Ralph Lumley's Blog, page 2

Hot Wheels/Matchbox flashback

Two weeks ago I surprised my 3-year old nephew Preston by pulling out a treasure trove from my childhood; namely my collection of Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars. At his first sight of the carrying case shaped like a formula one racer, he was thrilled. Then he discovered it wasn’t a toy, but a case containing more toys than he could imagine.

As he and I played with them on the kitchen floor, I was amazed at how quickly my memory identified the “good cars.” By that, I mean the cars which would drive straight and true across the floor when pushed. If the car turned midway or had a bum wheel, they were relegated to the sub-standard category. They became the pile of cars between us we smashed the other cars into in a blaze of glory and mashed fenders. Strangely, the cars that ran the straightest consistently: the police cars. Interesting.

Also of note was the collection’s standouts, the cool “hero” cars: Starsky & Hutch’s Ford Gran Torino (my fav), The Dukes of Hazzard’s General Lee (now painted black with model paint because a black version was even cooler), The A-Team van, Magnum P.I.’s Ferrari (and police squad car), the Spider-Man car, and, of course, not one, but two Batmobiles. Then you also have the weird ones: a boat, Buck Roger’s space fighter, the Red Baron car from Peanuts, and an ice cream truck driven by Woodstock.

After twenty minutes of playing and groping around under the fridge and stove for lost cars, it became apparent Preston was having a toy overload and we put all the cars away except for six. Then he settled into happy play time.

It’s fun to share your childhood and see it relived and reinterpreted by a new generation.

Month Four – Fatherhood

At the end of the four month mark, Lily is all smiles and laughter.

Logan, our 19-year old son, experienced his first stab at babysitting. I left for work and Maryann needed to run to the grocery store, which left Logan in charge. Lily was on her play mat, contently playing and Logan was on the couch nearby reading on his phone.

When Maryann got home, Logan was holding Lily at arms length, bouncing her, and walking around. Flustered, he said she wouldn���t let him sit down or she would cry. His attempts to seek help were thwarted when he realized Maryann left her cell phone on the kitchen table. Relieved at Maryann���s return, he gladly turned the duties over to Mom. It may be a long while before he agrees to that again.

Just as in 79 AD, the eruption of Mount Vesuvius destroyed Pompeii, Friday, I experienced what could only be called Poopeii.

Lily filled her diaper and I took her to her room to change her. As I removed her sleeper, I saw she had a one by two inch spot on the back of her onesie, where a small bit of poop slipped out the top of her diaper. No worries, I thought, since we���ve had this ongoing problem. No big deal.

I lay her on her back and opened the soiled diaper and began to clean her up. It was uber-full. Then I rolled her on her side to clean her better and disaster ensued. The small spot on her onesie now extended from shoulder to shoulder and all the way up to her neck. Apparently when I lay her down, it forced the overabundance of sludge up out of the diaper and all across her back. I carefully peeled the onesie off with all the delicacy of a soldier defusing a live explosive and made an effort to clean her with wipes. This was a losing battle and the only answer was to take her to the tub for a bath.

So I put a towel on the bath mat, lay her on the floor (sans diaper), and filled her plastic tub inside the shower. When I turned back, she was peeing all over the clean towel, the clean bath mat, and the floor, laughing all the time. After that, things went pretty much as you would expect it. She got her bath, got dried and dressed, and promptly went to sleep to recover from the whole ordeal.

As for me, I am feeling that protectiveness of a parent settling into a permanent part of my heart. Everyday there are news stories of people hurting children. It���s tragic and horrible, evidence of our fallen world. We as humans cannot truly love anyone without first being in a love relationship with Jesus, the Son of God.

As a father, on a daily basis I���m confronted with the choice to put my desires before my child���s needs or to do the right thing and sacrifice on her behalf, for her good. Again, without Jesus, a person cannot do this. It goes against our selfish nature and is probably why (among other reasons) God encourages us to have children. It makes us grow up and be responsible. It helps us to care for children, all children, and to take steps to stop the plans evil people have for them across this country. They are our future.

Month Three – Fatherhood

The third month of Lily’s life has been one of endless delights as she is learning to use her little hands to grasp and hold toys or blankets (or really anything), and promptly shove them into her slobbery mouth. It’s fun to watch her little eyes lock onto an object she is pulling close, and cross as she tries to bring the ship into the docking bay full of drool. Her favorite in-mouth item has to be her thumbs, the hands down winner. Ha!

She can now roll onto her side, but has yet to roll over entirely. I’m sure that event will prove quite a shock. She’s spent some time on her belly, but does not enjoy it at all. She has also discovered the upper limits of her vocal volume. Loud cries and shrieks of delight now ring through our house, shaking our ears and freaking out the dog.

Also with month three came the dreaded first cold, delivered, oh so kindly, by cousin Kimberlee. To be fair, Lily was only slightly fussy and only had moments where she was making everyone miserable. Her nose was congested and she barely had a cough at all. The rest of the time she was her normal happy self. Most coughs and sneezes came with an added bonus of a little extra coming out the other end. We had quite a few diaper fails this month, though far less now that we use Pampers instead of Huggies. She can still manage to turn her diaper into a slip and slide and shoot poop straight up her back, out the top of the diaper, and into her clothing. Oh, the endless loads of laundry! Mom and I are keeping in shape going up and down the stairs toting laundry.

All in all, a good month has passed. Now, as we head into January, my wife is done using vacation days on Wednesdays, which gave me a mid-week break. So now, I’ll be home with Lily five days in a row while working nights. I think I’m up to the challenge now. My wife, Maryann, says so, so it must be true.

Month Two: Fatherhood

My wife Maryann gave birth to our beautiful daughter Lily in September, and as I described to a friend, having a new baby is like having an atomic bomb go off in your life. Nothing is ever the same afterwards. For me, this is my first child. It is my wife’s second, our son Logan is 19 years old, so it’s safe to assume Maryann is starting over from scratch as well. A lot has changed in the intervening years, but the basics don’t change. For me, it’s all new. Hello, roller coaster!

Changing diapers

I knew this would be a task I would have to repeat often, so I jumped in once Lily got home. Since Lily is breastfed, it took a couple times to get used to seeing that yellow seedy nightmare upon opening a dirty diaper. At least it didn’t stink horribly. That part yet lurks in the future. While I got the cleaning part down, I was not as swift getting the new diaper on correctly. We had a some leaking diapers and a few total blowouts. Liquid Shout is my new best friend. Partly to blame was my inability to line the diaper up correctly, and the rest lay with the particular brand of diapers. With a girl, I get to avoid the arc of pee that boys can generate, but I still deal with the explosive sneeze that fires off both ends of her body. In one changing, she sneezed four times in a row. Her poop hit the partially opened diaper and ricocheted upwards with violent force. There were not enough wipes on the planet to get my face clean. Luckily I had my mouth closed, though my eyes were wide open in disbelieving shock.

Maryann had a similar experience in the bathtub. While she had Lily belly-down on her arm to remove her from the tub, Lily fire-hosed the shower stall in what could only be considered a crude attempt at redecorating.

There is also the occasional “parade of diapers” in which she attempts to fill as many diapers as she can within five minutes. The dirty one comes off and no sooner is the clean one in place than she fills it. This method repeats, frustratingly, while she merrily releases and feels better.

I tweeted at the end of September: “Lily is 10 days old. How soon does potty training start? :)” To which I instantly got a reply from @PullUpsBigKid “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be here. Oh, and congratulations on baby Lily’s arrival.” I’m not sure how I feel about a diaper company monitoring my tweets. They seem a bit too proactive, since she won’t be pull-upping for quite a while yet.

Clothing

Of course, with a newborn coming, we received all sorts of new and used clothing. There’s nothing wrong with used clothing, of course. The issue lay with used clothing stained from formula-based spit-up. Somehow, no stain remover can conquer formula, yet paradoxically it’s deemed safe to feed children. Thus some of Lily’s outfits are decorated with blotchy yellowish patterns that, instead of looking like some natural camouflage of the African plains, resemble the leprous skin of a zombie. Doesn’t Lily look cute?

We also received a batch of clothing designed obviously for a boy. Most of these don’t bother me, but it does drive Maryann crazy. Many is the time she has stood before me pointing at the collar of a gender-neutral outfit saying, “Look! There’s no frill! There’s no ruffle!” And off to the store we go to return the non-girl offensive onesie.

Sleep?

Maryann and I both work full time. Daycare was out of the question since it’s the absurd equivalent of another house payment. So after six weeks of maternity leave (a pathetic showing for the American employers – take a look at other developed countries), Maryann went back to first shift and I switched to a second/third shift overlap. That allows me to be home during the day with Lily. Dad and daughter on our own! I get home about 3am, get to sleep around 3:30, and wake up with Lily around 7:30. I give her a bottle of pumped milk and she and I go back to sleep until 10:30. Then we are up for the day, with a few catnaps here and there. We get lots of cuddle time and smiles. It’s wonderful.

What will month three look like? More fun, more love, and (yep) more diapers. :)

Cross of the Samurai ebook sample

Here is a small sample of my ebook Cross of the Samurai. You can order it here on Amazon. If you have the Kindle app, you can read it on any computer, tablet or smartphone. Enjoy.

“The Unknown. We fear it and we chase it, for we are driven mad by its potential.” —Ichigo Otomo, historian and cultural critic

CHAPTER ONE

“Blockade approaching. Unity Defense Carrier Larrivee is launching fighters. Destroyers Eclipse and Cascade engaging enemy targets designated Alpha Ten and Six, Beta Nine, Eleven, and Thirteen.”

Simes ignored the tactical computer as it continued to reel off battle updates. His own ship, a fast recon vessel rushed up behind the massive carrier Larrivee. As a Captain in the Intelligence Division, Simes moved around a lot, especially since the war broke out three years ago. For the most part, though, his efforts kept him close to his home world, Unity. With the green-blue planet at his back and the enemy in front of him, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The Cinvat Demesne’s sudden attack on Unity at the beginning of the war met stiff opposition from the Unity military. Their planned invasion and occupation of the planet became a standoff with both sides trading blows while holding an ever-changing front line just beyond the orbit of Unity’s moon. The Unity Defense Force (UDF) was effectively contained while the Cinvat and their allies waged war against other planets across the galaxy.

Flashes of light lit the distant space, munitions erupting from the combat ships ahead. Larrivee flashed past as Simes’ ship raced towards the battle. Four fighter escorts from the carrier fell into formation surrounding his ship, ahead, to the sides, and behind. Simes stood alone on the bridge of his vessel, allowing the ship’s AI to pilot him through the upcoming battle.

“Alpha Six launching fighters,” the AI stated. “Engaging all stealth countermeasures in three, two, one, mark.”

“Disregard further updates,” Simes ordered. “Need to know only.” He reached up towards the ceiling and took hold of a metal handgrip. No need to be told what was coming, he could see it through the canopy. With all of its stealth tech running, this ship became a blank spot between the fighter escort, a tight knot veering to make an attack run on Beta Eleven, a corvette spitting missiles at Cascade. Nervously, he licked his lips and felt the sickening warmth of his pulse increasing. The corvette loomed ahead, swelling in the viewport and bristling with weapons. Explosions flashed in the silence of vacuum and the screens polarized to protect his vision.

With a stomach-churning roll, the ship slung around the underside of the corvette, the ship’s anti-grav nearly negating the pull, but not quite. The corvette engines slid past and his ship leaped towards clear space, with two surviving fighters still providing cover. The Cinvat forces, focused on the capital ships and escorts, ignored the two fighters, never suspecting the third ship hidden between them. As the first phase of Simes’s mission finished, he hoped the remainder would go as smoothly. Being a realist, he knew it would not. After passing the orbit of Unity’s nearest neighboring planet, Simes shut off the stealth tech. It devoured energy at a voracious rate.

Once the trio of ships neared the last planet in the system the fighter escort peeled away. Simes wished them luck, since they still needed to punch their way back through the enemy lines to return to Larrivee.

With the battle rapidly receding, Simes finally relaxed and settled into a chair. The AI calculated the necessary vectors for a warp jump and began the countdown. As the pitch black of warp space swallowed the stars, Simes rubbed his eyes and recalled the meeting that initiated this particular journey.

<< >>

Captain Simes ached at rigid attention waiting for his superior to acknowledge him. His eyes glanced around the room, taking in the scene. Like most senior officer quarters aboard military starships, the sparsely furnished room exuded an air of cold efficiency, despite being living quarters. Unlike others, walls and bulkheads had been removed to expand the size of the abode to over-accommodate its lone occupant, Vice-Admiral Hadrian Tecchio.

And his ego, Simes thought to himself.

The vice-admiral dominated the center of the room, chewing on an unlit cigar, pacing back and forth in front of his massive desk while regarding his guests with a suspicious eye. The vice-admiral and captain were members of the Unity Defense Force on the carrier Larrivee, currently in orbit over its home planet. Simes, however, was not an official Larrivee crewmember. His posting in the UDF Intelligence Division allowed him great freedom, including the privilege of not being confined to one vessel, which he enjoyed immensely. He normally traversed the galaxy uprooting little known secrets and pinpointing potential political flash points. Since the war began, his efforts involved mainly interception and decryption of enemy coded signals. He was the ranking ID officer onboard when this little meeting convened. The vice-admiral’s guests, ten men and one woman, occupied the suite, six in chairs. The rest stood still or wandered with the same unsettled energy as the vice-admiral. Most of them didn’t like being this close to the blockade. A half hour earlier, Simes heard the all-call for the shuttle’s arrival along with a terse message from the Executive Officer requesting his presence at the upcoming meeting. He also understood, perhaps better than anyone in the room, the reason for their hasty visit. Some things could not be transmitted, no matter how secure the encryption.

“I see no point to a military venture,” the vice-admiral repeated again. “There is nothing to gain.” The comment startled Simes to some extent. He figured the man eager to be doing something—anything other than standing guard over the planet below. But then again, after three years of skirmishes and little to show for it, perhaps he hoped for a greater concentration of force to finally break the blockade. Tecchio, a man of action, hardened through past battles, and not one to be idle, spoke out of character this day.

Have I misread him? Simes studied the man through new eyes.

Tecchio’s large girth towered over most men as he topped off around six foot four. The man’s rigorous exercise routine kept his physique mostly muscle, though age and a hearty appetite contributed to his swollen midsection. His dark skin and granite-like features encased hard, measuring dark eyes under a shroud of smoky eyebrows; all above a carved, unchanging frown. Tecchio embodied the picture of defiance for the UDF, a stern figurehead whose raw confidence dared the Cinvat to take their chances.

“We should be represented,” one man stated. “For our losses.”

Simes recognized each individual from their personal files, all in various positions of authority from the planet below. This collection of leaders represented the major governing bodies of Unity where religious and civil duties were one and the same.

Unity. The name alone upheld the ideals set forth in the governmental charter. It was the fourth planet of the UN-212 star system. Each of the three continents on the planet maintained its own government while working collectively to govern the planet as a whole. Based on ancient Judeo-Christian ideals and faith, Unity stood as the example of moral decency that the ancient United States of America’s fledgling years exhibited. The hordes of Christian colonists who established Unity fled the persecution and intolerance (under the guise of tolerance) found on other planets dominated by other religions or paradigms. Unity was deemed “safe”.

Reality spoiled such views. Despite the discovery of forty-two planets capable of supporting life and more than enough room for humanity to spread itself across the universe, the old hatreds followed mankind to the stars and even spawned new ones. Twelve planets declared themselves wholly Muslim, two proscribing to extremism garnering them a watchful eye by the rest of the galaxy. The majority of planets proclaimed to be religion-free zones. Faith is permitted in private, yet banned from public forums, especially governmental positions. The Liberal Religion, previously a secular mindset, now flourished as a religion. It was the only faith system permitted in all aspects of life, including government.

With the advent of colonization, each planet could sculpt its own reality, its own morality. As man took to the stars, the struggle between ideologies continued. Just like on Earth, there existed ongoing faith conversions as the various religions proselytized other faiths and those without a belief system. Unity possessed its share of off-worlders bringing their own faith to the “heathen Christians,” and not all of them peaceful. A constant target, the Zion continent boasted the largest non-Earth Israeli population, and was perpetually infiltrated by faith-driven terrorists with the sole purpose of sabotaging planetary defenses or assassinating high-ranking politicians or military leaders. More often than not, the few successful attacks slew civilians, instead of their intended target. Unity faced and fought off no less than three full-scale attack fleets from other planets. In the end Unity prevailed, but always at a high cost. The current blockade negated any further civilian transports to and from Unity. There was little to fear from local saboteurs, for in the first three years of the war, their attempts to disrupt or destroy key installations proved ineffective. Most didn’t survive their own attempts.

The larger problem hung near the moon: the Cinvat Demesne kept Unity’s forces bottled up while it waged war elsewhere. The reasons behind their attack on Unity still remained unclear, but like the anti-Semite attitude that pervaded and poisoned mankind until the end of World War II, an anti-Christian attitude simmered throughout the galaxy. Unity, being the only planet wholly devoted to Christian ideals, could not expect any tangible support even from its so-called allies.

Tecchio fears another attack, Simes thought. No. Not fears. Eagerly anticipates. Yet nothing in the intelligence gathered in the last few months indicates any concerted effort to break the stalemate.

Simes also knew the purpose for this meeting had nothing to do with the Cinvat war.

“Whatever you hoped to gain was lost during the quarantine,” The vice-admiral nodded towards the hatch where Simes stood. “Captain Simes, please indicate your findings.”

“Yes, sir,” Simes strode deeper into the room under the gaze of those gathered. “Unfortunately, we have little hard intelligence. The cargo hauler Lachesis paused in the NTS-60 system mid-route to effect repairs when they reported a large gravimetric disturbance. They claimed it came from the quarantined planet NT-03, or Vermadas as we all know it. Lachesis reported its findings to the closest authority hub, the space station Miyazaki, and its onboard AI is currently monitoring the situation, though given its distance from Vermadas, there is little to tell. There are also unconfirmed rumors of a ship slipping past the automated defenses and landing on the planet. What exactly happened on Vermadas, whether or not this reported gravity wave originated there, is unknown.”

“Which is exactly why we should send our own ship to investigate,” a pudgy man in a robesuit said. “The name of Vermadas alone should spur us into action. Once this gets to the public Lynx, our people will demand to know what we’re doing about this.”

Tecchio latched a baleful gaze on the man. “You’re implying that we deliberately break the quarantine?”

The man became flustered, yet found his voice. “I’m implying nothing, however I do believe we need to find out what is going on out there. Once we assess the situation, we’ll be in a better position to choose the correct path.”

Another man, dark skinned and wise looking, addressed Simes. “Captain, do you believe that the quarantine on Vermadas has already been broken?”

All eyes turned to Simes, including Tecchio’s harsh visage. “I’m not sure it’s wise to speculate.”

“The satellites governing the quarantine do not monitor the planet’s surface, do they? Their sensors are aimed outward to detect and dissuade incoming ships from landing. So these rumors are either completely unfounded or someone has breached the security and landed, possibly triggering this mysterious event.”

Simes chose not to answer and regarded the man blankly.

“Someone should go, covertly, of course, and discern fact from fiction,” the lone woman in the room stated clearly. Her voice, though quiet, carried across the room. Simes knew her from her files as Judge Cana Hladke. She served the justice system well for twenty-five years, shying away from the politics, and instead, focused on her job and the search for truth. Well respected and honored, her gentle personality tempered her iron will. “And while we could spend hours debating who to send, I think we all have one man on our mind.”

“If we can find him,” the pudgy man grumbled.

“My sources tell me the military already knows which planet he is residing on,” Judge Hladke directed her statement at the vice-admiral. “I’m sure our talented military forces can locate him and present him with our wishes, provided the planet hasn’t killed him.”

The vice-admiral frowned distastefully as if he swallowed a bug. Simes watched carefully. They both knew this topic would come up, though in private they could not settle on a clear course of action.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Tecchio said. “We still don’t know what happened on Vermadas in the first place. By placing a survivor of the original incident back into that environment could be a recipe for disaster.”

Judge Hladke smiled primly. “I, for one, choose not to live in fear of the unknown, vice-admiral. Perhaps by sending this man we shall obtain the answers we seek, both for the current situation, and historically. Besides, what damage can possibly be done to an abandoned planet? I, for one, think this should have been resolved long ago.”

Simes glanced back and forth between the woman and Tecchio.

The vice-admiral ground his cigar in his teeth and leaned back on his desk, crossing his arms. “And what if you don’t like the answers?”

“Admiral,” Hladke soothed. “All we are asking for is one ship and one courier. Surely our defenses can spare that, yes? We have full confidence in our military forces to not only defend Unity, but also to defeat the Cinvat armada.”

Tecchio’s cigar looped around his mouth twice, a look of resignation on his features.

Scanning the faces in the room, Simes realized long before these people boarded the starship, they decided whom to send to Vermadas.

“Captain Simes,” Tecchio ground out. “Seeing as you are between assignments and up to date on the Vermadas situation, would you be kind enough to go and fetch our wayward soldier?”

“Yes, sir,” Simes snapped automatically, despite knowing he was never really between assignments, for he juggled many ops at once. Still, he privately enjoyed the Admiral’s decision.

“Coordinate with the Tactical Officer as to your departure requirements.” Tecchio grinned, for he knew an engagement with the enemy was likely.

The vice-admiral dismissed Simes, who exited the room, glad to leave the diplomats and officials behind.

Now it fell to him to find one lone man in the midst of a planetary wilderness.

CHAPTER TWO

Clutching wind screamed across the flat, bleak plains of ice that constituted the planet FR-17. Struggling against the gale, a solitary man climbed to the crest of a jagged hill. One gloved hand held a combination of a walking cane and ice pick, as the other adjusted the shoulder strap on his backpack. His cold eyes peered sharply through hoar-rimmed goggles, searching the plain below for any movement. He knew his body, outlined against the sky, could be seen from a great distance, but he didn’t care. He tracked his quarry for three days now and knew the end rushed near. Tempted to reach for the infrared scope slung at his belt, he discarded the idea. Acclimated to the planet’s rhythms, he didn’t want an unfair advantage over his foe.

He nicknamed this planet Fact, a grim commentary on the harsh unchanging reality of what was required to survive on this planet of never ending winter. One must be alert and on guard every moment on Fact, otherwise death visits swiftly. Nothing could change such brutal truth. Only life and death reigned on Fact and no self-generated perception altered reality. Strangely, despite the endless stress and alertness, he found this existence a comfort. Life on this frozen, dangerous world diminished the unanswered questions of his past and kept him focused on the present.

The Troge he was hunting was wounded days ago. Since then, the creature led him on a harrowing chase over peaks and valleys, through drifts and wastes, desperately trying to escape. He needed to find the beast soon, for the long ago vanished blood trail, and his growling stomach, reminded him of the urgency.

From the crest, he gauged the sharp decline below, a sixty-degree drop-off. Below he could see a patch of blood beyond a large pile of soft snow. The Troge’s path seemed obvious. He crept over the top of the hill and slid down the long, steep and icy face before him. Suddenly, a quiet urgent voice within him warned of imminent danger. A drift of snow directly below him erupted, as he found himself sliding towards a furry mound flashing sharp teeth. The Troge, always crafty, lay in wait for his approach, an encounter he was heading towards much faster than he wished.

The ice pick lashed out and bit the wall, snagging, halting his descent and suspending him out of reach of the vicious jaws of the Troge. The beast’s hardened claws dug into the base of the ice wall, seeking purchase, trying to reach its dangling lunch. He clung to his ice pick, unable to do anything, other than keep his feet from disappearing down the animal’s slathering maw.

The Troge’s lion-sized body, low and lean, hugged the ground. Four stubby, clawed legs protruded from under its thick furry pelt. Its hide hung off it like a round white carpet tossed over a coffee table. The creature’s head flattened outward like a hammerhead shark, but with a heavy jaw and a wide, dangerous bite. A black oily tail lashed the snow around it.

The man groped at his belt and wrenched free a small, curved knife, an ancient Tanto blade made of Damascus steel, an elaborate curling design along a razor edge. Shifting his grip so the blade protruded downward in relation to his fist, he braced his legs against the icy plane and pushed outward, leaping away from the wall. The Troge’s eyes narrowed behind its nictitating membranes as its quarry arced overhead and plummeted towards its back, with the knife in one hand, and the pick in the other. Twisting backwards, the Troge, and the falling man, plunged into the powdery snowdrift, both vanishing.

A gust of wind cast an eerie moan over the empty plains. Overhead, the distant star of FR-17 watched coldly as the first moon crept over the distant horizon.

With a burst of motion, a shape emerged from the drift showered with dusty snow. The man gasped for air, then turned and tugged the Troge’s heavy carcass out of the snowy hole. Moving hastily, he produced a hatchet from his backpack and began chopping the carcass. It wouldn’t be long before the blood scent, carried in the wind, would draw scavengers to the body. He hoped to be long gone before then.

Only after packing the choice meaty portions of the animal into air tight bags and storing them in his backpack, the man walked away from the body. He moved quickly, his ears picking up the distant howls of scavengers already en route, when another sound also intruded upon his perceptions: an annoying beeping.

As he hiked across the icy plain, he produced a small communication device from his pocket. It was old, yet cared for. On it, a red strobe light flashed in sync with the beeping. The man glanced at it, then tossed onto the ground and kept walking.

Several minutes later, he returned to the device, picked it off the ground, and pressed a button. The red light turned green. He placed it back in his pocket and kept walking.

<< >>

Hours later, as the wind pounded the outside of the prefab shelter, the man cocked his head, and listened to the gale. A familiar and unwelcome artificial whine cut through the natural sounds and grew louder. Seated next to a portable heater, the man returned to cooking his Troge steak as the shuttle outside clumsily landed on the ice field nearby.

The double doors of the shelter unzipped and a metallic form entered, closing the entrance behind it. Focusing glowing green irises on the man, a human-shaped bioroid approached and addressed him.

“Ident code, please.”

The man rattled off a series of numbers automatically, by rote.

“Confirmed,” the robot answered. “You are needed.”

Rubbing his chin, the man gazed up at the automaton. Bioroids were metallic human facsimiles normally covered in a layer of simulated skin. In appearance, they could pass as human so long as they were running their emulation software. This one lacked skin and moved with stiff motions.

“That’s it?” the man grumbled. “Where’s the song and dance or the promise of reward? Where’s the appeal to a higher calling?”

“You are needed.”

“Who sent you?”

The bioroid remained silent. The answer was obvious. The bioroid arrived unclad so its origin could be clearly seen. Its chest sported a small manufacturer’s seal, the UDF military. The man chewed his lip, a furrow in his brow.

“Why now?” he asked.

A small storage compartment opened within the robot’s midsection. Reaching within itself, the robot produced an envelope and held it out towards the man. Stirring, he stood and took the proffered item.

A thin band along the top edge lit up, recognizing his fingerprints and ensuring the contents would not self-destruct. Opening the envelope, the man paled at the simple, handwritten note within. Two lines, brief and succinct were scrawled across the page.

The man’s stern, driven eyes focused on the bioroid’s emotionless faceplate as he crumpled the note in his fist.

“We must go right now.”

The bioroid replied, “Yes, Damascus Quinn. That is the plan.”

Cross of the Samurai ebook now available on Amazon

Ralph’s new science-fiction novel is available for the Kindle as an ebook on Amazon.

Quinn, one of two survivors of a planetary disaster, departed the military and lives in a self-imposed exile on a hostile world. When the Artifact, the alien construct at the heart of the original tragedy, shows signs of awakening again, Quinn is summoned from his hideaway, placed into the center of an interplanetary war, and tasked with stopping an alien fleet that is destroying settlements on the edges of colonized space. What can one man of faith do against such odds?

Order now on Amazon.

Fatherhood

First off, let me say “Happy Birthday” to my beautiful wife, Maryann.

I have a stepson who is eighteen. He’s a delight, and I enjoy interacting with him, but since I married later in life I missed out on the entire raising a child phase. Now that is all changing.

My wife Maryann and I are expecting a little girl at the end of September. In other words, our entire lives are about to change drastically. As we cruise through the last few months of the pregnancy, our little girl is kicking and twirling inside her mom. If her activity is an indication of her personality, my wife and I are in for an exciting ride. We are in the early 40s of life and the prospect of chasing after a little one capering around the house sounds both fun and potentially exhausting.

It’s the reality of fatherhood that presses on me now.

I have a tremendous responsibility before me: to lay aside all my selfishness and place my daughter, wife, and son first in my heart. This means more than merely working hard to provide the money to sustain them; this requires leadership and a modeling of all the morals and ideals I strive for. I wish the best for all of them. I want them to become the people who they were destined to be, who they were designed to be. Thus my utmost goal is their relationship with Jesus, who can ultimately walk them through a life filled with supernatural strength and joy.

This is my future, my goal: to be a good dad.  –R7L