Gossamer

I submitted the following story to "Science Fiction Magazine". They rejected the story, which is what they're paid to do, but I thought it was good. That's why I'm posting it here.  

Enjoy


***

“Captain”

Waking immediately, Captain Dawn Nguyen quickly responded: “Go ahead.”

“Captain, we need you on the bridge.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

Looking at the time, she noted 2200 hours ship time, slipped from her bunk and was soon in uniform. Glancing in the mirror, she took a moment to examine her appearance, dragged a comb through her short hair and quickly washed her face. Hurrying, she brushed her teeth and spent a few moments examining her face. She didn’t like the lines around her eyes. Her friends told her it made her look distinguished, which only made it worse; she knew they were being kind and she didn’t like feeling patronized.

Dawn was third generation military, although her ancestry was full of those that fought. She even had a distant relative that fought during an infamous war in Southeast Asia, which fascinated her. Old photographs of the time revealed people she hardly resembled. Centuries of genetics had led to her; medium height, no epicanthic fold and green eyes. Her hair was black, but curly and her pale skin was the result of Nordic ancestors.

Leaving her quarters, it was only a short walk to the bridge. As she entered, her XO announced: “Captain on the bridge.”

In a moment, she noted all on the bridge. Finding things satisfactory, she quickly spoke: “What do you have, Commander?”

“At 2150, orbiting probes recorded a burst of ionizing radiation from T-1. At 2145, sensors picked up 20 targets rising from the planet. They’re now 800 kilometers below our position and holding steady.”

“Place them on the screen.”

She examined the screen for a moment and commanded: “Increase magnification to just one of the targets.”

The increase in magnification revealed an oval object somewhat rough in appearance. The surface appeared scorched. Nothing protruded and there appeared to be no hatches, or windows.

“Are there any communications?”

“Negative, Captain. There is some ionizing radiation above background.”

“Call Dr. Proust to the bridge.”

As she waited for the doctor to appear, she thought of the last 6 months and the events that led to this mission. She knew it was important, but she wasn’t happy with her command.

Fifteen years ago, she started her career at the beginning of the Canopus Insurrection. Like many of her peers, she achieved rank out of necessity. The attrition was terrible and only the best - or lucky - survived to take over the empty positions. She was part of the best and proved her skill in the Chadron assault.

The fleet came under attack, when she was on a reconnaissance patrol. Quickly returning, she assessed the battle, realized the fleet was outnumbered, and made a decision that changed her career.

Instead of rejoining the fleet, she attacked from the flank; with only the thought of causing enough confusion to give the fleet some time to retreat. Hindsight revealed it was a suicide maneuver, but Fate allowed her destroyer to remain unnoticed, until it was close enough to the enemy command ship for a full barrage. The result was more than she expected.

The heavily armed carrier was launching a second wave of short range attack fighters, which was a mistake the enemy must have made out of arrogance. Vulnerable, and obviously thinking the battle was soon to be won, they never anticipated her attack. The result was catastrophic to the enemy. As the carrier came apart; and before the enemy could regroup; the fleet attacked, scattered the attackers and won the battle. The ship received a commendation and she received a distinguished service medal.

Toward the end of her time on the Ulysses, the visit of a member of Congress led to the events that resulted with her current command. While she didn’t regret the event, she wondered why things happened the way they did.

The Congressman, like too many politicians, was glad handing the “troops” for exposure and political gain. While eating in the wardroom with the Captain, an Admiral and the senior officers, he made a comment about how he was pushing for peace and the rebels seemed interested in negotiations.

He went on to describe how he felt the rebels were operating in good faith, which led Dawn to make the simple remark: “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The Congressman rolled his eyes and ignored her, which made her blood boil. Before she was through, the congressman stood at the table, looked at all in the room and left. It all went downhill from there.

The rest of the meal was quiet, but Dawn knew she stepped in it and the smell probably would never go away.

She was right, but the final result wasn’t what the congressman wanted. If it was up to him, she would have been busted in rank and placed in a useless administrative position on some God forsaken planet.

Since everyone else that attended the dinner agreed with her position - and her combat experience proved she was one of the best officers onboard - she kept her rank of Captain, but her future of command on a carrier ended.

Distracted by her thoughts, they were soon whisked away by the arrival of Dr. Proust.

“I hope you have a good reason for awakening me at this dreadful hour.”

She turned, stared at the doctor for a moment, hid her disgust and smiled as she replied: “Of course, Dr. Proust” her sarcasm thinly veiled, “I wouldn’t dare wake a person of your stature without good reason.”

The doctor only stared; she pointed her finger at the screen.

Dr. Proust acquired his typical arrogant pose, examined the screen for a few minutes and spoke: “I’ve never seen anything like that. Is it a craft of some type?”

Captain Nguyen started a sarcastic reply, but noticed the doctor’s arrogance was gone, he was obviously perplexed and her hope of a quick answer had ended.

“I was hoping you might know, doctor.

Turning to the on duty communications officer, she commanded: “Lieutenant, Dr. Proust needs to be briefed on everything we have up to this moment. Allow him the use of your console, and assist him as necessary.”

The young officer replied “Yes ma’am” stood and motioned for the doctor to take a seat. The doctor was soon seated, asked a few questions on operating the console, and was shortly engrossed in the data.

As Dr. Proust analyzed the data, he’d comment to himself with remarks. The analysis ended with a comment that the captain wasn’t expecting: “From the information we have, I can only conclude the objects are some type of living organism. They are obviously maneuvering together, yet there are absolutely no readings that indicate a fabricated vessel.”

Captain Nguyen asked: “Is there the possibility they’re ships for an alien race?”

“I doubt it. Any vessel, regardless of where it’s made, requires external appurtenances. These have none and I’m trying to ascertain how they’re even propelled.”

Turning back to the screen, Captain Nguyen resumed studying the objects. Turning back to the doctor, she found he was again pouring over the data.

She studied the doctor for a few seconds. In a different context, and if he wasn’t such a pompous ass, she might find him attractive. Near her age, not unpleasant to look at, and obviously in good shape, he could be someone to spend time with. Since her first experience when they met was so unpleasant, she could only think of him with derision and found him revolting.

They met, when he came aboard after she received orders to take part in a science mission. Since her cruiser was only a few years from decommissioning, the insurrection was on hold thanks to concessions she found unacceptable, and her superior officers wanted to make sure she stayed away from Earth, the Constellation was chosen for the mission. She loved the old cruiser, was proud of the ship and the doctor’s impression when coming aboard was more than insulting.

They were just finished with supplies; the engines were in the final stages of preparation; and she just finished a disciplinary hearing with a machinist’s mate assigned to the engine room. If the chief hadn’t been adamant about his qualifications, she’d have busted him and had him removed from the ship. She’d since learned he’d made the mistake of trying some exotic recreational beverages and was terribly upset about his poor decision. He was all spit and polish whenever she ran across him in the passageways. She could only imagine what special projects the chief assigned him to perform after he went out on a limb to keep him onboard.

When Dr. Proust came onboard, with his four subordinate scientists and eight assistants, she knew he would be a problem just by his look of disdain. His cursory glance around the shuttle bay, sour looks and remark: “Well, I guess this will do” only increased the anger that hadn’t ended after the intoxicated machinist’s mate complimented her on her breasts; right before he vomited in the engine room passageway. The dislike only increased over time.

The mission was to assess, collect data and hopefully observe a supernova of a certain star type. The doctor’s theory was that class star was instrumental in creating the element used for the interstellar jump. If the data proved his theory, the surrounding systems of those that went supernova in the past would yield the ore necessary for the existence of interstellar travel.

The star had an interstellar classification, but it was shortened to T-1 for security reasons; and it was much easier to use when referring to the star. They were in an eclipsing orbit behind a dense planet orbiting a red star. At four light years from T-1, there was enough distance to survive the supernova; as long as they held their orbit; and that was still only for a period of time less than an hour. A close planet jump was necessary before that time; and like all such jumps, foreign objects could create a problem with the mass of the ship and the jump could end somewhere unintended.

The science team collected enormous amounts of data during their stay, but the crew was becoming bored with the monotony. Crew members were starting the pranks, the chiefs were becoming surly and the morale was slipping daily. Captain Nguyen was not happy with the current status and almost longed for the days when the insurrection was in full swing. Every day was terrifying, but the exhilaration of the danger was much better than the lackluster assignment she now commanded. The addition of Dr. Proust’s snide comments, condescending air and obvious dislike of her ship only made things worse.

“Captain”

Captain Nguyen turned to find Dr. Proust studying the console.

“It’s time to launch the array.”

“You better be sure doctor.”

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have spoken.”

The array was a single device when launched. After a short jump to a planned location, one hundred smaller probes were launched. They made a short jump and ended in a matrix several million kilometers in size. The matrix was designed to collect huge amounts of momentary data, since their existence would be very short in the aftermath of close proximity to a supernova. Before destruction, the data was jumped in communications probes a set distance from the initial launch point of the array.

The cost for the array was an amount that astounded Captain Nguyen. She was given this information before they sailed with the warning to avoid a frivolous launch. The "powers-to-be" would rather have it returned for a future mission, than see it collecting data for a non-event. Once launched, there was no way to recover most of the components.

Turning to her weapons officer, she commanded: “Lieutenant Chin, prepare to launch the array. Set the information return point to 500 kilometers out planet of our position. Wait for my command to fire.”

“I have to ask; why do you think this is the right moment?”

Dr. Proust looked up, gave her a look as though she was a petulant child and explained: “The current data indicates the last outburst has spectral lines of heavier elements. The amount is sufficient for me to believe T-1 will collapse shortly.”

“Lieutenant; launch the array.”

The Constellation was jostled at the release of the array. Too large for any weapons bay, it was fastened to the hull. As the jettison thruster launched the array, the “nudge” against the Constellation was sufficient to be felt by those onboard. The entire crew felt the movement and some on the bridge – especially the helmsman – had a shocked nervous look on their face after the event.

The captain soon commanded: “On screen”; and the array appeared. “Lieutenant Chin, you have one minute to check for damage.”

The next minute passed slowly and accented by heavy sighs from Dr. Proust. Anxious and tapping his foot, he couldn’t control his impatience and commented: “Captain; we don’t have much time!”

Now irritated, tense, and wondering if she was about to throw away the hours of many, many people, she commanded: “Report Lieutenant Chin.”

“All’s well Captain.”

“Complete the launch.”

Within a second, the pre-jump haziness surrounded the array; and it soon disappeared.

“Captain, we have movement with the targets.”

Captain Nguyen had almost forgotten the targets. The new information returned her concentration to the unknown objects.

“Course and speed, Lieutenant”

“One hundred thousand kilometers per hour; the course is outbound; parallel to our position.”

Over the next few minutes, she raised the magnification of the screen to watch the targets. In a line, they held the same distance between and were soon far from the planet that offered protection from the supernova.

“Dr Proust, I recommend you awaken your team. If you’re correct, you’ll soon have tons of information incoming.”

Dr Proust gave her a hateful glance and soon left the bridge.

“Lieutenant, I want the neutron cannons targeted on the objects. I don’t want any problems if they decide to interfere.

“It’s already done Captain. They’ve been targeted since they rose from the planet.”

“I’m impressed Lieutenant. I usually have to tell my weapons officer to do their job.”

The lieutenant smiled. She knew the captain couldn’t see her face and she knew the rare compliment was out of respect.

“Captain, I have a signal from a probe…and another. They’re arriving at the correct position.”

Pressing the P.A. button, Captain Nguyen announced: “All hands recovery team; ready for recovery. Dr. Proust; come to the bridge immediately.”

“Navigator; plot the course to the recovery position.”

“The course is plotted and ready Captain “

“Helmsman; ahead one third.”

“Aye Captain; ahead one third.”

“Lieutenant Chin; what’s the status of the objects?”

“No changes Captain; they’re still outbound and holding steady.”

Pushing the communications button, the captain soon called to the recovery team: “Chief, are you ready for recovery.”

“Aye Captain.”

“Start data recovery as soon as you have signals.”

The probes weren’t designed for long range transmission. Each probe was able to broadcast the data in pulses and the pulses would only last as long as their power supply lasted. Considering what they were exposed to, having faith the time allowed procrastination was foolish.

“Report Chief.”

“Data is arriving Captain. We have 75 separate communications and more arriving. The data is being transferred into the main computer.”

The arrival of the burst of energy immediately dimmed the screens. What light was allowed showed a brilliant halo around the planet as the thin atmosphere boiled away in the intense energy.

Dr. Proust soon entered, stopped near the bulkhead and stared at the screen. His mesmerized expression told he was awed at the event he’d only studied and imagined. He spoke after a few long seconds of staring: “Look at the star!”

Captain Nguyen increased the magnification on the star that kept a perpetual hold on the only thing shielding them from radiation more powerful than most in the universe. The outer atmosphere, now being carried away in the energy wind, gave it an appearance like that of a giant oblong reddish egg.

“Captain, I’ve lost all sensor readings on the objects.”

“Go to visual, Lieutenant.”

What appeared was amazing to all on the bridge. The objects were still in a line, but appeared to be growing. The harsh energy wind made them glow, but the glow was soon replaced by what first appeared as a haze. Thinking they were being destroyed, the captain watched as the haze grew in size.

The bridge was silent, until it was broken by a communication from the recovery chief: “Captain, we have 90 separate data sets. I think that may be all. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Can we physically recover any of the probes?”

“Negative. They’re too hot and we don’t have enough shielding in the recovery bay.”

“Carry on and keep me posted.”

“Aye Captain.”

In an amazed tone, Dr. Proust commented: “Look at that.”

Returning to the screen, the captain was amazed at what she observed. The farthest outbound object now had what appeared as a large envelope protruding away from the wind. As she watched, it grew in size, until it took on the shape like a large parachute, or sail. Knowing the distance, she could only think it was thousands of kilometers in size.

Like a sailboat on the ocean, the object was now pulling away from the others, which were taking on the same appearance. They, too, were soon following the lead object; magnificent in size; in a formation like some migratory bird; and strangely beautiful against the black background of space.

“What can you tell me, Lieutenant Chin?”

“Tracking shows a converging course, but their speed, and acceleration, will have them crossing across the starboard bow in three minutes. They’ll be far enough to not cause a collision.”

“What about you, Dr. Proust? Do you have anything to offer?”

Dr. Proust only shook his head. The look of awe on his face was an expression she didn’t expect. For once, his façade of importance was gone, and his smile was that of a small child with a shiny balloon.

“Captain.”

Captain Nguyen turned to her X.O. and waited.

The commander spoke as he stared at his console: “The initial time for departure is not nearly as long as anticipated. We have fifteen minutes and that may be cutting it close.”

The captain was soon overtaken by a sense of remorse. Something she never anticipated was now a reality that demanded her attention but her time was too limited. As she sat quietly, she suddenly had a thought.

“Dr. Proust, I think you’re well aware of my orders.”

“I am,”

“Well, orders can be stretched and those objects are something I can use for just that purpose. We don’t have to return immediately, but I’ll need your help in convincing my superiors.”

Dr. Proust paused for a moment before he spoke: “I don’t have “orders”, but I answer to some powerful people that pushed hard for the information this research has now acquired. They’ll want me to return immediately.”

“I can understand that, but I think you can convince them; if you want. I can tell you’re just as intrigued as I am.”

“It’s not my specialty.”

“I disagree. You started your studies in biology, according to your file.”

“My file?”

“Surely you don’t think they’d send a cruiser off to the ends of the universe without some information on those that think it’s important?”

“I never thought of that”

“Your file is long, complete and I can tell by your expression you’re more than interested. Look at this way: You’ll be spending months with your data, years developing methods of finding ore, too many days lecturing and just writing your results will pretty well end your ability to make another research voyage again. Even if you have the time, if your theory is proven, they’ll never let you out of their sight again. You’ll be too important to lose in the far reaches of nowhere.”

The doctor slightly nodded his head and continued staring at the screen.

“So, why did you change your major?”

Dr. Proust quickly answered: “I loved the thought of studying biology, but realized I didn’t want to specialize and accept a career that wouldn’t be fulfilling.” Pausing, he soon continued: “I had no problem with specializing in my other favorite thing, so I pursued astrophysics. “

The objects were now at their nearest point. Their proximity revealed the sail was attached to the original objects by multiple cables. The entire sail was laced with a lattice that resembled the web of a tiny spider spun during the night; gossamer treats in the brightening morning; dainty structures hanging between blades of grass; covered in dew and sparkling in the morning sun.

Nobody on the bridge spoke for a minute. The sight was too fascinating and intriguing. As they watched, the gossamer sails accelerated, started shrinking in size and the moment was soon broken by the captain: “So, what do you say doctor?”

Dr. Proust replied: “The radiation might be too heavy for us to stay with the objects”

“I thought about that. I can divert some power from the drives to the shields and I think we can reduce it enough if we stay just in front…it’s worth a shot.”

“I think you might be right, but what if you’re not?”

“We’ll just make a jump. You might not be able to have babies, but I don’t think the universe could stand another just like you.”

Dr. Proust, shocked by the statement, turned to find the captain had a sincere grin. He laughed, waited before he replied and said: “I think I can write a report that will give us a few months of time.”

“It will all be on my terrible ship.”

Dr. Proust grinned and replied: “I forgot about that; can I change my mind?”

“No way”

“Lieutenant, plot a course to keep us 500 kilometers in front of those objects.”

“Aye, Ma’am”

“Helmsman, are you asleep?”

Startled by her question, he answered: “No Ma’am.”

“Why haven’t you reported on your status?”

“Sorry, Captain. We have full power and all systems on line.”

“The course is plotted, Captain.”

The bridge became quiet as the crew waited for her command. Deliberately waiting, she pondered on the start of what she knew would be her last adventure in command of a ship. Her career was winding down, her superiors respected her enough to keep her from the politics of higher command, but they knew they could never allow her to advance any farther.

“Flank speed ahead”, she commanded in a tone all on the bridge could hear.

Suddenly thoughtful, she added softly: “We have an appointment with destiny.”

The helmsman turned to the captain, offered an insubordinate smile and replied: “Aye Captain, flank speed ahead.”

Dawn quietly stared at the screen and the alien objects that appeared like huge, dainty flowers against the black background of space. Deep in thought of the future, and realizing the depth of her comment, she spoke quietly to herself: “Indeed, I do have an appointment with destiny.”

In The Garden

The night insects were almost deafening in the cool, still night air of the Texas Hill Country.  With no moon, the stars were a blanket of jewels in the clear sky over the single frame house that stood in the middle of acres of open pasture. A small cattle pond sat in one corner of the pasture. Unused by cattle for years, the grassy banks held hundreds of frogs that chirped their mating calls into the night.

Arthur slept on the screened porch of the house he inherited from his grandfather. After an ugly divorce, he moved in with the aging father of his father to “get back on his feet”. After a few months and the loss of his parents to an automobile accident, he realized fate had led him there for a reason.  After a year, he couldn’t think of leaving. His love for the old man, and the strong self-imposed obligation to see him pass with dignity created a bond that only death would break. He still grieved.  He wished he‘d spent more time with him during his youth.  

A low growl instantly woke Arthur from his sleep. Reaching down, he put his hand on the head of Blossom and quietly shushed the black Labrador. She was quiet for a moment, but soon startled growling again as she stood to look toward the yard outside the screened porch.   Art raised his head and looked through the screen. As he looked, Blossom stopped growling and returned to her spot on the floor next to Arthur’s cot.

Arthur continued to stare, but nothing was moving. He enjoyed the cool night air. As night fell, the dry Hill Country air lost heat rapidly and would eventually migrate to the south. Towards dawn, the breeze could almost feel cold. Until then, the slow movement of air wouldn’t even move a leaf.  

After a minute, he placed his head back on the pillow and looked out towards the sky.  He found Scorpio to the south. He thought for a moment and determined it was around midnight.  Reaching over, he scratched Blossom behind the ears and thought of the day she appeared on his steps. She was thin with tender paws; her ears were laced with scratches from briars she encountered while running through the underbrush. A trip to the vet and an inquiry in the local paper led nowhere.  For whatever reason, she was to be part of his life and had been so for the last eight years.

As he drifted off to sleep again, Blossom alerted him with a low growl. At that moment, it became completely silent. No insect; no frogs and the eerie silence made the hair stand on the back of his neck. Slowly, he rose up in the cot, sat on the edge and peered into the darkness.  A brief flash of light lit the sky towards the south. A nocturnal thunderstorm towards the coast was building at the boundary between cool and warm air. The silence was deafening, until the screech of a night hawk broke the stillness. As though by signal, the night filled with sounds once again.

Arthur reached and found his night vision goggles on the floor. He’d always wanted a pair, but never felt he could justify the expenditure – until the last few days. Blossom had barked for the last few nights from her place on the porch. His efforts to find the cause were futile, but somebody was out there.  The ripest of vegetables were disappearing from his garden during the night.

Peering into the dark brought a new world to Arthur. Across the pasture was a small herd of deer. They were as clear as in the day, although the green light made the appearance surreal. He scanned the pastures, looked to the drive for a vehicle and ended his scan observing his garden.

At first, Arthur saw nothing, but a slow movement caught his attention. It looked like somebody stooping in one of the rows of tomatoes, but after a moment, he realized it was too small. At that point it rose and stood on two legs. Arthur’s initial reaction was that it was a really big raccoon, but that was impossible; raccoons never grew that large. Further examination revealed a small bag. Whatever it was held a small bag and was filling it as it moved down the rows of Arthur’s garden.

Silently, the harvester continued with its task. Every choice was scrutinized before being picked. Occasionally, it would pause and look around; only to continue with removing vegetables from Arthur’s garden.  There was a purpose to the harvester. Arthur silently stared as it worked.

Arthur jumped when the freezer on his porch started. In the still night, the sound seemed deafening. Fearing it would cause Blossom to start barking, he turned to find her asleep. She stirred for a moment and turned her back to the warm air from the bottom of the freezer. Turning back towards the garden, he found the harvester staring toward the house.  Arthur froze.

The harvester spent minutes staring at the house. Arthur, who now was a little frightened, silently observed the creature in the night.  What he was observing was bizarre; an easily rattled person would believe they were hallucinating.  The thought had crossed Arthur’s mind, but he felt there was something logical about what he was seeing and could easily be explained.

After a few minutes, the harvester continued with its task. Arthur watched as it continued through his entire garden. Much was being explained; the loss of only select vegetables now made sense, although the “sense” was far beyond what he expected. He began to wonder how he would handle the situation.

After almost an hour, and the addition of more bags for the harvest, the harvester stood, grabbed all the bags and tapped the side of its head. Within moments, it rose and accelerated from the ground. Arthur looked up, but there was nothing to see. For a moment, he felt he saw a shadow. Removing his goggles, he stared into the night sky.   The stars were brilliant, but nothing moved, or seemed unusual.  The freezer stopped running and Arthur realized the night was silent once again. The chirp of a cricket broke the silence and the night sounds returned.

Disturbed, Arthur didn’t fall asleep until the eastern sky started lightening from the approaching dawn. His mind raced until that time. He was trying to decide what he’d tell his girlfriend Karen before she arrived in the afternoon. Their relationship seemed firm, but he didn’t feel comfortable with telling her of what she saw.

                                                                  ***

Karen found Arthur leaning on the fence to his garden the next afternoon; a bag of green tomatoes on the ground at his side.  Their plan was to fry the tomatoes with the catfish fillets Arthur had frozen in the spring. He turned and smiled as she approached.

“Hey, I thought you were going to let me pick the tomatoes?”

 “I know. I felt like working in the garden, so I went ahead and picked the best tomatoes. I didn’t want you to be tired when you helped me cook.”

Karen smiled and stared at Arthur’s eyes.

 “You look tired”

Arthur paused for a moment and answered: “I am. I didn’t sleep well last night. I had a lot on my mind.”

Karen became a little worried: “Are you okay?”

Arthur reached and hugged Karen: “I’m fine and I’ll be finer if you’ll stay tonight.”

Karen laughed and replied: “But, you have to make breakfast.”

Arthur hugged Karen tighter and said: “I think I’ll grow a late season garden this year.”

Karen was a little surprised by the comment. Arthur never seemed that interested in gardening. It was more of her passion and she relished the moments they spent in the garden together.

“Okay. So what are you going to plant?”Realizing he had no idea what to plant, Arthur replied: “I don’t know, but I have the feeling you have some ideas.”

Karen just smiled and grabbed his arm. “C’mon. We need to go get busy.”

As they walked to the house, Arthur felt as though they were being watched. Glancing up revealed an empty blue sky.  Suddenly, he felt as when he decided to stay until his grandfather passed. It was a feeling of peace and purpose; a feeling of determination with the goal of doing something kind and important.  He glanced at the sky one more time before they entered the house. He thoughts were on tonight. Would they return? What would he do?

How To Become a Writer

Write.....I know, that seems too simple, but the more you write, the easier it becomes, your writing improves, and you find you spend less times worrying about the nuts and bolts part of the process.

You're welcome.

Shiny People

"Wake up, Daddy"

Frank stirred and slowly came awake.

"Wake up, Daddy. I need you to help me."

Opening his eye, Frank saw his daughter, Sylvia, shaking his arm.

"Wake up. I need you to help me."

"Help, you do what?"

"Help the shiny people."

Three years of memories flashed through Frank's mind in an instant. For the last few weeks, he thought maybe he would get a break, but Sylvia just shattered his hope.

It started when Sylvia was two years old. Her mother withdrew, refused to participate in life and eventually killed herself. Nothing Frank did helped and the doctors never found a physical problem. Before they could arrange a visit to a psychiatrist, she spent a day taking pain pills and drinking vodka. The rope she tied around her chest guaranteed she would suffocate when she slumped forward in the chair. One month she was fine; the next, she was gone.

Frank remembered the note she left: "It's all so important, but I can't tell what they want me to do. God forgive me."

Sylvia never really understood, although she knew her mother was dead. Counseling helped them both, but within six months of the death, Sylvia started talking about the shiny people.

At first, Frank was at a loss, but a counselor explained it was probably a reaction to the suicide. They cautioned Frank on his reactions and advised he give Sylvia time to work through her problems. Frank was patient, and the last three years had shown improvement, although Sylvia still talked about the shiny people.

Frank asked what they looked like. Sylvia explained the looked like people, except they were shiny. Further questioning yielded little more information, until late one autumn evening.

While at the park, Sylvia spent some time staring at the small lake. The low sun reflection shimmered from the small ripples caused by the light breeze. After her inspection, she exclaimed: "That's what they look like, Daddy."

Not knowing what she was talking about, Frank asked: "That's what "what" looks like?"

"The shiny people."

Franks blood chilled at her remark. Not knowing what to say, he just stared at the rippling reflection and wondered if his daughter would ever be well.

Sylvia would draw pictures of the shiny people with her crayons. Yellow and silver were her choice of colors. Like most children, there were houses, trees, animals and people, but Sylvia added the shiny people; that were superimposed over the other subjects of her drawings. They appeared like apparitions and there were geometric shapes she would add by their hands.

Frank had asked what they shapes were. Sylvia answered: "They draw with their hands, Daddy."

Frank continued his questioning and asked: "What do they draw on?"

"They draw in the air. I can see what they draw, but it disappears. It's almost like smoke, but shiny."

Some of the symbols seemed familiar, but Frank couldn't determine why and never really spent much time in examination. They weren't important. What was important was healing his daughter.

Frank was apprehensive when Sylvia started kindergarten. He wondered how she would cope and he feared she would mention the shiny people. After the first week, he finally asked Sylvia if the shiny people were at school. Concentrating on a television show, she only said: "Mrs. Peterson told them to leave."

"Told them to leave?"

I was talking to them and Mrs. Peterson said they couldn't stay, so they left."

Afraid to add more, Frank digested the information and wondered if the same approach could help with all "visits" bey the shiny people. A call to Sylvia's counselor gave Frank hope, when they explained they would research medical journals and see what they could find. That was last month and he hadn't heard from the counselor. He'd discuss it with the counselor in a month at the next visit.

"Hurry daddy. We need to hurry."

When he stood, Sylvia immediately started tugging at his arm and pulling him toward the kitchen.

"They're this way."

Reaching for the light switch brought an immediate response from Sylvia: "No, Daddy. Don't turn on the light."

Not knowing what to do, Frank grabbed the flashlight plugged into the wall and started following Sylvia as she tugged him to the kitchen."

"They're in the garage."

Suddenly fearful, Frank spoke to Sylvia: "Wait by the door. I'll go first."

Stepping into the garage didn't reveal anything. Startled, Frank jumped when Sylvia spoke from right behind: "They're by that little door, Daddy."

Frank looked where she was pointing and realized it was the main breaker box for the house.

"They're trying to open it, but they can't. Hurry; they want you to hurry"

Opening the cover didn't reveal anything, but Sylvia soon spoke again: "They're pulling at that big knob. Hurry, pull that knob."

Frank hesitated, which brought a tearful outburst from Sylvia, who now was hugging his leg: "Please hurry, Daddy. Oh, please, please hurry."

Frank shut off the main breaker, which caused the freezer in the corner to become silent. Before the silence could envelope the room, Frank heard a loud pop from outside; then another and another. Before he could determine what caused the sound, he heard a huge thump, like a firework display. Instantly, the street light in front glowed brightly, which brought deep shadows on the garage wall. Within seconds, the garage became as dark as a cave.

Trying to sort his thoughts, he barely paid attention when Sylvia whispered: "You did it, Daddy."

Standing in silence, Frank put his hand on Sylvia's head. "It's okay, honey. Everything's okay"

Opening the side door, Frank looked out at the darkened neighborhood. Someone was walking around next door. Examining the person, he realized it was his neighbor, who was shining a flashlight on the transformer vault at the curb. Smoke rose from the vents and the acrid smell of burnt insulation filled the damp night air.

"Are you okay, Harry?"

"Is that you Frank?"

Frank could only ask: "What happened?"

Harry replied: "Damned if I know. I think all the transformers exploded. I was watching t.v. when the damned thing shorted out and all the lights got bright. Next thing I know, I hear pops and an explosion. It must be something with that substation around the corner."

An approaching siren broke the quiet. Within a minute, a fire truck pulled onto their cul de sac and stopped at the first house on the corner. The firefighters jumped from the truck and started dragging out hoses. The owner was standing at the curb and staring at the front, where smoke was billowing from the open door. The fireman soon disappeared into the house, only to reappear within a few minutes. Water poured from the front door as the fireman started around the house with flashlights; examining the eves and the roof.

Frank and Harry stared quietly and digested the scene. Sylvia had one arm around Frank's leg and stared in fascination.

"Are you folks okay.?"

Frank was surprised by the question. He never saw the fireman approach.

Harry was the first to speak: "I think so, but I'd still like you to check. Something's wrong with the wiring in my house."

The fireman replied: "Something went wrong at the substation. It looks like you folks lost all your power and it will be awhile before it's back on. Let's go look at your house, Sir"

When Harry and the fireman went into the house, Frank went back to watching the scene. The firefighters wandering through the neighborhood only added to surreal atmosphere of drifting smoke, loud diesel engines and the red strobes, which were almost mesmerizing. A power company truck soon arrived and added more noise. The bright amber strobes only accentuated the already bizarre event.

Frank heard Harry and the firefighter approaching: "It looks like your breaker panel is history. I'd have an electrician check it out before you do anything."

"What about you, Sir?"

Frank turned to the firefighter with a questioning look.

"Are you ready to go check out your house?"

"I think we're okay."

"Humor me. I'd feel much better if I have a look."

"Let's go look."

As they wandered through the house, the firefighter examined all the wall sockets, the lights and the appliances. He stopped at the breaker panel and leaned in for a closer look.

"Your main is thrown."

Suddenly, what happened before the power went out returned to Frank's thoughts. Uncertain on what to say, he replied: "That's strange."

"I can't see any damage, but I'd still have electrician take a look, if I was you."

"That's a good idea. I have a feeling the power company will be glad to make sure my wiring is okay."

Returning to the front yard, Frank found Harry by the transformer vault with a member of the line crew.

"Damndest thing I've ever seen. My lights were twice as bright before they went out."

The lineman only nodded and examined the charred transformer in the vault. Frank could see he was concentrating on the damage and knew the crew had some tough days ahead.

"Do you need a place to stay, Harry? I have an extra bedroom."

"Nah. My sister lives across town. She'll put up with me for awhile. What about you?"

"We'll stay here tonight. I'll make arrangements tomorrow."

Looking down, Frank realized Sylvia hadn't let go of his leg since before he turned off the breaker. He, also, realized the night air was chilly. He was only wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants, which were now damp where they dragged through the dew covered grass. Sylvia was wearing her nightgown and her robe. He immediately picked up Sylvia and hugged her.

"Are you okay, Baby?"

Sylvia only hugged him tighter and put her head on his shoulder.

"Let's go inside. We need to get some sleep."

                                                                     ***

After a month, things had nearly returned to normal. The neighbors were still dealing with the repair work, but Frank was back on line and the electrician could only shake his head after making a thorough examination of his house. He did change the main, which he stated was probably faulty.

"Thank you, Daddy."

"For what, Baby?"

"For getting me the word book."

"You mean the dictionary."

Sylvia nodded and went back to practicing writing simple words on the piece of paper. She'd placed the dictionary next to her work on the kitchen table and was concentrating on examining both as she worked. She'd write a word, then hunt through the dictionary until she found it.

"What are these words, Daddy?"

Frank looked at what she wrote, and was confused for a moment. He'd glanced through her books and didn't recognize the words. To add to his confusion, the words seemed beyond her school level.

"Those are some big words. Did the teacher give you those?"

Sylvia giggled and replied: "No, the shiny people did."

The hair stood up on Frank's neck as he examined the words again. For a moment, he felt as though the air was sucked from the room and almost felt dizzy. The simple block letters, and childish handwriting, only made it more chilling:

"Hello Friend"

When Batting Zero In Writing...

...change your game.

I've submitted a half dozen, or so, short stories to various online magazines. All have been rejected. Why? Who knows, but that's not what's important. What is important is for writers to understand what I consider an unacceptable length of time between submission and replies.

This is standard, according to everything I've read on how the submission process works, and the reason I started this blog.

It Knew

It knew. It knew almost everything there was to know. Nothing ever discovered, that lived, was examined or happened was beyond its knowledge. The secrets of everything were known and nothing was missing.

The original formation was known. So was the combination of events that led to life, including physical phenomena and chance happenings that created the right moment.

All life forms, and their genetics were known. Every species was known; both living and extinct. There was no conjecture, or unknown events. Time periods almost incomprehensible allowed examination and research of everything that happened; nothing was missed.

Now, on an impossibly tall platform placed to observe the heavens, and the adjoining planet, it was all that was left. Scanning constantly, nothing escaped its attention. It observed the dull light of a star that had long since died. Nuclear fusion was over. The final outcome of billions of years was almost inconsequential compared to the huge swirl of light accentuated by a large area of complete darkness.

Time passed on, yet stood still. The culmination of knowledge only waited, since there was nothing left to do, but observe and – maybe – be relieved of the constant waiting and allowed to pass the knowledge on.

There was only one empty section of knowledge that remained. Awaiting input, it could only accumulate what could be observed. The information was stored in the enormous archives available, or created in the moon it occupied. Energy was available from fusion. Machines could add more space, if necessary. Time had no meaning; data was constant and forever was a point without reference.

The creators were gone. Having passed through uncountable phases, they settled with an organic vessel. Machinery, even the most sophisticated, was incomplete for experiencing the unique experience called life. While it seemed life could be controlled, it never was. The fantastic constant modifications always gave new experiences that could never be anticipated. Unfortunately, this choice led to the departure. Organic forms couldn't survive here any longer. Ionizing radiation was far beyond what could be shielded.

So, now it was all that was left, with a purpose to pass on information. The charred remains of the third planet would mark the location where it began. If the original inhabitants returned, their new information could be added to the archive. They could add their experiences of travel to other galaxies, much younger than that what once was called the Milky Way; now greatly consumed by the central black hole. It was their beacon and marker; a sophisticated pile of rocks, which their ancestors used to mark their passage; an irony of myriads of millenniums.

On The Road

Pete sat in the small camp as the heavy traffic passed a few hundred feet beyond the trees and brush that hid the freeway. Deep in thought, he enjoyed the warm sun that felt good after the morning chill.

Pete was thinking of the pain in his gut. It was sharp today, which kept him from panhandling on the corner a mile down the road. The week before, he'd finally succumbed to the advice of his friend, Sid, and gone to the local emergency room. After a day of sitting, shuffling between tests and some stern advice from doctors, he slipped away in the evening and came back to the camp. Their diagnosis was incomplete, though they knew his liver function was not right and more tests were needed to determine the cause. Pete felt closed in and only wanted to escape.

Maybe he should eat. He thought for a moment, then decided to wait. It only hurt worse when he ate and he wanted to avoid the pain. Maybe it would ease off later.

Pete's thoughts wandered to Rhonda. They'd started on the road together over twenty five years ago. Both were first year college students and both wanted to "see the world" before they settled down and started their lives. After five years, the thoughts of settling down slipped further away. Their lifestyle was ingrained and they had lost the resources to escape. Neither had communicated with family for years and neither wanted to make the effort to return to the life that was now alien to both.

Pete remembered when she disappeared. It was a rainy night, she wanted some cigarettes and would only be gone for a short time. She never came back. At first Pete assumed she had just left, but soon realized she was the woman killed by a hit a run driver as she crossed an intersection. He saw the report in a newspaper at a store where he was buying a beer. He knew he should have done more, but he, also, knew it really didn't matter. His world shifted that moment. He gathered his belongings and was hundreds of miles away within days.

"Hey Pete. I brought you something."

Pete looked up to find Sid handing him a 44 ounce malt liquor. "Thanks" was his reply.

"I had a good day Pete. People were generous on the corner. Maybe tomorrow you'll feel like making some money?"

Pete replied: "Maybe. I'll probably feel better."

Pete opened the beer and took two long swallows. The cold liquid  immediately burned and caused the pain to increase. Taking two more swallows, he laid back on his sleeping bag and waited for the buzz to dull the pain.

"You hungry Pete? I brought some cans of chili."

The thought of eating turned Pete's stomach. He wasn't hungry any longer. Taking another slug of beer, he answered: "Maybe later. I'm not real hungry right now."

Sid and Pete spent the next hour discussing nothing and watching the sun start to fade. Eventually both were just staring and Pete eventually nodded off. Sid looked at Pete to make sure he was asleep.

After he was satisfied Pete was sleeping, Sid rolled up his sleeping bag and made sure all his belongings were stored in his knapsack. Standing, he approached Pete and pulled a knife from his pocket.

Sid stared at Pete and thought of his time in the army. Advance training taught him how to kill a man within seconds. No pain; no screaming; just oblivion. He looked down at Pete. In a low voice that was almost a whisper he said: "That's not my job."

Reaching into his stash, Sid took a ten dollar bill, wrapped it around the knife, and set it on the sleeping bag next to Pete. He made over a hundred today and he had his boot knife for protection. Examining Pete, he realized his skin was now a noticeable shade of yellow. It reminded him of an old man he'd met a few years before.

They called him old man, although he was probably only in his late forties. His life on the road, and alcohol, had aged him before his time. Sid found him dead one morning, so he flagged down a cruiser as it passed. Three days later, less all his belongings, he realized he never wanted to be involved with another police investigation. He'd done nothing, but the police wanted to be sure before they set him free. They wouldn't give his belonging back. They'd said something about a health hazard.

Never looking back, Sid slipped from the wooded area and started walking down the shoulder of the access road. Holding out his thumb as he walked, he hoped to flag a ride and be a few hundred miles down the road by morning. He'd head south. Winter was coming and he wanted to spend it in the Keys. The dumpsters always had good food and there were miles of bridges to sleep under.

Sid knew there was one rule on the road, which was there were no rules. Glancing back one time, he pushed Pete from his mind and picked up his pace.

Working on My Blog

I've added some buttons. They're on the right. One in particular is one visitors should look at. It only has one link, but it's a link to William Shunn's site. On that site is a link to proper manuscript formatting. Writers need to understand how publishers wish submissions to be submitted, and his guidelines are even suggested by some publishers.

Reflections

Ryan Brown carefully examined his reflection in the mirrors that lined the walls of his bedroom. Obsessed with his appearance, he never left for work without ensuring every detail was without flaw. He would start to leave, but two or three trips back to the mirrors were necessary to satisfy the compulsion that ruled his life.

His walk was short. The shop where he worked was only a half block from the small apartment he rented for years. Using his key, he opened the door to the shop that specialized in hats only. His employer, an eccentric older man, was adamant on how his store was run. Although he never ran the shop, no detail was to be overlooked.  A moment of neglect by Ryan to keep the mirrors clean caused a tirade during a visit that was not only embarrassing, the threat of losing his job kept him late that evening cleaning the mirrors over and over until his obsessive compulsion left him exhausted in the early morning hours.  His return home was only to change and spend the obligatory time in front of the mirror to guarantee his appearance was without flaw.  He buried his seething hate; it corroded his soul and ate at his sanity.

Customers were few. The shop was not self-supporting but the owner didn’t need the revenue. His wealth was massive; the shop was a hobby and allowed tax write-offs that prevented him from giving to charities, which he loathed. On any day, only two or three customers would appear to buy the finest of products offered by the shop for men and women.

A woman entered the shop early one morning that Ryan disliked immediately. Besides the constant chatter, which he found annoying, she handled the merchandise far more than he liked. To aggravate this dislike, she constantly touched the mirrors in the shop and marveled how easy it would be to walk into one if she wasn’t paying attention.

The morning progressed without the woman making a purchase. Her annoying chatter, now accentuated by her unwillingness to leave, had Ryan aggravated to distraction. As lunch approached, and passed, he found he couldn’t concentrate. The jabber of the woman became a noise that pounded in his head; torturing him to beyond reason – until it stopped.

Ryan heard what sounded like a tapping on the shop window. Finding nobody outside the shop, he approached the small mirrored alcove that allowed customers to admire their selection before purchase. Instantly, in a blind rage, he went to admonish the customer that had, obviously, crossed all lines of decency and was tapping on the mirrors he hated so much.

She wasn’t there, although he thought he heard her muffled voice in the distance. Stepping into the alcove revealed nothing, until he saw something from the corner of his vision. Turning quickly, he again found nothing there, but the insistent tapping continued and he could now hear the woman pleading to be allowed to leave. Again, he saw something in the corner of his vision. Turning slowly, he could see her on the edge of his vision, tapping at the mirror as though she was looking in a window. When he completed his turn, she was gone. Horrified, he ran from the shop and didn’t stop until he reached his apartment.

                                                                       ***

The older of the two detectives knocked quietly, but forcefully, on the door of the landlady of Ryan’s apartment. 

“We only have a few questions.” The older detective asked, after showing his badge and being shown into the small apartment.

“The first officer to arrive reported you called the police after other renters complained of a constant pounding in Mr. Brown’s apartment.”

“Yes. I knocked on the door and he wouldn’t answer. After hours of the constant pounding, I had to call the police.” She was still frightened. Recalling the night before was causing her to tremble.

“Is this the first time you had a problem with Mr. Brown?”

“Yes. He’s been here for years; always quiet; always paid his rent before it was due.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Brown?”

The question startled the landlady. She realized it had been a long, long time since she actually saw Ryan. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her renter, or had spoken to the young man that made her nervous.

“I don’t remember.”

She did remember how they found Ryan: filthy, sprawled on the floor; his outstretched foot kicking at a cabinet with a knife precariously balanced on the edge. Mumbling, and crying; one hand reaching toward the cabinet; the other outstretched, as though he was doing everything to keep it at a distance; a shard of mirror in the palm bleeding profusely.  

“He will be okay?” she asked. She had a bad feeling, especially with detectives visiting her apartment.

“I’m sorry, but he died early this morning.”

Suddenly curious, she asked: “Was he ill?”

The young detective answered: “The doctors think it was a combination of blood loss and malnutrition.”

“Did he have any enemies?”

“I really don’t know. I do know that nobody ever visited and the only time I saw him leave was to go to work, or a short trip to the market. “

The older detective spoke: “When was the last time you saw him leave for work?”

She had to think for a moment. She really couldn’t say. As she thought, she realized the shop had appeared closed for a long time; maybe months.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought he was taking time off from work. It’s been a long time since the shop down the street appeared opened.”

The young detective responded: “The shop that you named on the police report last night?”

She nodded and said nothing.

The older detective rose and said: “That’s all the questions we have for now. We’d like you to unlock the apartment so we can look around.”

She stood, went to a keyboard and handed the key to the detective: “Here’s the key. I don’t want to go back to that room right now.”

Showing them out, she remarked: “It’s the first door to the right on the second floor.”

Opening the door revealed much of what was in the initial report. Now that there was a death involved, the detectives needed to make a more thorough investigation and determine if there was something more than what appeared. 

The apartment was small. Coagulated blood was pooled on the floor. The cabinet doors were open and empty. Several trash bags were piled in one corner. A few empty plates were in the sink. The fixtures appeared to be covered with paint, or putty.   

The rest of the apartment appeared unused. The bathroom and bedroom were neat, everything placed, yet there was a layer of dust that indicated a long time without use. Other than dust, the mirrors were unblemished and without fingerprints.

“I don’t see any sign of a struggle” were the first words from the older detective.

The younger detective responded: “The door has no sign of forced entry and the windows are locked. I didn’t find any medications in the cabinet, except for aspirin and the bottle was almost full.”

“What do you think?”

The older detective sighed: “I think we need to get back to the precinct, fill out a report and take an early lunch. Later this afternoon, we’ll see if we can find if he had any family.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Are you buying?”

They left, stopped at the landlady’s apartment, gave her the key and handed her a card for a service that cleaned crime scenes. “That’s all we need. We appreciate your cooperation.”

As they left, the young detective pointed down the block and remarked: “That’s the shop.”

The older detective never looked. After years of dealing with dead end cases, he never wasted his time with curiosity. He was tired, retirement was only three years away and he suddenly had the urge for a Reuben sandwich, which they sold around the corner from the precinct.

“How does a Reuben sound for lunch? If we hurry, the sauerkraut will be fresh and the corned beef just sliced. “

The young detective glanced in the passenger side mirror and suddenly turned to look at the shop receding in the mirror. For a moment, he thought he saw someone standing inside the front glass. When he turned, there was nothing to see.

“If we’re finished early enough, the rye will only have been out of the oven for an hour. Damn, I can taste it now. Can’t you drive faster?”

The Longing For Home

Case stared at the foliage on the trees and the birds as they flew about the courtyard. He recognized most, but they were unfamiliar and only added to the feeling of isolation that weighed heavily the last few days.  Although the courtyard was full of benches, he was alone with his thoughts as he sat and observed the things he knew would lead to questions. Though he tried to concentrate, his mind wandered back to familiar things and events of the past.

A voice brought him back to the present: “Case. It’s time for the middle meal. Don’t you want to eat?”

Case looked to find Serena, his mentor, standing to his side. He’d heard her when she came from the door behind where he sat. He knew it was her, when he recognized her familiar scent.  It was harshly chemical to his sensitive nose, but then most everyone had the odor of chemicals. It was part of his life now, so he was becoming more comfortable to what originally assailed his nose and almost caused nausea.

“I think so. I’m hungry.”

Serena had a worried look on her face, which was common when they spoke. Case spent a few minutes examining the tall, lithe woman that was now in charge of his education. Others in the dormitory commented on her beauty; Case found her to be spindly and ungainly; even though she moved gracefully.  

Rising to his feet, Case was reminded on how tall Serena was. At a little under two meters, she appeared unnaturally tall, but she was considered normal by most.  Case thought of the other adults he dealt with and realized it was probably so. Still, to Case, she was tall; as well as all adults.

“The doctors want to run some more tests after middle meal, Case.”  

Case didn’t say anything. He knew the next few hours would involve a series of physical and mental tests, which irritated but there was little he could do to change the afternoon. The doctors would explain the rationality for the tests, but still Case would rather be somewhere else.  Sometimes, he had the feeling they really didn’t care what he felt. They seemed obsessed by their tests and his discomfort was just something else to study.

After entering the cafeteria, Case spent a few seconds observing the occupants.  Immediately, he knew all that were there. Those he knew were immediately recognized. Those he didn’t were briefly analyzed and categorized. Nothing escaped his attention and if asked, he could tell how many seconds it would take to reach any exit and what weapons were available for use.

Serena pointed to a table and they sat down across from each other.  After they sat, the menu appeared above the center of the table for their review. Noting that little changed, Case passed his finger over the menu and chose his food. It was his favorites of food he detested.  He’d learned to act like he wasn’t revolted, which Serena would comment: “I see you’re starting to like your food.” Case would offer a smile and consume his food with pretended exuberance.

Serena examined Case as they ate.  At a 1.5 meters, he was shorter than he should be at 17 years of age, but what he didn’t have in height, he made up in width. Stocky didn’t describe the thick bundles of muscles. She remembered the photos taken when he arrived and was reminded of how Case was unusually muscled for his age. She knew the reason, but carefully avoided discussing this with Case. Her job was to help Case adjust to their society.  Pointing out differences was counterproductive.  

Case ignored the stares, and comments, as they left the cafeteria after their meal. He was accustomed to both and paid little attention.  Their next stop was the research building, which housed the equipment and rooms the doctors used for examining Case. 

Serena spoke as they walked to the research building “We have a few minutes, if you’d like to spend some more time in the courtyard” 

Case thought for a second and responded: “I think I would.”

They stopped and sat at a bench near the entrance to the research building. After a few moments of silence Case commented: “The weather will change tonight.”

“How do you know?” was Serena’s response; hoping he would tell her he’d used his information access and studied the current weather information.

“I just know, like I know many things.”

Serena hid her disappointment, but knew it would take time to help Case.  He’d endured a lot in the last six months and she needed to be patient. She hoped he could adjust and finally accept what was offered.

As they sat, Case thought of his parents and Carla. He remembered the first season they made the season trek together.  It seemed like yesterday, but it was over one year ago. His parents were proud of his transition to citizen and Carla had promised they would spend a long time together. He smiled for a moment, which wasn’t missed by Serena’s constant attention.

“Are you remembering?”

“Yes”

Serena waited for more, but Case was silent after his comment. She felt frustrated, but accepted it was all she would get for an answer. She knew little about Case, which was frustrating. The doctors had given her a wealth of physical information, but she knew very little about his past and Case provided little information. 

“Case, we need to go in. The doctors will be waiting.”

Case said nothing as they stood and proceeded to the research building. After entering, Serena left Case with the doctors and went to her office to update her records and suggestions.

Case spent the afternoon performing the tests the doctors prescribed. While they seemed enraptured by the results, Case was bored and constantly distracted by his thoughts. During one of the tests, he realized all was in place. It was time and his efforts would require concentration, without distraction.

Serena escorted Case back to his room in the dormitory after the tests. She reminded him of the time for evening meal and left to prepare for the meal that required everyone to dress accordingly and be on time.

After she left, Case started gathering his equipment and supplies. He had one hour to prepare and execute his plan. Carefully, he examined his plan one more time in his mind, pulled on his backpack and slipped through the ventilation vent to the equipment room. There, he climbed the short ladder to the access tunnel and was gone.

                                                                                        ***

“Doctor, I’ll expect a complete data record, but first we need to go over today once again.”

Serena stared at the director for a few moments, and explained everything she remembered happening over the last waking period.  As she spoke, she reexamined her thoughts, but still could not find any indication of Case’s actions.  After she finished, she quietly waited for the director to speak.

“From what we can determine, Case is on his way home.”

Serena was shocked for a moment. “How could he envision such a risky endeavor?” was her immediate thought.  She thought of the distance, and time, he would be traveling and wondered what he was thinking.

Serena paused for a moment before asking: “Is there anything we can do?”

The director shook her head and commented: “No.  He appeared at the ramp of the survey ship Pleiades requesting asylum, which was granted. The ship left with him on board”

Serena thought of Case’s home.  She’d seen videos and still photographs, but they were woefully incomplete to the experience of actually being there.  She admired the beauty, but knew a visit would be extremely unpleasant. 

The director continued: “As you know, we abandoned the Hawking System almost 400 years ago. The unstable star of the adjoining system was considered too dangerous, especially after we thought it destroyed the settlers on Hawking.  At one time, a return was considered, but the possibility of losing the precious resources for another portal was considered too great of a risk – until two years ago.”

Serena, noting the director’s pause asked: “What changed?”

The director continued: “To be blunt, we’ve depleted the available resources required for our technology. The Turner drives, and portals, require most of these minerals. If we don’t develop new sources, our entire civilization will be changed forever.  That is why the Outer Planet Coalition granted Case asylum. They need these resources as much as we do.”

“We can’t force them to return Case?”

“No. While we have trade and manufacturing agreements, we have no sovereign power. In fact, they filed an official protest for our deliberate efforts to not share our information about Case.”

Both sat quietly for a few moments before the director added: “I think this has turned out better than we originally thought. We can learn more from Case’s society than we can from Case. Within a year, we will have scientists on Hawking, if they should allow our visit. I would like you to be one of the first.”

For a moment, Serena was horrified. The thought of a planet with higher gravity and the drastic seasonal changes due to the tilt of the planet didn’t appeal to Serena at all. That, and the dangerous wildlife, would make every day unpleasant, at least.

“I’d be honored, Director.”

“You may leave now, doctor. Your new schedule will be presented tomorrow; after first meal.”

 Serena rose, thanked the director and made her way back to her room.  She laid thinking for hours before falling into a troubled sleep. Feeling as though she failed only added to the sorrow of not saying goodbye to the young man she wondered if she would see again.

While she tossed and turned, Case lay in his bunk on the survey ship and planned the rest of his return home. The first part fell in place when he heard the freighter land. He knew he only had three hours from that time to be on board the ship, or wait another three months.  As he thought, he remembered his surprise of finding the geological party. When they explained they were from Earth, he was even more surprised.  Earth was almost a legend. After the centuries without contact, they decided they were isolated forever.  After a few days with the party, Case contracted a virus. In a coma, and the party unwilling to leave Case, they left with him on board. Although they were worried about his survival, they were more worried about their schedule and the possibility of creating a pandemic.

Case thought of Serena and her efforts to help him understand the laws that required his stay at the dormitory. He never thought the laws applied to him and grudgingly submitted to the examinations by the doctors that were fascinated by the genetic changes Case exhibited. Earth had assumed the settlers that were his ancestors had perished 20 generations before.  Finding Case was a scientific opportunity unparalleled in history.

The director, unable to sleep, returned to her office to continue her preparation and to spend a few minutes reviewing her directive on the screen:

It is imperative you prepare a team that best represents our interests. Our current situation mandates we make every effort to prevent any errors in arriving at an equitable solution to our resource problem. 

Our communication with the Outer Planet Coalition has ended with a meeting date to discuss how our current agreements apply to this new development. They, too, realize how precarious our situation has become and wish to be involved with developing communications with Hawking for developing trade.  Although they suggested force, if necessary, we’ve advised against this possibility, especially since our limited information indicates this may lead to disaster.  Research indicates the settlers are genetically and intellectually superior.  As an ally, they can only benefit our race. As an enemy, their efforts could lead to our destruction.

Eternity

Sarii awoke with a start. She was dreaming of walking on an empty beach on a cold winter day. Gray waves crashed on distant rocks and seabirds called as they flew overhead. The dream quickly faded as she returned to reality.

Pushing a button, she quickly examined the data and turned off the heads up display. Six hours passed, while she slept. No incoming communication signals and all systems were normal. Taking a deep breath, she focused on her location once again.

She could see a faint glow on the bulkhead wall. Occasionally, she would see a flash of light in different colors; some blue and others orange, or red. They were usually brief, although she had watched one that lasted for a few seconds. She had admired the deep violet of the flash. It was a pleasant and removed the thoughts that plagued her waking moments.

She thought of her fiancé. He didn’t want her to go, but they needed the credits, so she took the job and promised it wouldn’t’ seem that long. She knew he would worry the entire time and now wished she had never left. The thoughts saddened her. Knowing she needed to think about something else, she shifted her thoughts to the ship.

The ship was so much different than the military ships she served on. Besides the amount of room, simple luxuries, like the opportunity to eat when she wanted, almost made her feel guilty. All equipment was new and the engines were more powerful than any ship of that size usually carried. The captain told her it was important for their job; the ability to maneuver was critical. 

The trip had taken two months after the jump. During that time, her responsibilities were almost boring, since the ship was new. In the service, constant drills, old equipment and cramped quarters made for busy patrols. It had taken time, but she finally made chief engineer, which led to the job offer after her tour.

A flash of deep violet light on the bulkhead wall broke her thoughts. The deep color reminded her of talking with the head astrophysicist at the end of a shift. He explained singularity, the event horizon and how radiation would be emitted as something crossed beyond the point of no return. He’d said most of it was x-rays, but that visible light was possible. He also explained gravity lensing and how a black hole would be very hard to discern when close. He was right. Between the strange distorted background, and the astigmatic appearance of stars, it was more of an area, without any clear edge of demarcation.

The doctor, and all the crew were now gone. She remembered the collision, which changed her life forever. Following protocol, she was fully suited as she made a maintenance scan of the hull at the end of the drive tube. One instant she was examining the readings and the next she was at the end of her tether. Except for the small section she was in, the ship was gone. Whatever collided with the ship was big, and fast. The edge of the break was clean, as though the ship was cleanly cut with a plasma torch. Nothing was bent, or burned. There was nothing but the void of space and the eerie silence of the vacuum.

Staring out the hull, she noticed the section of hull was almost back to facing the black hole. Shifting her position, she avoided the ionizing radiation that would soon flood into the open space she occupied. She would have a few hours of staying against the structural member before the slow spin of the wreckage placed the majority of the hull between her and the black hole. She had no choice. The suit couldn’t protect her but for a few minutes. The hull blocked most of it, but she knew she was receiving more than was recommended.

She realized she had no idea how long she had been there. It was a long time. So long, her hunger was a constant dull ache. She could feel how weak she had become, but was thankful she had water. That was part of the suit design, which still amazed her. Military suits were all short duration suits. They would protect the wearer, but they didn’t supply any water. The military figured there was little reason for such a suit. There were many reasons stated, but the final reason was the cost. Still, she didn’t have much water left, and she had reached the point her rationing was only prolonging the inevitable.

She wondered again if the emergency communication beacon had traveled far enough. She had launched the beacon the first day, when she was positive the trajectory would take it away from the black hole. If it wasn’t far enough, the signal would be lost in the constant background noise.  Even if found, she wondered how her location could be determined. Thinking about this changed her thoughts to what she had planned for the last few cycles.

She didn’t want to die a long lingering death. She was already to the point she was questioning her sanity, which concerned her more than anything else. She was proud of her ability to make rational, logical decisions and the thought of losing this ability was unacceptable. She could vent the suit and her death would be quicker. With her hope almost gone, she had reached the point she knew the time to make the decision was soon. She would rather be dead than spending the rest of her life in a mental ward. There was a point that being rescued would only be the start of a long unfruitful existence.

Over the next few hours, her mind wandered between one topic and another. She had long given up on mental exercises, like remembering and singing every song she knew. She had run out of ideas and the exercises had become emotionally draining. This only aggravated her discomfort, which included maddening itches she couldn’t reach. Eventually, she nodded off to dream again; her only escape and now becoming vivid and comforting.

Snapping awake, she was disoriented, which was a new occurrence. She spent a few minutes thinking and couldn’t remember anything about the last waking cycle. It was time. She reached into her tool pouch and removed the plasma torch. It was the only thing she knew that would pierce the suit and allow the blessed relief she now longed for.

Carefully, she aimed the torch at the space between her leg and the outside of the suit. Hesitating, she thought of changing her suit recording, but decided it would serve its purpose. She didn’t have anything to add and she wondered if anyone would ever hear it. She hoped her fiancé would, but even if he didn’t, maybe someone would. She didn’t want her last words to be silenced forever.

Pulling the trigger on the torch, she swept a quick arc and waited. Instantly, bright sparkles of light escaped in a cloud from the cut. She felt her lungs collapse and her consciousness started fading immediately from her oxygen starved brain. Her last thought was of how the effervescence of the water boiling on her tongue was like sparkling water from a mixed drink. Within seconds she was gone.

A brief, brilliant flash of blue light lit the bulkhead walls for a few moments. The section of hull slowly spun and marked her final resting place, which would remain in stable orbit for centuries, if not longer - maybe for eternity.