Something happened yesterday, in the middle of a story I was writing. I realized that I had overdone the ending, thrown in too many subplots to hold the reader's interest.
I knew then what had to be done.
Feigning a walk through the garden, I took the unnecessary plot twist out behind the chemical sheds and put a bullet into her brain. She kicked and screamed, knowing all the while what was coming. She had seen me do this to her sister earlier this week, and like Anne Bolyn, saw the writing on the wall. As I dragged her by her bound hands (which were shaped suspiciously like adverbs) she begged me not to do it. “You swore that you loved me!” she said. “That we would always be together!”
“I’m so sorry, awesome ending to my story” I replied, “but you were deemed so much dead weight, and well, there’s this minimalist approach that’s interested in me.”
“You’ll be back!” She screamed “You’ll come crawling back to me, and I’ll make you beg, oh yes I will! Just watch! I’ll make you grovel and moa-“
*BLAM!*
Then it was over. Unnecessary plot twist lay there, twitching, with a puddle the shape of Wisconsin pooling beneath her skull. I had done it. A good, perfect thing ruined, because she didn’t fit in. She didn’t belong.
And society judged that she had to die.
Who weeps for this unnecessary plot twist? Who sees a little bit of themselves lying here, in this shallow grave of unused gerunds and wasted subjunctives?
So I caught bronchitis last week, and I've spent the last several days coughing up enough lung butter that I could get rich shipping it out by the metric tonne, if there were only a market for it.Alas, I am always destined to be ahead of my time...!
My voice is completely gone. And for someone who likes to hear the sound of his own voice as much as I do, that's akin to castration. Especially when I consider how much my voice annoys others.
Are You Finished With That?
So, something Harlan Ellison is big on, is not rewriting what you've already written. That is, I suppose, one view. However, if a thing can be made better, well...why not?
I've been sitting on the last two chapters of "A Dreadful Aspect" for several months now, and the ending doesn't hit as hard, nor ring as clear as the first two chapters.For me, I'm starting to get to the point in my writing where, ifit ain't better, then it damn well at least be as good.So, I've been working on rewrites. I know what I want to say, but I haven't found the right mix yet. I have a nine-layer dip of plot possibilities going on with it, and there's got to be a better way of bringing all those great set-up elements to a close.
I don't want to put it out just because it has a possible ending.No one's asked about it in a fortnight, though...Which is depressing. Maybe it wasn't as interesting as I thought. I'm going to finish it anyway.
Gonads and Strife
I occasionally - More often than I'd like to, which is absolutely zero - get involved with internet/martial arts/interpersonal politics and mudslinging, the recent online squabble for example. I don't do this because it gives me some asinine pleasure from shit-stirring, nor do I enjoy bringing dirty laundry to air in public.
Exhibit "A" - A lot of the facts that I COULD bring to light, I didn't. I don't need to defend my, or Buzz Smith's position, those who need to know, do. Also, this has caused strain on the people who are peripherally attached in friendship or otherwise to myself, which I have no interest in prolonging just to spike the guns of one person who isn't on my Christmas card list.
There are people I have defended online because my convictions about these people led me to do what I thought, at the time, was right. Very few – maybe two at most – solicited my help. Mostly, I just stepped in. In some cases I was wrong, and had to admit my mistake in front of the same people I previously attacked. Other times I have simply been stabbed in the back from the very people I was defending. But I have never looked at myself in the mirror and felt ashamed for it.
There have been a few times when enemies have become friends, and a couple of times when enemies became even greater enemies. In every case, I weighed what I was doing and the consequences of it against “just letting things go”, and followed my heart.Sometimes, no matter how hard it is, you have to stand for your beliefs and defend that which you feel is correct, no matter the consequences.
Integrity means doing what is right in your heart every time, and damn the torpedoes.This isn’t something I was taught. It was something I learned, usually the hard way.
Oh, For Fuck's Sake!
Why, I say, WHY is this still happening?? Do you see what I've watched, to the right, there?
Phantasm A Boy and his Dog (Vic and Blood) Blindness
HOW THE HELL DID YOU ASSHOLES THINK I WOULD WANT TO WATCH "GHOST"?!?!
Just...Shoot me now.
Finally Got Dan Moran's Book
There is an extremely lively discussion going on over at Perry's Blog about online pirating. He does this about once every eight months or so, and the comment back-and-forthing always gets into the double-digit numbers. This one is especially interesting, and for all those with an interest in such things, I suggest you check it outHERE and HERE.
I read once that a good friend will be there for you and help you calm down in times of anger.A TRUE friend will walk beside you chanting "Someone's gonna get it...!"
"ATTEND"
Whenever Perry says this, I know, I JUST KNOW..."Someone's gonna get it".
I have been on all three sides of the electronic piracy issue. I've ripped stuff off, with impunity. I've ripped stuff off & thought it was so damn good, I simply HAD to buy the real McCoy. And I've had stuff ripped off from me. And screamed with Promethean indignity over the injustice of it all.
Piracy is wrong, on moralistic grounds, (which I absolutely have no leg to stand on) this is a no-brainer. However, I have to admit...I downloaded the popular "Left 4 Dead" online zombie shooter video game before I bought it. It's a pricey son of a bitch, and downloading it gave me a good opportunity to see what all the fuss was about.I loved it. Still do, as a matter of fact. And I was so taken with how good it was, I bought the full-priced edition.Now, that's an example of (for lack of a better term) chaotic good. Eventually, I did the right thing. It doesn't excuse my pirating it in the first place, but at $75.00 for the damn game, I was determined to take it for a spin before cashing out.
I did an online search for Dan Moran's "The Last Dancer", because Steve gave it such a glowing recommendation & others said it was a good place to start in that series. Amazon gives me $3.00 for used in good condition, and $90.00 - New.
Um. I'll go with the used, if you please. It might be a good book, but I wouldn't pay THAT much for a Fritz Leiber first edition. Also, I'm pretty sure Don isn't getting a kickback from Amazon for that...!
But, the thing is...I also found Moran's other work in the Star Wars universe - Online - For free. I just have to download it. Along with about a million other Star Wars novels.
"Death Star" included.
Now, I DIDN'T, mind you ( I already own most of them, anyway) But FUCKEE ME.
Of course, it occurred to me that this was the same neighborhood I was trying to move into...And there's a crack house in it?Holy shit. This could happen to me. Hey! Somebody do something! Stricter laws for pirating! Hang those motherless bastards by the yardarm!!
See you when I'm a little more alive...and cantankerous!
I actually like these things. It's kind of a fun little revelation game you can play. If you were following the breadcrumbs left on "Old Enough to Know Better", then I can only echo Steve's sentiments: The top five in my heart are truly my wife Caren, my good friends, writing & the like.
Unfortunately, that's not what I'm going to list here. I'm often held in lower regards with people, and I would hate to fly in the face of public opinion...
#1: Mr. Cool Ice
I don't really know who this guy is, nor why he's posing in front of what appears to be a high school tattoo parlor...But I do know that it takes some fuckin' cojones to get something as pants-on-head retarded as "Mr. Cool Ice" inked forever all over your body, in a three-foot long sans serif font. Not to mention the fake reversed sunglasses.
Mr. Cool Ice: You gay, bro.
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#2: Boobies
Titties. Funbags. Headlights. Garbanzos. Personal Flotation Devices. Call them whatever you want, breasts just never go out of style.
Call me a hopeless romantic, but there's just something about Stormtrooper boobies that can turn a young rebel's head. I remember my first Stormtrooper...She was a freshly minted shock-troop from the Academy, and I was a young Rebel prisoner recently captured after the battle of Hoth. We didn't know that fate had cruelly paired us together for a brief time before she was to be shipped off to some hotbed of Rebel activity, and I was to be tortured by a floating dental syringe ball.
But I still remember the passionate night we spent in detention block #8 of the new Death Star, the cold metal of the cot beneath us as we found solace in each others' arms. ###########################################
#3: A Man Who's Priorities Are In Place, And a Woman Who Knows Her Place
Okay! Let's see how much hate mail I get for this one!
Now be honest: Is there anyone out there who doesn't look forward to this festival every May 15th? Ever since the death of Freddie Mercury, the Venezuelan government has chosen to honor this fallen, talented, legendary pole-smoker by hosting the event of the year: Having mothers lay their newborn children in a line to see who can clear the most infants within on leap. Last year's winner was Horacio Melendez villa Lobos y Cuesta Rodriguez Sanchez Taco Rico Melanoma, who took home the the grand prize after clearing 13 & 1/2 children...A hollowed out baby, stuffed with candy!
Yay! More hate mail!
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#5: The Secret Bolshoi Russian Ballet School All-Female Assassination Squad Experiment, Conducted by Mr. Freaky Marshmallow Head.
The experiment was ultimately scrapped when it was discovered that leotards don't stop bullets. Also, your finger has to actually reach the trigger before anything else will happen.
Something I have been resisting recently is my ability to make people vomit. I can do it in nothing flat, paint mental images that make the hardiest soul squeamish and little kids stay awake with the lights on at night.
Not because I'm ashamed of it, mind you. I love watching people's reaction when they read story that I wrote, but if it's one that has a twilight zone-ish plot twist ending? Oh baby...!
The reason I have been fighting it is because I want to be good at other styles besides just psychological horror. Nonfiction, sci-fi, anything. I don’t want to simply be “good” at writing; I want to be so good that people know they will enjoy my books regardless if it’s their style or not. I want to be as good at writing as I am at martial arts. I want to be the kind of writer that people threaten to sue because they lost sleep reading my books. I want them to have to go through months of counseling and therapy because they’re afraid to sleep with the lights off. Either from fright or interest, I don’t care which. But I want to be the cause of it.
*SIGH*
Alas, nail-biting weird-out scary things seem to be my lot. My friend Todd gave me some good advice recently, told me to just accept what I do well & focus on it. Maybe the rest will come later. Either that, or I get a call from Tobe Hooper in the future, I guess.
I guess what I’m driving at here is that, if you’re writing, you will probably come to a point where you gravitate towards things that interest you most & write about them. Continuously. You may even get bored with the same old subject material, but don’t let that stop you. It all lends itself to the grist mill in the end. I might be projecting that last line a bit, I’m still not good at very many forms outside of short story horror. I’ll get back to you on that one in a few months, or a few million words. I do believe the practice helps, however. I have a lot of stuff I haven’t published to this blog, as well as many unfinished, half-written attempts at novels. Everything I wrote previously, particularly the “Broken Horizon” stuff, adds to the experience. Like learning the ropes of something like motorbike riding, you learn how to shift, turn and brake. After going to fast or falling off, you learn not to do the same thing wrong again. Maybe not the first time, but you will eventually get it
Inspiration is something I don’t think I can comment on, mostly because everyone’s is so different. Almost nothing I write comes from dreams, otherwise all I'd write would be Asian cheerleader porn. As far as inspiration goes, I don’t ever really look for it, it just happens. It seems like everyday situations turn into stories for me, because they have so much potential to be more, if only a vampire showed up…Wearing a BBQ Hut cap and offering a cheese plate. Mostly I'm just walking along & I see something that annoys me or is at least passing a bit strange, and I think "Wouldn't it be funny if...?"
It usually goes from there. "The ribbon at the top of the clock" started that way, my next door neighbor's kid was actually setting his G.I. Joes on fire in the driveway. I was halfway imagining them screaming & begging him for mercy, & then for some reason, I imagined the whole house turning on him and punishing him for it when he came in.
45 minutes later, I had it committed to paper.
I should also add that what I see as good or bad writing isn’t necessarily what others see, and you never know what others may find interesting. I thought the Ribbon at the Top of the Clock was a throwaway piece, pure and simple. Something that would act as “filler” between serious stories. I wrote in under an hour, no rewrites, and sat on it for a few months. I posted it on a whim, because I couldn’t think of anything else to write that day.
Turns out everybody loved it. I got several emails from people other than my “usual fans” about how great it was, and they really loved it, etc. See, I wouldn’t have thought that…It just didn’t ring that deep for me. I thought it was good, but not as good as some of my other stuff, like “Waiting for God”. But now I’m getting an idea about what other people think is good, and want to read more of.
Lastly; Find someone who is better at writing than you & learn from them. Experience trumps novice every damn time, and just like anything else in life, you need to know what the ones who have gone before you learned. Steve Perry has been giving me advice for almost three years now, and I only really started listening for the past year and a half. I wish now that I had taken him more seriously from the start, but since our relationship didn’t start with those classic teacher-student roles, only a little of what he said to me in those early days trickled through…And I fought him at every turn. Gaah, I shudder to think of it now!
Not everyone will get a professional writer to guide you, that’s fine. The point is FIND SOMEONE WHO KNOWS AND TAKE FUCKING NOTES. I have actually met many professional authors since getting into this madhouse called writing, and while some are indeed razor-edged pricks, most have been very generous with their time and knowledge, if you’re sincere.
That’s all I have for now. There’s a story calling my name, and I have to get back to it.
Mushtaq, you are exactly what everyone warned me you were.
And your PATHETIC guilt-trip rolled off me like I was covered in teflon.I expected better from you...But then, so did a lot of people. In that respect, I'm in good company.
Waaah. Your email reads like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Kick some more, infant. Scream. Maybe one of YOUR sycophants will come along with a pacifier.
What few of them are left, anyway.
Post whatever you want. Your game is only going to last until people realize you have no actual cards to play.
It's abundantly clear with only a few minute's investigation that my school is not for beginners. I've said this, like, fifty-eleven times over the past five years. I've been saying it since I threw out the last guy who wasted a lot of my time without bothering to learn the material: The Edmonds Martial Arts Academy is the Oxford University for martial arts. You have to have graduated 12 years of prep school FIRST. I don't have a "Little Ninjas" class, my school isn't a glorified daycare nor is it where you should go if you are "A little interested in Tae Kwon Do". I'm where you go once you've gotten past the "mildly interested" phase, and moved on into the "I've outgrown this, what else is there?" stage of the game.
Having said that...
People seem to think that I'm somehow spitting on other teachers or schools for having an after school program for kids, or only understanding one art, or some other asinine reason. Others, when they get a kindly-worded rejection letter from me, tend to go...Let's say "a little batty". Whenever I'm in a really bad mood, I pull these babies out, and my day immediately gets better.And believe me, the list grows each month.
Names withheld to protect the guilty...
Attempts to Win Me Over by Insulting Me
"What makes you think I would send any of my students to you? Who are you, that I should bow to you? Even if your martial pedigree were true - and I have my doubts - I am perfectly capable of teaching my own students advanced material. Perhaps you should concentrate on different marketing tactics before you try to steal my students like a common shoplifter."
I tried to explain to this guy that;
A: I didn't solicit ANYBODY, and certainly no one from his school. He contacted me out of the clear blue.
B: They are perfectly capable of training with ME and YOU as well, unless you forbid it. Which immediately arouses my suspicion of YOUR teaching abilities.
*SIGH* Of course, he didn't answer.
Also, I can't remember ever offering anybody my "martial pedigree". I put so little stock in such things that I would never have actually mentioned it, let alone used it as a marketing ploy. You're free to doubt it all you want, either my skill speaks for itself or it doesn't. A piece of paper won't fight my battles for me.
"I am sincere in my desire to train with you, even though I am truly a beginner in the path of the warrior. I won't second guess myself with someone else and I just sent this off without a second thought. I understand you're point, but why would I waste time with a lesser teacher when it could be you? I hope you will either "get" my energy from this email, or you won't. So I think I could write "penut butter and jelly" 25 times instead of this letter and either you would get me or you wouldn't. But that's okay. Maybe we're not right for each other."
This was a response from a rejection letter that I wrote. (And by the by, I am very gentle about my rejection letters. Often I simply state that I would welcome the applicant, if he or she could complete the required 10 years of training in another school first.) Trying to win me over with that twopenny philosophy and guilt tripping me into accepting you WON'T WORK. So I again, with as much patience as I could muster, (admittedly, it was wearing thin at this point) tried to explain what was expected of him if he wanted to train with me.
And below is what his reply was:
"You know what? Fuck you. Your videos suck anyway, and I don't need you to tell me what you think I should do. So go ahead and copy all of Inosantos shit for the rest of the life you drone. I am a warrior. I don't need anybody to tell me that. The question is, what are you?"
It's enough to make me wonder if I'm on the right planet sometimes...
Possibly Off Our Meds?
"I found out that finding a good teacher is a hard hurdle to leap. Could you email me a couple of addresses and links for schools that you would recommend? I ma interested in the style that Wesley Snipes does in his movies, so a teacher who is connected with Hollywood is probably the best bet."
WHAT?!? I have no idea what Wesley Snipes trains, nor how to contact him. Can't really say that I would if I could. I sure as hell won't give out any celebrity contacts I might have to some anonymous email guy. I mean really, just where the fuck do people get off nowadays??
Definitely Off Our Meds...
This was sent to me after I, for once in my life, took time to actually answer a query about training with a generous email containing kindly-supplied information about training alternatives in the Seattle area:
"I apologize for the automatic reply to your email. To control spam, I now allow incoming messages only from senders I have approved beforehand. If you would like to be added to my list of senders, please fill out the short request form (see link below). Once I approve you, I will receive your original message in my inbox."
Okay, I was gobsmacked with this one. I mean...Say WHAT?!? YOU contacted ME, asswipe, and then rejected my response hoping I would beg you to be added as one of your e-buddies? What is this, MySpace? I thought that fad had died out?
I put his ass on permanent spam and forgot him.
"I am a big fan of your yotube videos and your website. I confess that I have saved almost all of them, and watch them often to glean some spark of wisdom from them. After a long period of meditation, I have decided that you are the teacher for me! Please send me all the information you have, no matter how irrelevant you think it is, on Thailand and chinese.
I would like to come and visit your class to see what you teach and how you teach it, but not before we speak at length on the phone and exchange a few more emails. I want us to get a feel for one another first."
It's possible that this guy just didn't read the fine print about my school, and I was SORELY tempted to ask him what the hell "Yotube" was. Sounds like a gangsta-rap video website...Yo! Tube! Meditating on whether or not I should be his teacher isn't a bad thing, but he didn't need to tell me about it. It certainly doesn't make me take him more serious.
But that business about "All information about Thailand and Chinese". Oh, fuckee-me. We are, as the bard would tell us, truly in the land of faerie, and mere anarchy is loose upon the world. This is another one that I simply didn't bother responding to, mostly because I don't have the return address for the fucking Twilight Zone. But I wanted so desperately to say; "Try to Google, no matter how retarded and mentally unable you may be, all information about Thailand and Chinese. Then kindly jump in front of a large truck moving at any speed higher than 80 mph. The world can get along just fine without you, and there is significant danger to the rest of us if you breed."
Martial Arts, like any hobby (and it IS a hobby, sportsfans. Warriors use GUNS, not KATANAS) is time-consuming and usually takes over a decade to just "be okay" at it. Training at the wrong school or with the wrong teacher can prolong that to infinity, or something that seems damn close to it. I don't begrudge anyone asking me if they can train with me, nor if I could recommend someplace to start from if they can't.
But please, avoid doing so as if I OWE you something. Courtesy on the web these days is so damn rare, I'm starting to think it's in the same category as the Loch Ness Monster: Often discussed, but never really seen.
Always listen to your gut. Especially if it tells you that something's not right with the sci-fi story you posted. Also, if it tells you Chimay beats Budweiser any goddam day of the week, and to buy a case of it.
So, I rewrote "Threads", which is why it disappeared for the weekend. I probably didn't really have to. Some people liked it, others didn't think it flowed well. Honestly, I didn't either, and it's the first story I actually solicited comments on, to see if I was off the mark.
I like this version better. I had a very weak reason to cover up the insanity thing from the rest of the world, and after sitting on it for a few days, I decided to just rework it altogether. Perry mentioned that the government cover up aspect just didn't jive with the rest of the story, and others wanted more background from the captain. That seemed to be the best way to go once I accepted that a rewrite was in order.
As everyone knows, I am a huge fan of the old Terran Trade Authority books, particularly "Spacewrecks". I could easily write five or six stories from the ideas each page generates. I borrowed a bit of history from the series itself when I mentioned "The Laguna War", which all of the TTA books revolve around. They're a touch pricey nowadays, but if you get the chance to buy one for less than $30.00, do so. That is, if you're a sci-fi geekazoid like me.
Thanks everybody who chimed in about my story, I appreciate all your input.
{GAMMA} Negative Home. There were no traces of any human survivors. It's a ghost ship.
###################################
"Captain...You didn't tell him about the body?"
The old space jockey leaned back in his command chair and closed his eyes. "No Speller, I didn't, and probably never will. It's a judgment call."
Lieutenant Jeffery Speller didn't like it. "Sir, we got clear readings off his helmet. That's-"
"I know who it is, Speller. It's Bradley Torres, the captain of the Pandora. And it's the only human remains found on a ship that left Homedock 35 years ago with a crew and passenger tally of 4000." The captain folded his hands across his desk, kept as spartan as his ready room "God rest their souls."
“Captain, this is the discovery of the age. We must present accurate data to Homedock, and leaving out an important detail like the discovery of captain Torres’ body is a red level offense.”
“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant. But you won’t go into storage for following my direct orders, and those are as follows: The Pandora was found empty, as I broadcast. No survivors, no remains.”
“Sir, with all due respect, regulation protocol is clear in this case. Investiga-“
“I know what the regs state Lieutenant!” the captain boomed over his flinching comms officer. He closed his eyes and composed himself before continuing. “I know what they state, Speller. But we're going with the story that no one survived, and we have to be careful here.”
“How the hell did he end up so far off course? We’ve been looking for the ship since-“
“The Laguna War” The captain finished for him. “And now we finally found her an entire quadrant from he last known trajectory.” He looked down at the liver spots on his hands. They looked so old now, like leather worn too thin. They were younger and unblemished when the Pandora went missing.
Speller glanced up from his EntCom feed to respond. “It’s not impossible that the captain was the lone survivor of some unknown accident in space. The sun tap may have misfired. Those old colonizer-class ships were always burning out during transit. Some even exploded. He probably brought her down the best he could, then went for help. Or maybe he had to evacuate the ship.”
The captain raised an eyebrow at his comms officer “Did you see a goddam engine burn? Or something besides decay affecting the engine?”
Speller lowered his head “No sir” he said.
The captain continued “No leaks from the atomics in the stardrive. The accelerator isn’t badly damaged, nor is the Pandora much, for that matter.” He lowered his head into his hands and closed his eyes “The consequences if they think we’ve been exposed...”
“Ah - Exposed, sir? Background radiation dropped to nominal levels probably around ten years ago. The drones were clean, no heat. Nothing to be concerned about. In fact, we could start excavations today, if you want to.”
“I’m not talking about radiation.”
Speller couldn't let it go at that. The comms officer drew himself to attention. "Sir, I do not mean to imply impertinence, but I am party to information that has the power to land me in the brig for a long time. If I am going to be implicated in a conspiracy, I would request to know exactly what charges I may face when we return."
”There won’t be any charges, son. You and I are the only living beings who know about the body, and it won’t go any further if you keep your mouth shut. No one else has actually seen the Pandora in over three decades.”
"I'm sorry sir, I'm not trying to be dense here, but the reasons for why, exactly, that we're trying to cover up the body of captain Torres still escapes me. He saved the Pandora from crashing, and it looks like he was trying to go for help, sir."
The captain grimaced "Maybe it looks that way to you...but you have to consider what its going to look like to others. There’s something you need to know before we decide on which course we should proceed.” The captain punched up a quick data feed and sent it to Speller’s EntCom “Read that. It’s only the bare bones, but its enough to give you the general idea.”
Speller scrolled through the information, and gasped halfway through the first section. He looked up from the datapad “I thought that was just a…fairy tale, some kind of starship mythos?”
The captain shook his head “Nope. It was still in the experimental stage back then, but it did indeed exist at one time.”
Speller continued reading “Thrall. The life extensor. Sometimes referred to as “The Christ Drug” due to enhanced performance capabilities that resulted in treatments.”
The captain snorted derisively “Several extremely painful treatments of God knows what to your central nervous system, and the subject will, in theory, live another 80 to 110 years from time of treatment. Augmented abilities, eyes that could read written text in the dark, super fast twitch reflexes, with a high metabolism rate as well. Early test subjects would eat 10 large meals a day.” The captain went to a viewport and regarded the planet below him “Some of them did, anyway.” He muttered.
Speller looked gobsmacked “I can’t believe it. We really…We actually had that?”
The captain nodded “Indeed we did.”
“How does the Pandora fit into all this?”
“She was carrying the lab where it was being developed.” The captain replied.
Speller wasn’t buying it “That doesn’t sound like Alliance protocol. Why would you do that sort of research in space, risk losing everything by putting it all in on ship? Why not spread it around on several planets, different systems?”
“Because of the Laguna War, Lieutenant. Half the galaxy committed to genocide, the other half fighting to stay alive. Planets being taken and re-taken in the name of this race, those morals, these people, that God. And then the piracy uprising that made spacelane travel perilous without an armed escort.” The captain leaned back in his chair “You didn’t know who to trust back then, and no one planetside was really safe. Neighbor turned against neighbor, the great houses were divided against each other. It wasn’t really an “Alliance” back then, more like “A Loose Collection of Planets with Orbital Guns". Those were evil days Speller, days of fire and blood, and I wouldn’t want to repeat them.”
The captain paused, looking at the planet below once more. “Then again, the Alliance didn’t want even a byte of this data to fall into enemy hands. There was no guarantee a safe planet today would still be safe tomorrow. That’s why they chose the Pandora.”
“So the colonizer-class Pandora wasn’t really for deep space colonization, was it?”
The captain shook his head “The only safe place to develop the Christ drug was a mobile base that could be shifted from one sphere to another, away from the worst of the fighting. And of course, you had to haul enough supplies and crew to run the ship itself, as well as outfit an entire science lab for deep space. The Pandora was, at that time, fresh from Homedock and state-of-the-art. Perfect for such a mission. At the time, only top brass knew about the true purpose of the Pandora, but after her disappearance and the end of the Laguna war…Somehow, the story leaked out. It was a sensation at first, but as the years went past it faded into myth. Now, as you said, it’s largely regarded as a fairy tale.”
“Except, there are those still alive who remember that it wasn’t. And they are getting older every day.”
“I still don’t understand, captain; Why are we meddling with the truth here?”
“Because of the drug, Lieutenant. In the first place…We don’t have it anymore. All the research data, the top scientists, test subjects, everything and anything of worth was on that ship. And whatever was on that ship is long gone now. But if the Alliance suspects, even for a moment, that we may have been exposed to a strain of the Christ drug…What do you think they’ll do to get it back? Ask us nicely? Take plasma samples and let us go? Keep us in seclusion with a golden cage?”
Speller’s mouth hung open. The captain could see he understood. “That’s right” he said, “what are two lives against unknown millions that might live longer? Fleet Command would start the Laguna war all over again, if they thought that might recover their lost experiment. For that matter, so would the pirates, alien governments, criminal organizations, any business with the money to hire an army of brigands, and my older sister.” The captain shook his head “There isn’t a person in this galaxy that wouldn’t kill us both for that drug.”
The comms officer began typing furiously into his EntCom. “Well shit, we better make sure no one knows there was a body found here.”
The captain smiled “I’m glad you understand.” He said.
“I would like to know what happened to her though, sir. I wish we could have recovered something other than an empty space hulk and a bone-peeled corpse inside a partial environment suit.”
“Really, you don’t know? I think it’s obvious” the captain said.
“Not to me it isn’t, sir” Speller replied.
“Think about it: Torres' body was found a few miles away from the wreckage with a Med Healy. It didn't strike you as odd that we couldn't find any other remains? Nothing? Not even a fragment?" Speller pursed his lips quizzically, then went pale as the realization dawned on him.
The Captain saw him get it & nodded. "That's right," he said "if Torres was trying to save the ship, where is everybody? There's no sign of crew accompaniment. The pods weren't jettisoned, hell, even life support was still working! After all these years, man! Think of it...Why would you leave a perfectly good ship in working order, and try to make out across a desert planet with only a portable Healy and an environment suit? Where did he think he was going?"
Speller had been staring at the floor, letting it all sink in. Now his head came up to face his captain "You think he went space happy, don't you sir?" The captain nodded and sank back in his chair again, a great sadness overtaking his normally unreadable face. "I've seen it before" he said "Too long away from home without anything to steady you, some people just cut themselves adrift. Something to do with longtime exposure to outer space. Knowing exactly how insignificant you and your entire life are in the grand scheme of the cosmos..." The captain shook his head "Sometimes, people just bake too long. It's why the psych-eval batteries for space travel are so difficult, the mind must be exceptionally strong to withstand the awe of the galaxy coupled with months and months of painstaking boredom."
"So, what, you think he was just fine when he departed and snapped somewhere along the way?"
The captain nodded "I think Torres felt the vastness of the universe overwhelm him and after a few years in space he just slowly started going insane." The captain was pacing the room now, voicing his hypothesis as he worked it out in his head. "Little by little, became paranoid, hell, probably imagined that the entire ship was against him." The captain regarded his communications officer "Think on that for a second. Putting on a facade every morning while inside you're a screaming madman. Every crewman greeting you in the hallway is a potential assassin, every filed maintenance report is an attempt to usurp your position." The captain leaned back again "Once it starts, the outcome is inevitable. You can't trust anyone. You reclude into yourself while keeping up appearances. And then the time comes when you have to do something about the ones who are out to get you." He opened his eyes and shrugged "And since that's only everybody onboard, a lot of people have to die for you to feel safe again." The captain closed his eyes as his mind triggered a distant memory.
A.S.E. Pandora, this is Alliance Home net. Your vector indicates that you are drifting out of the lane. Please correct your course immediately.
Speller looked like he was in shock. "How do you think he did it?"
The captain broke out of his thoughts "Hmnh? Oh, the crew, you mean." He had walked over to a viewport and was gazing out at the dusty planet below him. So secluded he thought So unsuspecting. I bet you thought no one would look for you here, didn't you?
"Captain?" The captain jolted back "Oh, sorry. The crew. That's a good question, and one that we'll probably never really know. The perpetrator, victims and witnesses are all gone." The captain paused for a moment "Suffocation would be the most likely. Wait until most of them were asleep, then just slowly kill their brains with oxygen deprivation. Come to think of it, he could do it to the whole crew, asleep or awake, before they could get into the environmental chambers or escape pods."
"Hell of a lot of evidence for one person to clean up, sir."
"Oh no, you could get the servo mech's to do it easily, just a little reprogramming at the central command console. Anyone with ensign-level access could pull it off these days. Like taking out the garbage. There's no living tissue, so the mechs don't have a conflict with orders to dispose of a human body."
Speller regarded his commanding officer "That seems a bit, ah...romanticized, sir."
"Oh really?"
"Yes, sir. No disrespect intended, but why would someone who has already decided to commit mass murder on his crew suddenly become so humane in his methods? Especially if he truly believed they were really after him."
"Oh, he believed it, alright. Yes, you're right, of course. There's no reason to think Torres wasted a minute thinking of what he was doing to his crewmen." The captain began pouring himself a coffee "but that's how I like to imagine it." An image suddenly flashed through the captain's mind unbidden, people floating open-mouthed in zero gravity, trying to scream, veins bulging. No don't remember that he thought. But the memory began to seep into his thought patterns, and demanded attention.
A.S.E. Pandora! Respond please! You are on a collision course! Respond! Alter your trajectory immediately, or we will be forced to fire on you! Respond!
"What about the desert, sir?"
Another jolt. "The what?"
"Well, to return to your initial question: Why did he abandon a safe spaceship to try to cross a desert planet?"
Shipcom rang throughout the decks in a cold mechanical voice "Overrides initiated, number four hatch opened. Air breach amidships; Flushing atmosphere at this time."
It was the captain's turn to look puzzled "I can't really say" he temporized, "Only maybe after a while of living on a ghost ship, he started to see ghosts. His deeds caught up with his conscience, and he had to get away from the ship." He looked down on the planet again. It hadn't moved. He sighed and turned back to Speller. "Who knows? Maybe we'll find some evidence after we salvage the Pandora."
"But you don't believe we will."
Sir, this is ensign Portee...I don't know what's wrong with the skipper. He's locked me out of the mains, and I can't access any of the hyper-trunking either. The rest of the crew is dead, sir, please help me!
Another sigh.
"No, I don't think we will find anything in the Pandora, Lieutenant. I don't think anyone was lucky enough to be performing maintenance work in an environmental suit when the oxygen was depleted. Torres knew how to do such things to maximum efficiency, and his military training would have ensured that he covered all the bases. I believe...Maybe they all went peacefully, hell, I don't know."
"But you do know something, sir."
The captain regarded Speller with a penetrating gaze. The comms officer returned it evenly. "Why would you say a thing like that?"
Ensign, this is Home. We're going to try something, but we'll need your help...
Speller sucked his teeth a moment. "I don't really know" he said "But I can see you know something more than you're letting on here. Sir."
Ensign Portee, engineer’s mate on the A.S.E. Pandora, closed the access hatch that led to the stardrive thrusters. He had reset the controls for random jump, and the sun tap was manually charged. He had only minutes to get away from the leviathan before it sucked him into the post-jump vacuum, and not much air left even if he made it.
Captain Portee glanced out the viewport a final time. "Yes. I do know something, Lieutenant. But it’s not something I think you should know. Let's just say I've seen this kind of thing before, and leave it at that, eh?"
"As you wish, sir. If it doesn't affect me, then I have no reason to take the matter further, anyway." Whatever he's hiding Speller thought, it's buried pretty fucking deep.
Speller returned to his EntCom and studied the feed a moment more. "I suppose we should just let sleeping dogs lie on this one, then? About the body, I mean?"
The shipcom boomed in Ensign Portee's helmet "This is...this is the captain. I don't know who you are, but you're definitely not going to see...see another day, you traitorous bastard! You and the others can all go to hell and burn for- GAAAAAHHHHNNNGGGG!!"
The stardrive engaged and the Pandora disappeared into a helix of crystallized vapor and gases, destination unknown.
The captain walked to the door and paused to answer the lieutenant "Good call, comms. We found nothing here but a spacewreck. Blow the remains from orbit and lest head back. There's nothing but rocks and sand here anyway." The captain turned to leave, and lieutenant Speller watched him as he strode away, imagining the wake of his memories trailing behind him.
Welcome to Thick as Thieves, the Pub on the dark side of the Moon. I'm Bobbe. Hello. Most of you may know me by my other name. Ironically, it's also Bobbe. Only pronounced different.
I can't really describe this blog in a few sentences, except it's a reflection of my thoughts on various subjects from beer to politics, sci-fi to writing in general, which covers a pretty wide range. In short, I guess you could call me a complicated man, someone whom no one understands, except maybe my woman.
Kind of like Shaft.
...Except I'm white.
