forum. "It is what it is."
But is it? Howard Wasserman, a law professor at Florida International University who has written about police cameras, says lawyers are starting to discover what any college film student could have told them: Recorded images are not neutral.
"How the camera is held, the angle at which the camera is held, is the camera sort of panning, is the camera held steady — all of that affects the perception of what you see," Wasserman says.
He says in court, video — even if it's fragmentary or confusing — has the potential of becoming the star of the show.
"The problem that I think we get into is the assumption that the video shows all, so we can disregard all the other evidence that's not the video," Wasserman says.
The other big concern with police videos is control. In New Orleans, where all patrol officers started wearing the cameras this spring, the department has given officers mixed signals about when to press the record button, says Susan Hutson, the city's independent police monitor.
"We saw the department was struggling with that a little bit, trying to make sure that officers knew when they can turn it off and when they can't," Hutson says.
Even when an officer willfully refuses to record, it's not a fireable offense in New Orleans. Then there's the potential for technical glitches, which has long been an issue with the dashboard cameras. They frequently malfunction, and one of Hutson's staffers says it's "suspicious" how often the cameras seem to fail to record at crucial moments — a complaint heard in other cities.
Finally, there's the matter of the 30-second buffer. When an officer presses record, the camera saves the 30 seconds of images that led up to that moment, but not the audio. The manufacturer designed the buffer to protect the privacy of police officers — and to appeal to resistant police unions — but it also means the cameras may miss crucial noises or words that trigger an incident. Wasserman thinks that's a mistake.
"I think if we're going to do this, we need to do it right," he says. "If anybody's privacy is going to be compromised, it ought to be the government officials who are wielding the power in all of these encounters."
He says that's another argument for more video recording by civilians to fill in the gaps of what "really happened" — now that that's increasingly decided by what's captured on camera.