Guy Stewart's Blog, page 126

Slice of PIE: Thoughts On the Building Of Worlds

[image error]Using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Spokane, August 2015, I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. This is event #2633 (page 60) . The link is provided below…?Zz

WorldbuildingIn the beginning...no, the panelists don’t have to go quite that far back. They’ll talk about some of the factors they think are important in building a world for their fiction. What are some of the most unique places they’ve written about/read about?Gwen Whiting (m), Richard Kadrey, Kay Kenyon, Matt Wallace

While it may be true that the panelists in this session weren’t asked to go back to the beginning of their worlds, I’d like to point out that a major historical fiction author DID. In CENTENNIAL, James A. Michener begins like this:

“THE LAND

“WHEN THE EARTH WAS ALREADY ANCIENT, of an age incomprehensible to man, an event of basic importance occurred in the area which would later be known as Colorado.



“To appreciate its significance, one must understand the structure of the earth, and to do this, one must start at the vital center.



"Since the earth is not a perfect sphere, the radius from center to surface varies. At the poles it is 3950 miles and at the equator 3963. At the time we are talking about, Colorado lay about the same distance from the equator as it does now, and its radius was 3956. Those miles were composed in this manner.



“At the center then, as today, was a ball of solid material, very heavy and incredibly hot, made up mostly of iron; this extended for about 770 miles. Around it was a cover about 1375 miles thick, which was not solid, but which could not be called liquid either, for at that pressure and that temperature, nothing could be liquid, as we know that word. It permitted movement, but it did not easily flow. It transmitted heat, but it did not bubble. It is best described as having characteristics with which we are not familiar, perhaps like a warm plastic.”

While it might seem excessive in an Earth-based novel, Michener used it to good effect by clearly defining the location of each book. That the “places” in Michener’s novels are characters is inarguable.

The question is then, “What makes us think that science fiction and fantasy writers have to pay LESS attention to the formation of their worlds?”

Matt Wallace and Richard Kadrey write speculative fiction outside of my interest zone, but I flew through the books of Kay Kenyon an ended up following her through her newsletter. Again, she doesn’t expound on the how or when or why she created her worlds – more’s the pity – but it’s clear that she had to do something for each one.

I stumbled across her book MAXIMUM ICE years ago as I challenged myself to try new authors regularly. In it, a space ark returns in failure and the Earth has been overrun by a storage device – sort of like if books overwhelmed libraries and falling all over the place, crushed most of the people. The survivors set up enclaves and religious orders to deal with the end result and the main character has to figure it all out.

Her ENTIRE AND THE ROSE series is even more complex: “In a land-locked galaxy that tunnels through our own, the Entire is a bizarre and seductive mix of long-lived quasi-human and alien beings gathered under a sky of fire, called the bright. A land of wonders, the Entire is sustained by monumental storm walls and an exotic, never-ending river. Over all, the elegant and cruel Tarig rule supreme…Titus Quinn, former star pilot, bereft of his beloved wife and daughter who are assumed dead by everyone on earth except Quinn. Believing them trapped in a parallel universe—one where he himself may have been imprisoned—he returns to the Entire without resources…” While she doesn’t talk about building the Entire from scratch, its complexity shouts that she has reams of notes on how things work and how they came to be.

My question though, still remains: “What makes us think that science fiction and fantasy writers have to pay LESS attention to the formation of their worlds?”Are we shy about our skills? Is the nature of speculative such that we don’t tolerate reading about worlds – we just want the killing to start? Or are we so unsure of our place in the literary world that most writers feel that they can’t possibly take that much time to get the “action” started. Even Gene Wolfe, Julie Czerneda, David Brin, Greg Benford, or Hannu Rajaniemi don’t spend time defining their worlds – and in this I confess that I feel great frustration.

Anyone else?

Program Book: http://sasquan.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/ConGuide.toupload.pdfImage: http://thumb1.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/925529/117872164/stock-photo-an-image-of-hands-with-a-ball-of-clay-in-them-117872164.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 74: DaneelAH & Company

[image error]On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom directed against Christians, Molesters , Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters  and I’m sorry, but a number of them got deleted from the blog – go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read it from beginning to end (50,000 words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.
DaneelAH pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s nothing else we can do – and I’m interested in what these supposed differences are between the old holy books we’ve had on Mars for the past century-and-a-half, and the ones the Dalai Lama gave us.” He nodded to his vat-sister, “I think the one who should be in charge is AzAH.”
Startled again, HanAH nodded decisively. “I don’t usually agree with you, brother, but this time I think that’s the ideal structure for the investigation.” He looked at AzAH and said, “We’re under your direction now, sis.”
She took a deep breath and said, “As much as I’m flattered that you think my skills are preeminent here, I have to point out that we’re not dealing so much with language as we are a mystery. Why would the words of holy books be changed when they got to Mars?” She nodded to HanAH. “A crime to solve, perhaps?” Looking to AzAH, she said, “Pattern recognition will be paramount. Changes in a script, especially old ones, are likely to be clumsy and sound like they are out of place.” She lifted her chin to DaneelAH. “You hang close to keep us all honest. It seems like you’re the one who’s most interested in the Paolo character and whatever it is that’s driving him to send us to the Face on Mars.”
HanAH said, “Hey! No new age woo woo! They were chased out just as vigorously as the Christians, Taoists, and embezzlers!”She shrugged, clearly unrepentant. She added, “What else is there up in Cydonia?”

He opened his mouth then snapped it shut. DaneelAH said, “If this Paolo character wants us up there, then we have more than one question to figure out.”
HanAH cut him off, “We’re just going to do what he says, right? That’s you’re brilliant plan.”
“Unless one of us can reprogram the ‘bug, we’re stuck.”
“I could break into the program. Look at it to see if there are any consistent patterns,” said MishAH, who’d been silent until now.
“Then what?” HanAH snarled. “It’s already been established by our esteemed brother that there’s no way we’ll be able to break the whackadoodle’s programming.”
No matter what he said; no matter his attitude, he had never been able to bother MishAH. She lifted a hand and he flinched away. Patting his cheek was the ultimate in patronizing gestures and one only she could get away with – sometimes. She sniffed, “So that you can find a resonance and disrupt the program. Once you do that, you can reprogram our destination. Or failing that, we’ll go to Cydonia ourselves.” All three of her vat mates were staring at her. Shrugging, “If this is some plot for revolution, then we’re the people on the spot who can interfere with it.”
AzAH caught her breath, then set her mouth in a thin line. HanAH’s eyes narrowed dangerously and as always and without thinking, he crouched slightly, taking on an attitude that Burroughs residents likened to “a hunting North American panther”. DaneelAH’s face was abruptly still; usually the most animated of all of them, when confronted by something novel and dangerous, he lost his normal control and opted for blankness. Seeing them, she grinned, “Ah. Now I have your attention. If we agree with Señor Paolo’s plan, however, we could very well turn him to our advantage in a Martian revolution. In any case, we’re a team capable of altering the course of Human – and Artificial Human – history.” She paused. “I suggest we keep our eyes wide open – and figure out a way to take control of this vehicle.”  
Image: http://wiki.starbase118.net/wiki/images/d/d7/Young_Bolian_waiter.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 227

[image error]Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.
I KNOW I just did a horror idea, but in honor of the “season”, HERE’S ANOTHER!
H Trope: (reference: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Transmutation. I think I’m going to mine THIS idea in various ways for a while!), more specifically covered here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Underworld_(1985_film)
Current Event: http://altimatrix.com/2012-and-your-dna(Truth? I can’t imagine that ANY person would actually believe this. Really.)
Let’s focus on this little tidbit: “According to what the dowsing reveals, there will be 6-9 DNA upgrades for these people before our critical juncture in the photon belt. Their ascension will take place at the same time as other people, however they will have more advanced evolutionary changes initially.  In the meantime these people’s subtle energy bodies will be exposed to even higher frequencies of consciousness than the average person. This will be possible due to the individual’s higher self, having the option to do this.  Once the first 3 DNA upgrades are complete, the connection to the higher self is so much less corroded that the higher self can do this type of work for individual chosen for such a role.”
Snorri Benediktsson and Hofi Flosadóttir are going to college in Bemidji, Minnesota – they’re Icelandic exchange students.
He wants to be a radio producer and is going for a mass media degree; she’s a future physicist studying high energy particles that enter Earth’s atmosphere through the North Pole.
Late one night, they’re working together in the physics lab, he’s fiddling with making an electronic file and playing with special effects.
Hofi said, “Komdu og líta á þetta!”
He sighed. He hated when she used Icelandic. “We’re in the United States. We need to speak English.”
“Ekki allir hér tala ensku.”
“I know that. My roommate speaks better Spanish than he speaks English,” said Snorri.“Mine is fluent in Ojibwe, but she speaks English most of the time. She does use her native language when she chants at night,” said Hofi.

“But we’re supposed to be experiencing a different culture.”
“So why are we dating each other? Shouldn’t you be going out with a ravishing latina?”
“And you should be hanging out with some fratboy who only wants you for your body and has no idea you’ve got a brain that’s as sharp as the curves are beautiful.”Hofi blushed and turned back to the window in the lab that looked north, out over Lake Bemidji and toward the frigid air of the pole. A particle collector floated in the atmosphere some hundred miles north and twenty miles up, the display near the window was connected to the college through a satellite uplink. She pointed at the rippling  patterns in the sky. “That’s what I wanted you to look at.”

For a moment, even Snorri couldn’t ignore the display. When he finally worked up the nerve to put his arm around her, she turned away. “All right. This has all been done before. Electrons, ionized gasses and the lot has been done to death.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m going to do something no one has ever done before.”
Scowling, he walked over to her humming machine. A small box, open on the side facing them, emitted an odd, pulsing sound. He said, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to really collect particles from the aurora. I’m using one of the new particle transporters from England to move some of the particles directly from the upper atmosphere to here.”
“Is that safe? I mean, I know I’m not a physics whiz like you, but I do know that high energy particles – like UV light – can burn human skin.”
She shrugged. “Sure. But there are other particles up there. That’s what I’m trying to measure. That’s what I want to find – the other particles up there.” She waited a moment and then said, “Stand back.” She flipped a switch. The box sparked and she fell back, covering her facing a screaming. An intensely pink colored, gaseous substance flowed from the box, coalescing on the floor around where Hofi was writhing on the floor.
Snorri dropped to his knees, hands grabbing her shoulders and coming into contact with the pink, amoeboid gas. For a moment he froze, then the cloud began to crawl up his arms. Both of the Icelanders shivered but otherwise didn’t move.
Instead, their skin began to crawl.
Literally…
Image: https://www.clubdesmonstres.com/best/img/armus3.jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY: Hard SF or Soft SF…*once more with feeling*…

[image error]Using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Spokane, August 2015, I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. This is event #2600 (page 59). The link is provided below… ?Zz
 The Changing Face of Hard Science Fiction: Hard science fiction has roots that at least go back to Verne, and it’s been a major part of the field—some would argue it’s been the center of the field, or even the only real SF—since at least the 1940s. But like the rest of SF, it has evolved and change. Where is it now and where is it going? Stanley Schmidt (m), David Hartwell, Nancy Kress, Karl Schroeder
I would have loved to have been to this one! All of these authors/editors are ones I LOVE: Stan Schmidt goes without saying – editor of ANALOG for years, hard SF writer in his own right. David Hartwell – started the STAR TREK line at Pocket Books, started Tor Books, and administers (with Gordon van Gelder) the PK Dick Award. Nancy Kress, aside from being a spectacular short story writer, also wrote two of my favorite series – the BEGGARS books and the PROBABILITY books. Karl Schroeder invented and wrote stories in a totally absorbing world that exists as “bubbles” of air in zero-g.
With a biology major – and having taught astronomy, biology, chemistry, physics, geology, meteorology, zoology, as well as various and sundry fifth, sixth, and seventh grade “general science” classes – I naturally gravitated to hard SF.
That being said, I’ve been exploring themes of my own in science fiction that have their roots in hard sciences – mostly biology – but tap into “less hard” sciences like psychology and sociology. This isn’t to say that I’ve gotten it all down and I’m ready to move into the “pros”; but I’m working on it.
In particular, in my first novel, I look at how the future will treat young people on the autism spectrum or with learning disabilities. Unfortunately, I don’t think that anything will change because neither of those has a specific “genetic home” – at least that we know of today. With politicians flailing about, trying to acquiesce to teachers unions (and make no mistake about it – Washington is talking to teacher-politicians. REAL teachers don’t have time to waste talking to politicians. They’re busy teaching kids) and return us all to the bad old days where we pass kids on without knowing what they know (http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2015/10/24/obama-calls-for-less-standardized-testing-in-schools-addressing-nationwide/).
 I explore education and how genetic manipulation of Humans will intersect and the effect that intersection will have on society. I look at unexpected results of genetic manipulation. I wonder what would happen in an interstellar civilization if none of them had ever made use of animal and plant domestication – we think it’s “normal”, but just as “psychic powers” might be normal for aliens, the practice of large scale domestication might be something Humans do that is unique.
It’s hard science with a soft science intersection.
The thing is, isn’t this what SF writers have been doing all along? They just vary the mix of science and psychology; science and sociology; science and parapsychology; science and politics; science and business management, economics, finance, and advertising; science and anthropology; science and education; and science and humor. ANALOG and PERIHELION, and others, tend to be stronger on the hard science. ASIMOV’S and F&SF tend toward the softer science. None of them are exclusive, but all have tendencies. Nebula and Hugo Awards tend to reward the softer science mixes more often than the harder science stories.
If I had to make a guess, these people – as well as the field at large – would say that “hard SF is dead” and that mixed SF is the “wave of the future”. I think we’ve already been there and come back. We’ll see, but I think the field will swing back into hard SF again – because it’s the exploration of current technology’s impact on the future.Program Book: http://sasquan.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/ConGuide.toupload.pdf

Image: https://michaelpatrickhicks.files.wordpress.com/2014/11/wanderers_ringshine_03.jpg?w=350&h=200&crop=1

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #77: July 30, 1946

[image error]This series is a little bit biographical and a little bit imaginary about my dad and a road trip he took in the summer of 1946, when he turned fifteen. He and a friend hitchhiked from Loring Park to Duluth, into Canada and back again. He was gone from home for a month. I was astonished and fascinated by the tale. So, I added some speculation about things I've always wondered about and this series is the result. To read earlier SHORT LONG JOURNEY NORTH clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.
Tommy Hastings and Freddie Merrill woke up to the thundering rumble of a truck roaring past them. It didn’t have a muffler. It didn’t have a top over the back and was full of men.
Neither one moved as it disappeared over the horizon. Finally Freddie whispered, “They’re going to the Cities.”
“Duh,” said Tommy, standing. “Let’s go.” He started walking, the sun glaring full in his face. He stopped. “The sun’s goin’ down.”
Freddie stepped up beside him and said, “Duh.”
“How can we get back home before them?”
“We can’t,” said Freddie.
Tommy spun to face him then shoved him backwards. Freddie didn’t do anything to protect himself. He just fell backward and rolled a little down into the ditch. He stayed there. Tommy slid down and shouted, “Get up! We have to go!”
Freddie rolled over, squinting into the sun. “Go where?”
“Home!”
“Why?”
“To save my ma!”
Freddie shrugged, then said, “Unless you can fly ‘faster than a speeding bullet’, you ain’t gonna catch up with the Communists.”
Tommy screamed, “They’re Socialists!”
Freddie shrugged again. “We don’t got no truck. We don’t got no car. We don’t got nobody but us and our feet.”
Tommy glared down at him. He clenched his teeth tight. He jaw trembled. He turned bright red. He glared some more. The trembling passed. He took a deep breath. “I got a thumb.” He stared down at Freddie for a long time then said, “And so do you.” He held out his hand. The other boy didn’t move for a long time. Tommy held rock solid.
Finally Freddie grinned and held out his hand. Tommy pulled him to his feet as Freddie said, “Now you’re talkin’.” They climbed out of the ditch and headed south,  thumbs stuck out, facing the way they walked. The sun slid a little farther down in the sky.
It slid farther.
Shadows started to crawl across the road and the monster heat that made the other side of the silent road shimmer fell away. Soaked in sweat, Tommy and Freddie trudged in silence, fair hair plastered to their foreheads. “I think I got heat stroke.” Freddie said suddenly.
“You don’t have heat stroke,” said Tommy.
“How do you know? Last time I looked, you weren’t a doctor.”
“Last time I looked, you weren’t layin’ on the road, you weren’t boiling hot...”
“I am, too!”
“Not the weather, stupid, YOU! Earl said they got heat stroke in the South Pacific all the time.”
“How come he told you that?”
They trudged in silence until Tommy finally said, “‘Cause I told him I had heat stroke to see if I could get outta school”
Freddie barked a laugh just as a cool breeze dribbled from the north, along the road and slid up their backs. Both boys sighed and trudged a few more feet until they stopped.
The breeze carried the deep-throated rumble of the diesel engine of a big rig.  
Image: http://rlv.zcache.com/hitchhikers_1937_postcard-rbf112e822dc04d10acd46d68344da7d2_vgbaq_8byvr_324.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 226

[image error]Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.
H Trope: The dead coming back to life...
Current Event: Any “miraculous” “resurrection” of someone who was “dead”…
Ephraim Mendoza shook his head and said, “That can’t be.”
Mercedes Chokkoon pursed her lips, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. When she opened her eyes, she said, “She’s dead. I was with her when she died.”
Frowning, Ephraim looked at her, eyes wide and said, “You said she’d be fine.”
Mercedes shrugged. She couldn’t take any more of this. “She was my sister. She was just your girlfriend. You think this is easy for me?”
He stared at her for a long time before he said, “No. That’s why I don’t understand how cold you’re acting. You sister is dead. The love of my...” his voice caught and he looked away. Not before she saw the tears slid down his face.
Mercedes glare at him, willing herself to blame him. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Blame you.”
“What do you mean ‘blame you’? How could I have had anything to do with...”
Mercedes shook her head hard, “Nothing you did. Nothing you didn’t do. She wanted to live for you.”
“So? She wanted to live for you, too!”
“Not enough.”
“You’re blaming her for dying?” he said, incredulous. “She didn’t do anything to deserve this! She had no control...”
Mercedes slapped him. Then found her hands clenched in fists. One moment she was trembling, the next she was hitting him. She hit his face. Hit his nose. His eyes. Then she kneed him in the groin. He shoved her away, slamming her into the wall. She bounced off, spun, and fell face-first into the meal tray, screaming obscenities at him. He was down on the floor with her, hands around her throat, pressing; pressing; pressing the life out of her...
On the bed beside them, Chante sat up and said, “Stop it. Now.” There was no emotion in her voice. There wasn’t even a breath. The sound came without her moving her lips.
Mercedes scrambled back, free suddenly from Ephraim’s hands. He tried to stand as well, but tumbled over her. They found themselves with their backs against the hospital room door, side-by-side, clasping hands.
The heart monitor, still connected to her, was silent. The respirator, still taped to her jaw, was silent. The EEG waves turned the screen green with wild activity as she spoke, “Stop it. I love you both and if you don’t stop fighting…”
Names: ♀ French, Thai; ♂ Israeli, Mexican; ♀ French
Image: http://eq2wire.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/grave-hand.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: What Went RIGHT With “612 See, 612 Do” (Perihelion July 2014) Guy Stewart #24

[image error]In September of 2007, I started this blog with a bit of writing advice. A little over a year later, I discovered how little I knew about writing after hearing children’s writer, Lin Oliver speak at a convention hosted by the Minnesota Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Since then, I have shared (with their permission) and applied the writing wisdom of Lin Oliver, Jack McDevitt, Nathan Bransford, Mike Duran, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, SL Veihl, Bruce Bethke, and Julie Czerneda. Together they write in genres broad and deep, and have acted as agents, editors, publishers, columnists, and teachers. Since then, I figured I’ve got enough publications now that I can share some of the things I did “right” and I’m busy sharing that with you.
While I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it...neither do all of the professional writers above...someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. When I started this blog, that was NOT true, so I may have reached a point where my own advice is reasonably good. We shall see! Hemingway’s quote above will now remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales! As always, your comments are welcome!
Once again, I attempted to do something literary based on an idea I’d seen in a paper issue of POPULAR SCIENCE that ended up here as well: http://www.popularmechanics.com/space/g824/5-high-tech-space-junk-solutions/?slide=2
 Dinking around with the “problems” presented in the extremely brief piece, I hit on the idea of replacing electronic components with simplified organic components, that is, a monkey brain. It solved several problems at the same time, and as this story had almost nothing to do with character development – and everything to do with the niftiness of an idea (making it a “pure ANALOG”-type story) I wrote it in a few hours.
Even the title popped out of the narrative unbidden and obvious.
HOWEVER, despite the fact that the idea and title were there, I wrote it with a “typical” ANALOG “happy ending” – quite literally, the little monkey-brained satellite witnessed a sunrise and the dawning of  a new day.
That remained until I started revisions.
The story was short – at right around 1500 words, it almost qualified as a piece of flash fiction. There wasn’t room to develop the character – and having never written a monkey as a main character, there wasn’t much I could imagine it doing. That attitude remained until I reread the story and realized that if the satellite could change its attitude (hahahaha), I could change mine.
While very little changed from the first draft (which was in pen on unlined paper!), giving the satellite the tiniest bit of personality altered the entire outcome of the story.
I’d gone from idea to polished story in five days and sent it off. Like most of my stories, I got rejected right away. Unlike ANY other story I’d ever written, I was rejected personally from Tor.com, ASIMOV’S, and CLARKESWORLD with small notes. I wrote it in February of 2013 in a bit over two hours. The fourth time around, I hit pay dirt at PERIHELION and the story appeared in July of 2014. Most of the intervening time took place as it wound its way through the labyrinthine submission process of Tor.com. It also got lost and I had to resubmit.
So what did I do right with this story:
1) I stuck with my strengths – science and fiction.
2) I wrote fast, finished a draft, and then when I really knew the story, went back and added character depth.
3) I submitted it to top markets.
4) I targeted it.
5) I LOVED it.
I wish I could post it here, but it’s disappeared into the aether. Even so, your comments on the above are welcome, wanted, and needed! What thinkst thou?
Image: http://static4.quoteswave.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/We-are-all-apprentices.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION -- Chapter 34

[image error]On Earth, there are three Triads intending to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world.; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. The Braiders accidentally created a resonance wave that will destroy the Milky Way and the only way to stop it is for the Yown’Hoo-Kiiote-Human Triads to build a physical wall. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society may produce the Membrane to stop the wave.
The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Kashayla; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds.
“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”
“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.”
 “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.”
 “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)
Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh (ret) – I’d started thinking of him as just “Retired” once he seemed to be on our side – sighed, “Plain and simple heart attack. Your uncle died out in the back forty once morning and we didn’t find him ‘til after sundown. Nothing we could do then,” he shot a glance over his shoulder, “Not even our highly advanced aliens could bring him back.”
We drove in silence and I took over. Pretty soon we were past even the few lights of the city. As the darkness grew, it became more than just an absence of light; somehow oppressive...
Retired said softly, “Sorry, kid. I wish I...”
“I think you’ve said enough,” I snapped.
For the first and only time in our friendship, he sighed and sat back, without saying anything else.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone. My involvement in the Triad had somehow been nothing at all about my choice or even my parent’s choice. The tests I’d taken; the ones they’d threatened me with they told me if I failed them, they’d turn me over to a life with normal people and the rest of war-torn Earth. I sighed. I’d read about “war-torn” Europe, the Reconstruction Era South, the divided Koreas, Fractured Africa, and Proxy America, China, and Russia – where Kiiote and Yown’Hoo maneuvered and skirmished each other. It didn’t have much to do with us.
At least it hadn’t. I said, “What happens to us now?” I shot a glance over my shoulder and said, “I don’t care what happens to them – or you for that matter.” I flipped my hand out into the heavy darkness. “I don’t care about any of it any more. What happens to me?”
Somehow, I was expecting Retired to be stunned by my question. Flustered maybe. Instead, he said immediately, “You’ll be moved to a safe location and sequestered for the rest of your life.”
“You mean I’ll be thrown in prison?”
 “Yes.”
“I didn’t ask for this!” I shouted. I knew the others were in the back of the truck. I knew they were listening. Somehow I knew ‘Shay was sitting behind me; her back to the wall; listening. I didn’t care. “I never wanted to be a part of…of…this!”
I looked over at Retired and he didn’t shout at me to keep my eyes on the road. Instead he said, “You’re absolutely right. You had no choice. Once your biological uncle agreed to help us start the Triad program, he signed your entire family up – forever.”
From the darkness of the back of the truck, a Kiiote voice said, “We, none of us had a choice, my Human friend.” It was Xurf and I suddenly felt embarrassed. Our Human and Kiiote and Yown’Hoo overlords had chosen all of us.
“What for?” I asked.
Even though Retired couldn’t have been reading my thoughts, he must have followed my logic train. He replied, “You were chosen for compatibility. All of you came from the most sympathetic lines your peoples could produce. Even though none of you had a choice, you were...” he paused for a long time, then said, “Chosen.”
“I didn’t want to be chosen!” Behind my head, something slammed against the wall. I knew it was ‘Shay punching it instead of my face. “I don’t care!” I shouted at her. Then to Retired, “Fine. The chosen thing, but the compatibility thing I get. But what’s the big ‘why’? We’re not in the Cities any more. We aren’t protected anymore! There are people out there – aliens! – who are out to kill us because of who we are!”
Dao-hi, the really young Herd Mother to ten Yown’Hoo, said, “There have always been those who have been ‘out to kill us’. The Herd has never been safe, even before Yown’Hoo thought coalesced. Predators have always sought to take us down one-by-one.”
“Us as well!” exclaimed Qap. “Make no mistake, Human, Kiiote are only one apex predator on the home world. Even Humans on Earth fall prey to your sharks, and tigers, and influenza – before they fell prey to Yown’Hoo...”
“…and Kiiote!” said Dao-hi.
“I don’t care!” I shouted. My voice even hurt my ears. There was silence as the truck hummed along in the dark.
Finally Retired said, “I can’t give any other answer, kid. That’s the only one there is. The Triads are the only hope we have of forging a viable civilization of Kiiote, Yown’Hoo, and Human that will not be dependent on war and dominance.”
From the depth of the truck’s cargo area, a tiny voice – probably one of the immature Herd, Ked-sah-ti, I think – said, “Without civilization, every last one of us…and the populations of all three…will die out until there is nothing left but semi-sentient ameba on Y’eh, Kii, and Earth.”
I don’t think anyone else felt like saying anything after that. Not even me.  
Image: http://www.baerwaldresearch.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/Screen-Shot-2013-08-01-at-9.10.41-PM.png

Offline Until Wednesday!

I will be offline starting any time today and will remain offline until Wednesday.Sorry!

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 73: Paolo Enroute

[image error]On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom directed against Christians, Molesters, Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters, go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story.
Staring at the sonographic image of the strange satellite in the airlock, he was forced into two logical lines of thought.
One logical set of assumptions led to the conclusion that a faction from Earth, the Moon, Venus, or Mars had lost a spy satellite on the surface of Mars. A second assumption, based on the unsettling image of a delphinoid  creature that looked for all the world as if it were intelligent; was the fantastic set irrational assumptions that led to the stunning conclusion that that Humanity was not alone in the universe.
The second set of questions also begged an answer to the question of “when did they watch?”
The ‘bug had been rolling for ten minutes before Paolo realized that there was another question that depended from that answer: were they still watching? He shivered and turned up the ‘bug’s heater. There’d always been mutterings, murmurings, legends, and eventually the tall tale of The Sands That Breathed and Whispered.
Mostly it had been told in order to help Martian children learn to keep their surface suits clean and the air packs charged. He shuddered again, the full strength of a story from The Cousin’s Grimmest Spirit Tales that ended with a poorly maintained suit giving out on the surface and the Sands That Breathe and Whisper seeping in through cracks and vents and eventually the faceplate thrown open in a desperate attempt to breathe Martian air as Ruby Marcillon had breathed air from a Lunar cave once long ago.
What if, though, the tales had their roots in fact? What if the legend was so much a part of the fabric of Mars that memories of the intelligent swimmers – the Watchers – that somehow the sense of them had been passed on to the original Human colonists? “Nothing psychic or spiritual about it,” Paolo muttered. If Mars had been the base of some intelligences other than Human – and evidence from the original SOLAREX mission gave strong evidence that there had been others Watching Humans – then maybe there were artifacts on Mars that had been able to subtly influence the colonization.
The ‘bug bumped along, heading north toward the equator. He stared through the forward port for a while, then reached for the computer. He’d programmed the ‘bug with the Artificial Human quartet from Malacandra to take them to Bradbury, where he’d meet them and see if he could lead them to Christ. Their intelligence data was mostly off the chart and they functioned like a well-oiled machine. If he could argue them into the Kingdom, he’d have powerful allies and open a whole new field for the good news.
But what if they’d been made for more? What if he was only a messenger to them and God was calling them for a greater mission? What if theirs was the main mission – to bring the gospel not just to Mars, but to intelligences beyond Mars?
He scowled for a long time, then reset the ‘bug’s destination to Cydonia and what the 20th Century had dubbed “The Face On Mars”. Nodding, he reprogrammed his own ‘bug for intercept, then settled back. He’d meet them in Cydonia. Until then, they had a long journey, probably fraught, probably dangerous. He might even die. They might. They all might. With a sigh, he settled back and closed his eyes; not to sleep, but to pray for wisdom and guidance.
Then he fell asleep...
Image: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x2tsYqz5q3c/TFpRAD3RNyI/AAAAAAAAC70/ASN65Y_L4lQ/s1600/Astronauta+Marcos+C%C3%A9sar+Pontes.bmp