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>> No. 1861 Anonymous
4th December 2011
Sunday 2:33 am
1861 THE LOST COSMONAUTS
http://www.lostcosmonauts.com/default.htm

Few people realize in these days when satellite dishes are found on every other rooftop that, back in the early sixties somewhere in the hilltops near the northern italian city of Turin, two young italian brothers were prying into the most guarded secrets of the mighty Soviet Union. The space race was in full swing, providing the battleground for a vital propaganda confrontation between East and West, in the midst of the cold war.
The Judica-Cordiglia brothers, sons of one of Europe's foremost pathologists, set up a listening post which probed the cosmos and successfully tracked all the early american and soviet unmanned satellites.
The geographical location of their station proved particularly suitable for the reception of soviet space vehicles, which regularly overflew Northern Italy during their approach to the soviet tracking centers in the Caucasus.
Using an array of advanced equipment, the two young italians soon learned which radio frequencies to monitor and how to predict the overfly times of the various space probes.
One day in early 1961, weeks before Yuri Gagarin's epic space flight, instead of the usual beeping tones which they had become accustomed to hear, they were startled by a sound which signaled a new chapter in the history of mankind: there, in the listening center of "Torre Bert", these two young students heard, clearly and unequivocally, the beat of a failing heart and the last gasping breaths of a dying cosmonaut.


For those without realplayer (i.e. everybody running an OS past Windows 98) here is a handy online converter for the radio recordings.

http://media.io/
Expand all images.
>> No. 1863 Anonymous
4th December 2011
Sunday 2:44 am
1863 spacer
>>1861
VLC
>> No. 1864 Anonymous
4th December 2011
Sunday 2:57 am
1864 spacer
That website is from 1999.
>> No. 1865 Anonymous
4th December 2011
Sunday 7:16 pm
1865 spacer
>>1861

This kind of thing was a big risk and happened back in the day, but Western and Soviet powers didn't want to advertise losses. The Soviets in particular. The Chinese now are examples of this behaviour with them reporting a success of a rocket launch their own people didn't even know was going to happen, so heavy is the blackout and so frightened are they of losing face in public.

Rather horrible way to go.
>> No. 1867 Anonymous
4th December 2011
Sunday 7:47 pm
1867 spacer
Fake because there's a communication blackout on reentry and the Russians didn't use audio for heartbeat monitoring.

Also their "first woman in space" tape is a recording of somebody who doesn't speak Russian very well.
>> No. 1868 Anonymous
5th December 2011
Monday 12:53 pm
1868 spacer
There's a crashed soviet moon lander on the dark side of the moon.
>> No. 1869 Anonymous
5th December 2011
Monday 8:13 pm
1869 spacer
>>1865

>so frightened are they of losing face in public

To be fair, in China face is a very important concept.
>> No. 1870 Anonymous
5th December 2011
Monday 9:18 pm
1870 spacer
There is an excellent motion picture based on this topic coming out soon.

https://www.youtube.com/v/CQc-EeHXHh4
>> No. 1871 Anonymous
7th December 2011
Wednesday 7:23 am
1871 spacer
>>1868

There's also some kind of moon base there or remains of one. I remember one of the American astronauts speaking in a TV interview and he casually let slip about structures found on one of the other moons in the system too in the middle of a long comment. It was such an odd thing and he never came back to it and bizarrely the interviewer never said a word (although I put that down to them being the usual brainless TV pretties), but it was unmistakable and remarkable.

I think it's quite possible that it could have been left there by a past civillisation that lived on Earth or elsewhere and was wiped out or located elsewhere. I don't see why we'd have to be the only or first to have a stab at these things. We are so young and everything around is old enough to have had these things rise and fall before our ancestors were even squirted out of someone's crotch. Imagine the possibilities of archaeology on these bodies, where they would not be covered up, turned over and tainted by our own past or wiped out by the constant geological processes and renewal that occur on Earth. Only those of a certain level would be able to litter these places with their detritus (or possibily originating on Mars or similar in the long distant past).
>> No. 1873 Anonymous
8th December 2011
Thursday 7:13 pm
1873 spacer
>>1870
Are they meant to be Russian? If they are, that's actually worse than Yankee doodles pretending to be us.
>> No. 1878 Anonymous
16th December 2011
Friday 12:23 pm
1878 spacer
>>1871
You know how easy it would be to photograph or get evidence of such 'structure's' if they were on the moon?
>> No. 1879 Anonymous
16th December 2011
Friday 2:35 pm
1879 spacer
>>1871

When used by scientists, the word "structure" does not imply that is an artificial object.
>> No. 1880 Anonymous
17th December 2011
Saturday 2:22 am
1880 spacer
>>1871

>I remember one of the American astronauts speaking in a TV interview and he casually let slip about structures found on one of the other moons in the system too in the middle of a long comment

He probably meant a really cool rock formation. The White Cliffs of Dover are a structure in the sense that he was using the term, for example.
>> No. 1881 Anonymous
19th December 2011
Monday 11:30 am
1881 spacer

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>>1878
Quite hard, actually. You'd need to send a satellite to orbit the moon to see anything in any detail. The best detail we've ever got was from a nasa sat that was roughly 30 miles up, and even with that you can only really find things if you're looking for them and know exactly where they are and what they look like. Anything on the moon smaller than a hundred metres or so is impossible to see from earth. Even the hubble wouldn't be able to discern anything in any detail.
>> No. 1882 Anonymous
19th December 2011
Monday 11:34 am
1882 spacer
>>1861

That is untrue. Heartbeats were not monitored with audio, and their story about the woman's voice must be a hoax because there's a communications blackout on reentry. Lame.
>> No. 1884 Anonymous
22nd December 2011
Thursday 11:39 pm
1884 spacer
Regardless of its legitimacy, i liked it. nice one op.
>> No. 1886 Anonymous
5th January 2012
Thursday 4:57 pm
1886 spacer

340px-Euthanasia_machine_(Australia).jpg
188618861886
>>1861 How many men have REALLY died in space? Especially from the Soviet Union? Many believe that the soviet government covered up the deaths of dozens of cosmonauts lost in the void of space in order to keep up morale of the public and claim superiority over the west. Imagine. You are sitting in a capsule... HIGH above earth, ready to reenter the atmosphere. Parades, parties and women/men await below. As the orange flames lick the window, you feel strange. Something isn't right...You feel hot. Hotter than normal, and it won't stop. Mission control talks for a few, then nothing. Radio silence? No. They know you will die. You sweat, and articles in the cabin become super heated. Suddenly, a tear in the capsule. Your last thoughts are "I'm gonna die. I will be forgotten" You burst into flames, then...Boom

Or take this scenario into account. Something went wrong, and you can't get home. Maybe a meteor hit you and threw you off course? Or maybe the moon's pull slingshotted you into deep space? Either way, as mission control fades, You realize that you have two options: Wait until your air runs out, or open your capsule and taste vacuum. You won't be able to scream, for there is no air in space to carry sound, and you will die. Alone, millions of miles from home.
>> No. 1887 Anonymous
5th January 2012
Thursday 5:02 pm
1887 spacer
>>1886

Loads of people like to think that, but the "evidence" those guys "found" was bogus for fairly obvious reasons.

Even an abortive manned spaceflight would have been an achievement I reckon.
>> No. 1889 Anonymous
5th January 2012
Thursday 5:26 pm
1889 spacer
>>1886

The thing is, we now know of people who did die. The Russians only covered up things to the extent of not telling the public, records were still kept and plenty of people within the government and military knew of these things.
>> No. 1891 Anonymous
5th January 2012
Thursday 7:43 pm
1891 spacer
About the structures on the moon: There was already a soviet drone before the Americans landed (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luna_9).
>> No. 1892 Anonymous
5th January 2012
Thursday 8:31 pm
1892 spacer
>>1889
Yeah, the soviets were pretty dodgy for covering stuff up. For instance, a Chernobyle like disaster at Mayak, was covered up for literally years.
It's hard to cover up a nuclear accident, even if the plume did head north into russia, rather than west as CHNBL. Imagine what else they covered up...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kyshtym_disaster

On a related note, at about the right time, several Russian hikers died mysteriously in the mountains north of Mayak. They were found naked in the snow, far from the tents. They had injuries as if hit by some great pressure. The army took great... care removing the bodies, dangling them from helicopters and not allowing them inside. High radiation levels were found.
What happened? Is this related to the Mayak incident which was secret at the time? Some tactical nuke test? No one know. More secret casualties of the cold war.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dyatlov_Pass_incident
Do read this, it's really spooky.
>> No. 1905 Anonymous
15th January 2012
Sunday 7:55 pm
1905 spacer
>>1892>>1892>>1892
What's "the right time" ?
anyway have this
http://pastebin.com/YGZqCDTZ
>> No. 1937 Anonymous
21st January 2012
Saturday 11:42 am
1937 spacer

phobos4.jpg
193719371937
http://palermoproject.com/Mars_Anomalies/PhobosAnomalies1.html
>> No. 1948 Anonymous
23rd January 2012
Monday 9:36 pm
1948 spacer
I read this short story a while back and I think anyone who's posted in this thread will enjoy it, so I hope you lot don't mind a bit of /lit/-ish derailment. It's by a chap called Ray Bradbury, a fairly prolific science fiction author (Fahrenheit 451 will be the one of his you've heard of).


Kaleidoscope
The first concussion cut the rocket up the side with a giant can opener. The men were thrown into space like a dozen wriggling silverfish. They were scattered into a dark sea; and the ship, in a million pieces, went on, a meteor swarm seeking a lost sun.
“Barkley, Barkley, where are you?”
The sound of voices calling like lost children on a cold night
“Woode, Woode!”
“Captain!”
“Hollis, Hollis, this is Stone.”
“Stone, this is Hollis. Where are you?”
“I don’t know. How can I? Which way is up? I’m falling. Good God, I’m falling.”
They fell. They fell as pebbles fall down wells. They were scattered as jackstones are scattered from a gigantic throw. And now instead of men there were only voices-all kinds of voices, disembodied and impassioned, in varying degrees of terror and resignation.
“We’re going away from each other.”
This was true. Hollis, swinging head over heels, knew this was true. He knew it with a vague acceptance. They were parting to go their separate ways, and nothing could bring them back. They were wearing their sealed-tight space suits with the glass tubes over their pale faces, but they hadn’t had time to lock on their force units. With them they could be small lifeboats in space, saving themselves, saving others, collecting together, finding each other until they were an island of men with some plan. But without the force units snapped to their shoulders they were meteors, senseless, each going to a separate and irrevocable fate.
A period of perhaps ten minutes elapsed while the first terror died and a metallic calm took its place. Space began to weave its strange voices in and out, on a great dark loom, crossing, recrossing, making a final pattern.
“Stone to Hollis. How long can we talk by phone?”
“It depends on how fast you’re going your way and I’m going mine.”
“An hour, I make it.”
“That should do it,” said Hollis, abstracted and quiet.
“What happened?” said Hollis a minute later.
“The rocket blew up, that’s all. Rockets do blow up.”
“Which way are you going?”
“It looks like I’ll hit the moon.”
“It’s Earth for me. Back to old Mother Earth at ten thousand miles per hour. I’ll burn like a match.” Hollis thought of it with a queer abstraction of mind. He seemed to be removed from his body, watching it fall down and down through space, as objective as he had been in regard to the first falling snowflakes of a winter season long gone.
The others were silent, thinking of the destiny that had brought them to this, falling, falling, and nothing they could do to change it. Even the captain was quiet, for there was no command or plan he knew that could put things back together again.
“Oh, it’s a long way down. Oh, if s a long way down, a long, long, long way down,” said a voice. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, if s a long way down.”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stimson, I think. Stimson, is that you?”
“It’s a long, long way and I don’t like it. Oh, God, I don’t like it.”
“Stimson, this is Hollis. Stimson, you hear me?”
A pause while they fell separate from one another.
“Stimson?”
“Yes.” He replied at last.
“Stimson, take it easy; we’re all in the same fix.”
“I don’t want to be here. I want to be somewhere else.”
“There’s a chance we’ll be found.”
“I must be, I must be,” said Stimson. “I don’t believe this; I don’t believe any of this is happening.”
“It’ s a bad dream,” said someone.
“Shut up!” said Hollis.
“Come and make me,” said the voice. It was Applegate. He laughed easily, with a similar objectivity. “Come and shut me up.”
Hollis for the first time felt the impossibility of his position. A great anger filled him, for he wanted more than anything at this moment to be able to do something to Applegate. He had wanted for many years to do something and now it was too late. Applegate was only a telephonic voice.
Falling, falling, falling…
Now, as if they had discovered the horror, two of the men began to scream. In a nightmare Hollis saw one of them float by, very near, screaming and screaming.
“Stop it!” The man was almost at his fingertips, screaming insanely. He would never stop. He would go on screaming for a million miles, as long as he was in radio range, disturbing all of them, making it impossible for them to talk to one another.
Hollis reached out. It was best this way. He made the extra effort and touched the man. He grasped the man’s ankle and pulled himself up along the body until he reached the head. The man screamed and clawed frantically, like a drowning swimmer. The screaming filled the universe.
One way or the other, thought Hollis. The moon or Earth or meteors will kill him, so why not now?
He smashed the man’s glass mask with his iron fist. The screaming stopped. He pushed off from the body and let it spin away on its own course, falling.
Falling, falling down space Hollis and the rest of them went in the long, endless dropping and whirling of silence.
“Hollis, you still there?”
Hollis did not speak, but felt the rush of heat in his face.
“This is Applegate again.”
“All right, Applegate.”
>> No. 1949 Anonymous
23rd January 2012
Monday 9:37 pm
1949 spacer
“Let’s talk. We haven’t anything else to do.”
The captain cut in. “That’s enough of that. We’ve got to figure a way out of this.”
“Captain, why don’t you shut up?” said Applegate.
“What!”
“You heard me, Captain. Don’t pull your rank on me, you’re ten thousand miles away by now, and let’s s not kid ourselves. As Stimson puts it, it’s a long way down.”
“See here, Applegate!”
“Can it. This is a mutiny of one. I haven’t a damn thing to lose. Your ship was a bad ship and you were a bad captain and I hope you break when you hit the Moon.”
“I’m ordering you to stop!”
“Go on, order me again.” Applegate smiled across ten thousand miles. The captain was silent. Applegate continued, “Where were we, Hollis? Oh yes, I remember. I hate you too. But you know that. You’ve known it for a long time.”
Hollis clenched his fists, helplessly.
“I want to tell you something,” said Applegate. “Make you happy. I was the one who blackballed you with the Rocket Company five years ago.”
A meteor flashed by. Hollis looked down and his left hand was gone. Blood spurted. Suddenly there was no air in his suit He had enough air in his lungs to move his right hand over and twist a knob at his left elbow, tightening the joint and sealing the leak. It had happened so quickly that he was not surprised. Nothing surprised him any more. The air in the suit came back to normal in an instant now that the leak was sealed. And the blood that had flowed so swiftly was pressured as he fastened the knob yet tighter, until it made a tourniquet.
All of this took place in a terrible silence on his part. And the other men chatted. That one man, Lespere, went on and on with his talk about his wife on Mars, his wife on Venus, his wife on Jupiter, his money, his wondrous times, his drunkenness, his gambling, his happiness. On and on, while they all fell. Lespere reminisced on the past, happy, while he fell to his death.
It was so very odd. Space, thousands of miles of space, and these voices vibrating in the center of it. No one visible at all, and only the radio waves quivering and trying to quicken other men into emotion.
“Are you angry, Hollis?”
“No.” And he was not. The abstraction has returned and he was a thing of dull concrete, forever falling nowhere.
“You wanted to get to the top all your life, Hollis. You always wondered what happened. I put the black mark on you just before I was tossed out myself.”
“That isn’t important,” said Hollis. And it was not. It was gone. When life is over it is like a flicker of bright film, an instant on the screen, all of its prejudices and passions condensed and illumined for an instant on space, and before you could cry out, “There was a happy day, there a bad one, there an evil face, there a good one,” the film burned to a cinder, the screen went dark.
From this outer edge of his life, looking back, there was only one remorse, and that was only that he wished to go on living. Did all dying people feel this way, as if they had never lived? Did life seem that short, indeed, over and done before you took a breath? Did it seem this abrupt and impossible to everyone, or only to himself, here, now, with a few hours left to him for thought and deliberation?
One of the other men, Lespere, was talking. “Well, I had me a good time: I had a wife on Mars, Venus, and Jupiter. Each of them had money and treated me swell. I got drunk and once I gambled away twenty thousand dollars.”
But you’re here now, thought Hollis. I didn’t have any of those things. When I was living I was jealous of you, Lespere; when I had another day ahead of me I envied you your women and your good times. Women frightened me and I went into space, always wanting them and jealous of you for having them, and money, and as much happiness as you could have in your own wild way. But now, falling here, with everything over, I’m not jealous of you any more, because if s over for you as it is for me, and right now if s like it never was. Hollis craned his face forward and shouted into the telephone. “If s all over, Lespere!”
Silence.
“If s just as if it never was, Lespere!”
“Who’s that?” Lespere’s faltering voice.
“This is Hollis.”
He was being mean. He felt the meanness, the senseless meanness of dying. Applegate had hurt him; now he wanted to hurt another. Applegate and space had both wounded him.
“You’re out here, Lespere. If s all over. It’s just as if it had never happened, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“When anything’s over, it’s just like it never happened. Where’s your life any better than mine, now? Now is what counts. Is it any better? Is it?”
“Yes, it’s better!”
“How!”
“Because I got my thoughts, I remember!” cried Lespere, far away, indignant, holding his memories to his chest with both hands.
And he was right. With a feeling of cold water rushing through his head and body, Hollis knew he was right. There were differences between memories and dreams. He had only dreams of things he had wanted to do, while Lespere had memories of things done and accomplished. And this knowledge began to pull Hollis apart, with a slow, quivering precision.
“What good does it do you?” he cried to Lespere. “Now? When a thing’s over it’s not good any more. You’re no better off than I.”
“I’m resting easy,” said Lespere. “I’ve had my turn. I’m not getting mean at the end, like you.”
“Mean?” Hollis turned the word on his tongue. He had never been mean, as long as he could remember, in his life. He had never dared to be mean. He must have saved it all of these years for such a time as this. “Mean.” He rolled the word into the back of his mind. He felt tears start into his eyes and roll down his face. Someone must have heard his gasping voice.
‘Take it easy, Hollis.”
>> No. 1950 Anonymous
23rd January 2012
Monday 9:37 pm
1950 spacer
It was, of course, ridiculous. Only a minute before he had been giving advice to others, to Stimson; he had felt a braveness which he had thought to be the genuine thing, and now he knew that it had been nothing but shock and the objectivity possible in shock. Now he was trying to pack a lifetime of suppressed emotion into an interval of minutes.
“I know how you feel, Hollis,” said Lespere, now twenty thousand miles away, his voice fading. “I don’t take it personally.”
But aren’t we equal? he wondered. Lespere and I? Here, now? If a thing’s over, if s done, and what good is it? You die anyway. But he knew he was rationalizing, for it was like trying to tell the difference between a live man and a corpse. There was a spark in one, and not in the other – an aura, a mysterious element.
So it was with Lespere and himself; Lespere had lived a good full life, and it made him a different man now, and he, Hollis, had been as good as dead for many years. They came to death by separate paths and, in all likelihood, if there were lands of death, their kinds would be as different as night from day. The quality of death, like that of life, must be of an infinite variety, and if one has already died once, then what was there to look for in dying for good and all, as he was now?
It was a second later that he discovered his right foot was cut sheer away. It almost made him laugh. The air was gone from his suit again. He bent quickly, and there was blood, and the meteor had taken flesh and suit away to the ankle. Oh, death in space was most humorous. It cut you away, piece by piece, like a black and invisible butcher. He tightened the valve at the knee, his head whirling into pain, fighting to remain aware, and with the valve tightened, the blood retained, the air kept, he straightened op and went on falling, falling, for that was all there was left to do.
“Hollis?”
Hollis nodded sleepily, tired of waiting for death.
“This is Applegate again,” said the voice.
“Yes.”
‘I’ve had time to think. I listened to you. This isn’t good. It makes us bad. This is a bad way to die. It brings all the bile out. You listening, Hollis?”
“Yes.”
“I lied. A minute ago. I lied. I didn’t blackball you. I don’t know why I said that. Guess I wanted to hurt you. You seemed the one to hurt. We’ve always fought Guess I’m getting old fast and repenting fast I guess listening to you be mean made me ashamed. Whatever the reason, I want you to know I was an idiot too. There’s not an ounce of truth in what I said. To hell with you.”
Hollis felt his heart begin to work again. It seemed as if it hadn’t worked for five minutes, but now all of his limbs began to take color and warmth. The shock was over, and the successive shocks of anger and terror and loneliness were passing. He felt like a man emerging from a cold shower in the morning, ready for breakfast and a new day.
“Thanks, Applegate.”
“Don’t mention it. Up your nose, you bastard.”
“Hey,” said Stone.
“What?” Hollis called across space; for Stone, of all of them, was a good friend.
“I’ve got myself into a meteor swarm, some little asteroids.”
“Meteors?”
“I think it’s the Myrmidone cluster that goes out past Mars and in toward Earth once every five years. I’m right in the middle. If s like a big kaleidoscope. You get all kinds of colors and shapes and sizes. God, if s beautiful, all that metal.”
Silence.
“I’m going with them,” said Stone. “They’re taking me off with them. I’ll be damned.” He laughed.
Hollis looked to see, but saw nothing. There were only the great diamonds and sapphires and emerald mists and velvet inks of space, with God’s voice mingling among the crystal fires. There was a kind of wonder and imagination in the thought of Stone going off in the meteor swarm, out past Mars for years and coming in toward Earth every five years, passing in and out of the planet’s ken for the next million centuries. Stone and the Myrmidone cluster eternal and unending, shifting and shaping like the kaleidoscope colors when you were a child and held the long tube to the sun and gave it a twirl.
“So long, Hollis.” Stone’s voice, very faint now. “So long.”
“Good luck,” shouted Hollis across thirty thousand miles.
“Don’t be funny,” said Stone, and was gone.
The stars closed in.
Now all the voices were fading, each on his own trajectory, some to Mars, others into farthest space. And Hollis himself… He looked down. He, of all the others, was going back to Earth alone.
“So long.”
“Take it easy.”
“So long, Hollis.” That was Applegate.
The many good-bys. The short farewells. And now the great loose brain was disintegrating. The components of the brain which had worked so beautifully and efficiently in the skull case of the rocket ship firing through space were dying one by one; the meaning of their life together was falling apart. And as a body dies when the brain ceases functioning, so the spirit of the ship and their long time together and what they meant to one another was dying. Applegate was now no more than a finger blown from the parent body, no longer to be despised and worked against. The brain was exploded, and the senseless, useless fragments of it were far scattered. The voices faded and now all of space was silent. Hollis was alone, falling.
They were all alone. Their voices had died like echoes of the words of God spoken and vibrating in the starred deep. There went the captain to the Moon; there Stone with the meteor swarm; there Stimson; there Applegate toward Pluto; there Smith and Turner and Underwood and all the rest, the shards of the kaleidoscope that had formed a thinking pattern for so long, hurled apart.
And I? thought Hollis. What can I do? Is there anything I can do now to make up for a terrible and empty life? If only I could do one good thing to make up for the meanness I collected all these years and didn’t even know was in me! But there’s no one here but myself, and how can you do good all alone? You can’t. Tomorrow night I’ll hit Earth s atmosphere.
I’ll burn, he thought, and be scattered in ashes all over the continental lands. I’ll be put to use. Just a little bit, but ashes are ashes and they’ll add to the land.
He fell swiftly, like a bullet, like a pebble, like an iron weight, objective, objective all of the time now, not sad or happy or anything, but only wishing he could do a good thing now that everything was gone, a good thing for just himself to know about.
When I hit the atmosphere, I’ll burn like a meteor.
“I wonder,” he said, “if anyone’ll see me?”
The small boy on the country road looked up and screamed. “Look, Mom, look! A falling star!”
The blazing white star fell down the sky of dusk in Illinois. “Make a wish,” said his mother. “Make a wish.”
>> No. 1997 Anonymous
16th February 2012
Thursday 3:23 pm
1997 spacer

7SLVb.jpg
199719971997
The remains of Vladimir Komarov.

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