Guy Stewart's Blog, page 72

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION: CHAPTER 104 The Trials of Team Three – 6

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Xiaomara; 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 at great profit to Humanity. Then the war spilled over on to the Human homeworld and all three are threatened with extinction…
Choral ReadingSTAGE DIRECTION: (Spotlight falls on each as they speak then shuts off, illuminating the next; then all three spotlights fall on them as they chorus together.)
Yown’Hoo: “The literal decay of the fiber of Yown’Hoo morality accelerated when we refused peace with Kiiote.”Kiiote: “Interbreeding, internecine war, and ritual cannibalism devoured us in resisting harmony with Yown’Hoo.”Human: “Material gain from both Yown’Hoo and Kiiote fed our greed, so concord held no profit.”All: “We might do something none of us alone can do, we might braid an unbreakable cord of unity.” (4/6/2019)

Xiaomara Mary-Laura Kimpo set her jaw, lifting her chin then said, “What could you possibly teach me?” She braced herself for a bellowing, angry reply.
Instead, the Human Mother Kan Yuen whispered, “Only that a soft answer turns away wrath, child. And once Earth has grown the Triads into effective governing units, Humanity, Kiiote, and Yown’Hoo will need all of their wisdom and skill to softly turn aside the spectre that seeks to devour us all.”
An image shimmered into existence between them. It wasn’t three dimensional, though it wasn’t a flat, either. It was other…some…thing intangible, malevolent, horrifying…yet it was not spirit. It was technology; technology so far beyond any member of the Triad, that not only did it appear to her to be magic…it might even be necromancy, speaking with the dead to determine the future.
Hairs stood up on her arms and the back of her neck. She whispered, “What was that?”
“You encountered one earlier on your journey. The Kiiote call them,” she precisely imitated a sound that was entirely non-Human, most like the scream an Earth dog made when struck by a car. Horrible yet entirely recognizable; a sound that drove deep into the primitive heart of any Human. “Call them ‘conjures’ in English, Chinese, and Bengali, the two you have seen are creations of the Kiiote. But the Yown’Hoo have created them as well and call them echoes. We have called them demons since the Fall.”
“Demons are imaginary!” Xiao exclaimed.
“Your ancestors called them mó. They’re creatures who are…pressed out of condensed matter. If you were to cut one open, it would have no organs and there would be no differentiation inside, but they are alive. They’re easy to make but are only good for a few things – some originated on Kii.” As she watched, the creature made sounds that were animalistic but had the rhythm and purposeful cohesion of language.
Xiao whispered, “The Kiiote didn’t make them, did they?”
“These are the demons of a shameful past, they believe they are sent to torture their minds.” She paused a long time before she said, “The Kiiote had no idea the conjures had followed them to Earth, but we Humans have been inadvertently creating them as well – or rather than creating them, inviting them to enter our universe.”
Xiao snorted, saying, “Sounds like woo woo to me.”
The image appeared abruptly, this time turning toward her. She couldn’t help it, she crouched lower, her pulse pounding in her ears, and she felt light headed. It vanished and Mother Kan Yuen said, “You don’t act like it’s a figment of your imagination.”
Xiao straightened up, hawked and spat on the floor then said, “Fine. The thing taps some sort of primitive, savage memory. But that doesn’t make them dangerous now!”
“Your Kiiote counterpart Xurf might disagree with you, child.”
“He doesn’t lead the Pack! Qap does!”
Mother Kan Yuen burst out laughing, a disturbing sound in the close confines of the mall. The rest of her tiny Herd, Seg-go, Ali-go, and Nah-hi-el still lay on the ground, curled tightly in on themselves. “They lead the Pack together, child. You and Oscar were designed to lead the tribe of Humanity together as well…”
“We’re not going to lead anything! ‘Car’s an idiot boy! A child! He couldn’t lead himself out of a paper bag!” She stomped her foot then blushed furiously at the childish display. She was supposed to be more mature than ‘Car! She should be more like Retired. She swallowed her anger and forced herself to apologize, “Forgive me, Mother. I am an idiot sometimes…”
The elderly woman inclined her head, “You are a child.” Xiao looked up, opened her mouth to angrily fire back when the woman burst out laughing. Xiao’s face and neck burned with embarrassed anger. The woman stepped forward and bowed slightly, “This shows that not only are you able to leash your temper, use your tongue as a rudder to steer the ship of your mind well, you are also strong-willed and have much to offer the Triad.”
Xiao opened her mouth and Mother Kan Yuen looked at her, eyes narrowing the tiniest bit. Xiao closed her mouth, thought for several moments, then said, “You tígōng zhìhuì, Madre.”
The elder woman nodded, “Even speaking Spandaringlish, you inflect the Chinese words carefully.” She paused, “Perhaps you do have what it takes to become a great communicator.”
“Communicator?”
Mother Kan Yuen nodded, turned and beckoned to Xiao and her Herd, “Indeed. Retired told me that he wishes me to tell you’re the complete plan of why we constructed the Triads. He says,” she turned abruptly and caught Xiao with a hard gaze the younger woman couldn’t turn from, “…that the time is at hand to move all of you into the final phase of the program.”
“The what?”
“The reason we created the Triads was so that the three Triads will bond, and then from them, form the initial van der Walls Society. From there, we expect that the effect will allow the spontaneous formation of others.”
Scowling, Xiao said, “Why not just educate everyone and have them start?” She paused, thinking furiously, “Creating a new religion out of the concept might have been effective. Humans, Yown’Hoo, and Kiiote all have the capacity for accepting religion. That would have taken less…”
“We tried.” She shook her head, “The result was worse than we could have anticipated. That one we had to destroy with a massive pogrom.”
“A…what?”
Mother Kan Yuen reached a store front that had opened onto the main thoroughfare of the ancient mall. As she appeared to walk into the darkness, the air around her sparkled orange and green. Xiao stopped then stepped back. “Where are you taking me?”
“Follow child and you will see.”
Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 394

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.
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.
Change of pace for a bit – I’m going to look at elements of EXTREMELY popular SF, F, and H; break them apart and use each element as a jumping of point for a story idea…or better yet, a continuing story idea…maybe writing myself a novel or something!
Popular Horror Story/Series: Goosebumps Books: “scary books that are also funny.”H Trope: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goosebumps; middle class kid, remote location…Current Event: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUAKvpaW5bI
Carlos Rodriguez Cruz shook his head and said, “I can’t stay here anymore.”
Austin Ventura grabbed Carlos’ backpack and pulled it, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Carlos turned, hiked the pack up and said, “Listen, my family is undocumented. I’m undocumented. Nothing’s gonna change that. I can’t afford college and I’m gonna be cleaning toilets and vacuuming carpets for the rest of my life if I don’t do something.” Austin had no idea what to say. All he could do was stare until finally Carlos turned away, saying, “I was right. You can’t understand.”
“You can teach me!” he called after Carlos’ back. His friend shook his head once, then ran at the school’s exit doors and plunged out into the wintry cold. Austin finally moved and followed him outside, but Carlos was already disappearing over the hill. “Come back,” Austin said. The warning bell for the beginning of last period rang. Austin took out his cellphone and speed-dialed Carlos but got no answer. He hung up and texted, “Talk to me.” He sent it and dashed to class. With only a semester of their senior year left, he had no intention of not passing. His college career was set; finances were lining up; he was ready for the next step in his life.
He’d thought for years that that step would include his best friend Carlos. But there had been problems and the more Austin talked about college, the less Carlos paid attention.
He’d been avoiding Austin since winter break had ended. Now he knew what had been bugging Carlos. As he came around the corner and into the English Hallway, Mr. Zoroastrian – his real name was Mr. Sebastian, but he was an advocate for synthetic religions and had had them all practice Zoroastrianism for two weeks – said, “Eighteen weeks and sixty seconds, Mr. Ventura!”
Austin laughed and temporarily forgot about Carlos.
###
Until his text message note chimed at 2:30 the next morning. Bleary-eyed, he patted his bedside table until he slapped his cell. At first he couldn’t read the message because the light was too bright. Then he didn’t understand, “Carlos there?”
He grunted as he rolled onto his side and texted back, “Who is this?”
“Carlos’ sister. He there?”
“No.”
“He’s gone.”
“What?”
“Later…”
“Where did he go?”
Austin waited until the screen light faded, then repeated his text. There was still no response and he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The floor was freezing. His room was freezing. He looked at the text messages again – they were from Carlos’ phone. Which meant that he’d left it somewhere that his sister could find it – like his bedroom. Austin knew Carlos didn’t exactly have a private life at home. He shared a room with two little brothers. The first time they had a sleepover in sixth grade, he couldn’t believe that Austin had his own room.
Austin pulled on a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt and poked his feet into his green Converses. He stopped shivering, thought about it for a moment, then texted, “Paulina, right?”
He waited until the screen went dark. Suddenly it lit, “Yes.”
“When did he leave?”
“I said good night to him at 10:30.”
Austin shook his head. Four hours. His best friend could be anywhere…
Names: ♂ Mexico, Mexico; ♂ Minnesota, Italy (= “baby in the woods”, “foundling”) Image: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OCWXw6InF70/TKigMBk87NI/AAAAAAAAAy4/tL7MhIfL9CM/s1600/2212_1025142570.jpg

Slice of PIE: Racist Ideas, Christianity, and Fantasy & Science Fiction

NOT using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in San Jose, CA in August 2018 (to which I be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I would jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. But not today. This explanation is reserved for when I dash “off topic”, sometimes reviewing movies, sometimes reviewing books, and other times taking up the spirit of a blog an old friend of mine used to keep called THE RANTING ROOM…
I’ve sort of been doing a lot of non-fiction reading lately.
I’m almost done with STAMPED FROM THE BEGINNING:  A Definitive History of Racist Ideas In America (Ibram X. Kendi); the men’s group at my church have been reading MERE CHRISTIANITY (CS Lewis); and for our upcoming men’s retreat, our pastor recommended THE PRODIGAL PROPHET: Jonah and the Mystery of God’s Mercy (Timothy Keller)…
I’m going to go off on a few tangents here, but I’ll tie it up into a coherent thesis statement shortly (I hope).
I don’t read much fantasy, but with my daughter’s guidance, I’ve been exposed to a fairly broad, strong base that supports the quote I use in my IDEAS ON TUESDAY posts when I suggest fantasy ideas: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail
I’ve read DR. STRANGE AND MR. NORRELL; (of course) LORD OF THE RINGS; THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA; THE CHRONICLES OF THOMAS COVENANT, UNBELIEVER; CHILDREN OF BONE AND BLOOD is on my “to read” list; the DERYNI books; THE SHADOW SPEAKER; and very few others…
Octavia Butler, without a doubt, was one of the most profound speculative fiction writers of the 20th Century and she started very young: “At 12, she watched the televised version of the film Devil Girl from Mars (1954) and concluded that she could write a better story. She drafted what would later become the basis for her Patternist novels. Happily ignorant of the obstacles that a black female writer could encounter, she became unsure of herself for the first time at the age of 13, when her well-intentioned aunt Hazel said: ‘Honey ... Negroes can't be writers.’ But Butler persevered in her desire to publish a story, even asking her junior high school science teacher, Mr. Pfaff, to type the first manuscript she submitted to a science fiction magazine.” While obviously a science fiction writer, her work can also be read as fantasy as she wrapped myth and parables in future trappings. Nnedi Okorafor, a relatively new speculative fiction writer wrote, “Wild Seed showed me that the publication of the type of stories I was writing was possible. It showed me that I wasn’t alone and that what I was writing was ok. Octavia gave me strength.” (https://bookriot.com/2017/06/22/writers-inspired-by-octavia-butler/)
OK – now to pull the reigns in all of this together.
Keller mentions in his book, an encounter with Gimli the Dwarf with Galadriel, Queen of the Elves in Lothlorien. Gimli is a foreigner in the land, in fact, a victim of racist ideas – the Elves have long seen the Dwarves as inferior simply because of who they are, that is, ALL Dwarves are ugly, greedy, evil…
Kendi, in his book defines a racist idea as “…any concept that regards one racial group as inferior or superior to another racial group in any way…‘intersectionality’, prejudice stemming from the intersections of racist ideas and other forms of bigotry, such as sexism, classism, ethnocentrism, and homophobia.” (SFTB, Prologue, p5)
In LOTR:FOTR, Galadriel says, “‘Dark is the water of Kheled-zaram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nala, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dum in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stone.’ She looked upon Gimli, who sat glowering and sad, and she smiled. And the Dwarf, hearing the named given in his own ancient tongue, looked up and met her eyes; and it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding…” (Chapter 7, “The Mirror of Galadriel”)
CS Lewis writes in MERE CHRISTIANITY, “…whenever we do good to another self, just because it is a self, made (like us) by God, and desiring its own happiness as we desire ours, we shall have learned to love it a little more or, at least, to dislike it less.” (Book 3, Chapter 9)…
*drawing a deep breath*
For me, the speculative fiction community has ALWAYS intersected with my faith, just as it has for Gene Wolfe, Mike Duran, Madeleine L’Engle, Kathy Tyers, Gray Rhinehart, Orson Scott Card…I’m sure there are others I don’t remember. (io9 published this almost ten years ago: https://io9.gizmodo.com/christian-readers-demand-more-science-fiction-books-wh-5574733and got quite a bit of discussion. I was corresponding with Mike Duran a bit before he was quoted there.)
By reading all of my current books (MERE CHRISTIANITY for roughly the sixth or seventh time) it sparked in me an entirely new idea. I opened myself up to the Holy Spirit, and along with hearing sermons like the  one I heard today in context of what I’ve been studying, (based on Mark 2:1-12, and from which I took the single message: after Jesus told the paralytic first, “Your sins are forgiven.”; then asked the pharisees “Which would be easier?”; then told him, “Get up, pick up your pallet and go home.” Then came the part that I found startling this morning: “…they were all amazed and were glorifying God, saying, ‘We have never seen anything like this.’”), I may have become both a better man and (I hope) a better writer to add this point of view to my stories.
I noted that “…THEY WERE ALL AMAZED AND WERE ALL GLORIFYING GOD…”. Not just the paralytic, not just his friends, not just those listening to Jesus – but the pharisees as well. All of them had witnessed and seen the change and (possibly) believed on Jesus’ name, that he was God (who could forgive sins).
I have never  published a piece of Christian science fiction (not for lack of trying!), but as I reflect on it now, that may be a good thing. It allows me to integrate a number of ideas into my stories. This intellectual journey has given me the foundational paradigm for a set of stories I’m writing and (finally) defined by the question: “What if entry into an interstellar union required a ‘charity’ factor in the entire population of an intelligence?”
Resource: https://www.cafonline.org/docs/default-source/about-us-publications/wgi2018_lozengemap.pdfImage: https://thane62.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/the-day-the-earth-stood-still-warning2.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 143: Aster of Opportunity

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 (100,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.
In the crowded restaurant, Aster Theilen caught the eye of her friend and fellow-conspirator, FardusAH, leaning forward. FardusAH mirrored her stance. Aster whispered, “The game is called a confidence trick, or a ‘con’. The nut is here.” She opened her fist. “I slipped it out while I was shuffling the cups.”
“That’s…”

“If you were going to say ‘cheating’, that’s not entirely true. Every gamble requires taking a risk. But if the con artist is good enough, they can make the gambler believe whatever they want them to believe.” She leaned closer, “That’s why a good con takes lots of planning – and inside people.”
FardusAH leaned back, studying the Mayoral Consort. After several moments, she said, “Remind my never to play poker with you.” With a mirrored nod, they stood up and headed to their separate homes. Aster headed for the Surface lift while FardusAH headed for the Deeper lift. Her friend disappeared into one of the fast moving cars, but Aster had stopped, watching, abruptly startled by the thought that while she was certainly taking a risk with attempting to deceive Mayor-for-Life Etaraxis, to whom she was the current consort, FardusAH was taking the greater risk.
The import of her plan took her breath away for a moment. If she failed, certainly she would be punished, possibly even executed.
If FardusAH was even suspected of being complicit, not only would she be executed – “put down” as if she were a cancer-riddled old-fashioned Earth “pet” – but her entire issue of vat mates would also be located and destroyed. Thought patterns that led to true rebellion, Aster had been taught since she was old enough to listen, were purely genetic. Of course they could be influenced by environment, diet, and training, but clones grown in vats who rebelled against their managers were clearly defective. Aster felt as if a great weight had been lad across her shoulders. She looked around and found a public rest area.
Sitting abruptly, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply for several seconds. When she opened her eyes, her surroundings had come into focus so sharply the edges seemed made from shattered glass. While she was under the Mayor’s charge, she had a certain amount of freedom. Certainly, refusing the Mayor’s offer to be his consort had been her choice. But it was a choice made aware of possible consequences, disappointment of those around her had been a possibility. He might have been angry enough to have her harassed or stalked; she might have lost her job. The Strong Mayor system of government on Mars had been in place for over a century – he had authority to act within the law and be responsible to no one.
Even so, she hadn’t really thought that her life was in danger at any point. FardusAH’s cooperation was going to come to light eventually. If the Orphan’s Ball didn’t cause a paradigm shift in the politics of Opportunity Dome, in the religion of the Dome, then her life and the lives of all of her vatmates would be forfeit.
Aster might lose her life. FardusAH would lose hers for certain; those she both knew and didn’t know who shared the same germ plasm would be sterilized. She would vanish from history.
Aster stood up slowly. It seemed there was only one choice then. She had to stop being timid and start to make bold choices. She had to risk as much as FardusAH was. For some reason she trusted Aster; for some reason she felt that what Aster planned to do would make a difference. If what Aster did shattered the stranglehold grip “natural Humans” had over cloned Humans on Mars, then it would be revolution. It would change the face of Mars. Her pulse roared in her ears as she headed for the lift.
Was this where God had called her? To change the face of a world; to make a difference in the lives of Artificial Humans? While her life was limited on Mars, mostly because she was less interested in the sciences and math than many other women, she’d never really found a calling. It was how she drifted into government office work. While she’d applied for higher positions, none of them had ever materialized; her father had always suspected it was because she was his daughter.
But what if it was more? She’d been gifted with NOT the consortship with Etaraxis, but with an opportunity to wield poser for the first time in her life! On Earth, Inez Milholland Boissevain had fought and died for the rights of women to vote; FardusAH was risking her life for Artificial Human children. Her father risked his life for his faith.
How would her personal history remember her? What had she seriously risked her life for? Up until this moment, she’d been only semi-serious about her rebellion.
Now, it seemed, the moment had arrived. It was time for her to do something important for Mars; it was time to do something important for herself.
Image: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/pv5BzHM3TJ8/hqdefault.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 140: Aster of Opportunity

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 (100,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.
In the crowded restaurant, Aster Theilen caught the eye of her friend and fellow-conspirator, FardusAH, leaning forward. FardusAH mirrored her stance. Aster whispered, “The game is called a confidence trick, or a ‘con’. The nut is here.” She opened her fist. “I slipped it out while I was shuffling the cups.”
“That’s…”

“If you were going to say ‘cheating’, that’s not entirely true. Every gamble requires taking a risk. But if the con artist is good enough, they can make the gambler believe whatever they want them to believe.” She leaned closer, “That’s why a good con takes lots of planning – and inside people.”
FardusAH leaned back, studying the Mayoral Consort. After several moments, she said, “Remind my never to play poker with you.” With a mirrored nod, they stood up and headed to their separate homes. Aster headed for the Surface lift while FardusAH headed for the Deeper lift. Her friend disappeared into one of the fast moving cars, but Aster had stopped, watching, abruptly startled by the thought that while she was certainly taking a risk with attempting to deceive Mayor-for-Life Etaraxis, to whom she was the current consort, FardusAH was taking the greater risk.
The import of her plan took her breath away for a moment. If she failed, certainly she would be punished, possibly even executed.
If FardusAH was even suspected of being complicit, not only would she be executed – “put down” as if she were a cancer-riddled old-fashioned Earth “pet” – but her entire issue of vat mates would also be located and destroyed. Thought patterns that led to true rebellion, Aster had been taught since she was old enough to listen, were purely genetic. Of course they could be influenced by environment, diet, and training, but clones grown in vats who rebelled against their managers were clearly defective. Aster felt as if a great weight had been lad across her shoulders. She looked around and found a public rest area.
Sitting abruptly, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply for several seconds. When she opened her eyes, her surroundings had come into focus so sharply the edges seemed made from shattered glass. While she was under the Mayor’s charge, she had a certain amount of freedom. Certainly, refusing the Mayor’s offer to be his consort had been her choice. But it was a choice made aware of possible consequences, disappointment of those around her had been a possibility. He might have been angry enough to have her harassed or stalked; she might have lost her job. The Strong Mayor system of government on Mars had been in place for over a century – he had authority to act within the law and be responsible to no one.
Even so, she hadn’t really thought that her life was in danger at any point. FardusAH’s cooperation was going to come to light eventually. If the Orphan’s Ball didn’t cause a paradigm shift in the politics of Opportunity Dome, in the religion of the Dome, then her life and the lives of all of her vatmates would be forfeit.
Aster might lose her life. FardusAH would lose hers for certain; those she both knew and didn’t know who shared the same germ plasm would be sterilized. She would vanish from history.
Aster stood up slowly. It seemed there was only one choice then. She had to stop being timid and start to make bold choices. She had to risk as much as FardusAH was. For some reason she trusted Aster; for some reason she felt that what Aster planned to do would make a difference. If what Aster did shattered the stranglehold grip “natural Humans” had over cloned Humans on Mars, then it would be revolution. It would change the face of Mars. Her pulse roared in her ears as she headed for the lift.
Was this where God had called her? To change the face of a world; to make a difference in the lives of Artificial Humans? While her life was limited on Mars, mostly because she was less interested in the sciences and math than many other women, she’d never really found a calling. It was how she drifted into government office work. While she’d applied for higher positions, none of them had ever materialized; her father had always suspected it was because she was his daughter.
But what if it was more? She’d been gifted with NOT the consortship with Etaraxis, but with an opportunity to wield poser for the first time in her life! On Earth, Inez Milholland Boissevain had fought and died for the rights of women to vote; FardusAH was risking her life for Artificial Human children. Her father risked his life for his faith.
How would her personal history remember her? What had she seriously risked her life for? Up until this moment, she’d been only semi-serious about her rebellion.
Now, it seemed, the moment had arrived. It was time for her to do something important for Mars; it was time to do something important for herself.
Image: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/pv5BzHM3TJ8/hqdefault.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 393

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. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.
F Trope: “jerkass gods” (CS Lewis Till We Have Faces; Neil Gaiman American Gods; Rebecca Roanhorse Trail of Lightning)Current Event: http://www.wftv.com/news/news/local/9-investigates-dolphin-manatee-deaths-indian-river/nZYSx/, https://www.fau.edu/newsdesk/articles/radio-tracking-bottlenose-dolphins.php?platform=hootsuite
Abril Molina stood with balled fists on her hips. “They did this, you know.”
Santiago Ribeiro pursed his lips and said in a low voice, “It’s the easier answer. You know, blaming jerkass gods rather than taking responsibility for polluting the lagoon ourselves.”
Abril bristled, “You blame Humans for this?” She grunted, “I know you hate all of us who are pure blooded Humans…”
“Please! Don’t bring magism into this! I may be three fourths elf, but I can no more conjure poisons from the water than you can conjure a will-o’-the-wisp to light your way to bed!”
Abril turned to belt him. He caught her fist but was powerless to stop her words, “How dare you! I am no magist! We’ve been friends since...oh, I don’t know, since I had to change your nest litter! I am no more magist than you are thoughtful.”
Stung, he released her and returned to the side of the lagoon. Squatting, he reached out and spread his fingers, lowering his hand until it was centimeters from the surface. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stilled himself. After a few moments, the same stillness seemed to flow from his hand and across the surface of the lagoon, traveling from shore and farther and farther into the water.
The stillness spread until the air seemed to stop gusting; even the light grew gellid, thickening until the image of near-elf and water appeared to be a painting.
After some time, dark began to creep upward from the water. Boats, barges and skiffs collecting dead animals slowed until the stopped moving. Abril felt her breath congeal in her lungs and could not breathe.
Then Santiago stood up, turned to her and said, “We are both right.”
“What?”
“True war brews and this is but the first skirmish.”
“There’ve been other die offs! Twelve years of them – how do you explain that away with magic?”
“It’s the dolphins and the manatees.”
“What?”
“It’s the dolphins and the...”
“No, no! I know what you said, I mean to say, ‘What have dead dolphins and manatees...”
“And the pelicans and the algae and other microscopic life,” he interjected.
She nodded, adding, “…and pelicans and phyto and zooplankton have to do with magic and pollution?”
He lifted his chin to the farthest reaches of the lagoon, the water between a barrier island complex, “There is a war brewing.”
“Between who?”
“I can’t tell, but the gods jerking the strings have stuffed each dolphin and each manatee with a spirit and they are the front line – and the manatees are losing.”
“Which side is the good side?”
Santiago turned to look at her, his gaze boring deeply into her own. Abril shuddered as he said, “In the war between these gods, their only good is their entertainment.”
Names: ♀ Uruguay, Spain; ♂ American Hispanic, Portugal Image: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg

Slice of PIE: Alternate Moralities (In Aliens…) & Why Would Anything Be Different In Our Response To ALIENS Than In Our Response To Each Other?

Using the Program Guide of the World Science Fiction Convention in San Jose, California in August 2018 (to which I will be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. The link is provided below where this appeared on pages 75-76.
Ethical Responsibilities to Alien LifeExtraterrestrial life could be anything from microbes to “advanced” intelligence. Benjamin C. Kinney: Author, neuroscientist, and the Assistant Editor of the online science fiction magazine Escape PodGuy Consolmagno: The Vatican’s astronomer…superb!Eric Schwitzgebel: American philosopher and professor of PhilosophyGonzalo Munevar: Retired university professor, philosophy of science, authorIna Roy-Faderman: Author, teacher of poetry, fiction, biomedical ethics, philosophy of science, serves as an associate fiction editor
This must have been a fascinating discussion – one I’ve pondered long as well.
While reflecting on this earlier this morning, I figured we’re quite clear about what to do with microscopic organisms: kill them.
Our society is adept at blasting anything smaller than us – prions, viruses, single-celled organisms, multi-cellular “larger” organisms, BIG multicellular organisms…our psychology, physiology, soul, mind (and whatever other divisions you believe in) is to destroy.
Now most in the SF world would cry, “Not ME! I would welcome lifeforms in all their wondrous forms!”
The hue and cry against anti-vaxxers should speak eloquently against THAT objection. “No, no, NOT diseases! There are some things I draw the line at! I would welcome any OTHER alien lifeform, but, naturally not diseases…”
Naturally. But then, if it’s an alien, how would we know?
In Gregory Bear’s award-winning short story/novella/novel, “Blood Music” (I read it in ANALOG), an artificially created organism intentionally injected by its creator, reproduces until there are trillions and they are self-aware. I don’t know about you, but I shudder at the thought. Heinlein’s THE PUPPETMASTERS is another take on a slightly larger, though equally creepy organism that takes over Human higher functions, leaving the “animal” to take care of the rest. STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE countered that meme with the Trill and their benevolent (usually) “symbionts”. Even so, there were some Humans who weren’t really thrilled with the idea even though the symbionts could only occupy a (usually) voluntary host. ANALOG writer Dean Ing looked at a similar situation in “Anasazi” in which parasitic aliens eat the brains of kids and control the bodies until they get too big…
How about Michael Crichton’s first novel, ANDROMEDA STRAIN? There’s an alien life form that kills Humans. We never get to the point where we know if they were an invading force or a simple infection. Would it matter? If it makes us sick and kills Humans, then it is, by definition, “bad”.
Bigger? The aliens from ALIEN – all they’re doing is reproducing as they have always done. What gives Humans the right to object to their form of reproduction? Why does it give us the creeps when big aliens use us the way the ichneumon wasp uses caterpillars? “Well, because we’re intelligent and caterpillars aren’t!”
More recently? Ted Chiang’s short story, “The Story of Your Life” was (basically rewritten) into the movie, “Arrival” – in it, the aliens come to help us, but MOST of us don’t like them and several actively try and blow them to smithereens. Despite that and once we discover that they have an entirely different perception of time, we all get along together and everything’s hunky dory…or not. Did they invade Earth…or not? How would we know?
Honestly? On the planet I live on, we don’t consider questions like this. Not in any real way. “How would different forms of life fit into our ethical systems?” Simple answer, based on what I’ve seen? They don’t. In fact, “our ethical systems” implies that we HAVE ethical systems. Most of the people I know pretty much have one way of looking at the world: “Get out of my way. Gimme that.”
“What responsibilities - or opportunities – do we have when encountering the alien?” Again, as a world, with the exception of maybe the five people on the panel and a couple of observers, the response would be, “None whatsoever. My and my…family/spouse/pet/house/neighborhood/POSSIBLY city (though a “city” is unlikely as the Human mind can typically grasp about 1000 objects with any kind of clear comprehension).
Individuals might differ, we’ve certainly made a case for the “fact” that scientists will lead the way in the consideration of taking wise responsibilities for the Human race and only do what’s best for both without hesitation and because all scientists are inherently full of wisdom because…“science”.
At any rate, I don’t see us as Humanity responding any differently to aliens than we respond to anyone else we don’t agree with: variously and spontaneously, without any CONSIDERATION of ethics.
Program Book:  https://www.worldcon76.org/images/publications/WC76_PocketProgram_2018_Final_WEB08152018.pdfImage: https://pics.me.me/aliens-admit-to-waiting-several-decades-before-responding-to-earths-6306883.png

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION: CHAPTER 103 The Trials of Team Two – 6

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. All three intelligences hover on the edge of extinction. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society might not only save all three – but become something not even they could predict. Something entirely new...
The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Xiomara; 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.
Choral Reading
Yown’Hoo: “The literal decay of the fiber of Yown’Hoo morality accelerated when we refused peace with Kiiote.”Kiiote: “Interbreeding, internecine war, and ritual cannibalism devoured us in resisting harmony with Yown’Hoo.”Human: “Material gain from both Yown’Hoo and Kiiote fed our greed, so concord held no profit.”All: “We might do something none of us alone can do, we might braid an unbreakable cord of unity.” (3/6/2019)
The Human hung his head and said, “There’s nothing I can give you as proof, except my scent. We all know the scent of my great-grandmother. She tried to save all of us but failed.” He paused, “My great-grandmother failed.” He lifted his head. “She failed but you are part of a mission to complete her dream. You are on a quest to redeem her sacrifice, to realize the world she sought to create. I do not know if I can help, but on my grandmother’s grave, I pledge to help you in any way that I can.”
The Pack sent by Commander Patrick Bakhsh (ret), leader of the Triad refugees from the Twin Cities, Kiiote Xurf, Fax, and Doj, with temporary Herd Mother, Zei-go and the rest, some maturing Herd members Hil-hi-el, Jus-hi-el, and the mere potential intelligence, Eel-go-el moved forward.
The rest of the small Pack they had encountered, stood hidden in the wood behind the great-grandson of St. Admiral, mere shadows, now moved forward…Xurf growled the Triad to a halt then said, “How can you possibly help? You have nothing I can smell, and this is your home.”
The Human laughed – Xurf knew it meant amusement, but a peculiar kind of amusement. Oscar, the Human male used the same tone when he was mocking any one of them. He did it often enough that Xurf had no doubt the intent when he said, “You mock us for no reason, young Human.” The great-grandson of St. Admiral looked startled. Xurf continued, “We were all raised with the Humans of the Triad. We know their expressions as they know ours. There are very few secrets between the nineteen – eighteen – of us.”
“One of you died?”Herd Mother Zei-go said gravely, “One of our youngest, neuter and only potential, but named none-the-less, Ked-sah-ti, died at the hands of Humans who sought to kill all of us.” She snapped a tentacle in irritation, then clapped her jaw. “As you can see they failed at most of their mission as we are here.”
The great-grandson of the greatest Human in the history of three worlds sighed, bowing his head, and said, “I am called Kendi, son of Khadijah and Morrison, grandson of Song and Rey and Abbas and Julianna, great grandson of St. Admiral, Marvel Louise Williams-Frederick.”
Xurf couldn’t help it, his limbs collapsed on themselves as if he was about to flee. His fur though, spiked in rage. He nearly fell to his belly. Only iron willpower kept him civilized and in control of his behavior. The Human Kendi, knew the lineage of St Admiral. Only those in the Triad, and few others, could recite it. Clearly this Human was of that exalted family. He managed to say, “We were directed to find you as Commander Patrick Bakhsh has told us that we may request from you a form of transportation to get us to our destination rendezvous. All has begun to collapse. We have no idea what the other Triads are doing. We must reach our safehouse, but cannot do it without the vehicle you have.”
Kendi stared down at Xurf, then looked to Zei-go. He sat down on the cold ground with a hard thump. He belched abruptly. Even another Human could have detected the sickness on his breath. Xurf said, “What?”
“The transportation you seek?”
“Yes?” said Xurf and Zei-go together. They both took the tone of threatening they had learned from Oscar and Xiomara.
The boy looked alarm then hung his head. Finally he said, “The transportation – the tank – no longer runs. I’ve tried everything I can think of. I’ve gone over the plans a thousand times. I’ve even made friends with an old mechanic in the village not far from here and tried to pump him of information, but even though he’s old, he doesn’t have anything about it!”
“A tank?” Xurf said.
“A vat to store liquids?” said Zei-go?
Kendi looked up at them, scowling. “No, not a vat! A vehicle, heavily armored with steel wheels. Riding in it – which I last did when I was a child…”
“You are a child!” said Xurf. “You’re no older than Oscar!”
“Who’s that?”
Zei-go said, “He is the male half of the Human part of our Triad.”
“You have a teenage dude in your group?”
“What is ‘dude’?” Zei-go muttered.
“A young male,” Kendi said.
“Why would that make any difference?” said Xurf.
“The mechanic said that all boys know how to work with machines like this. I can’t be a boy because I can’t make it work…” he hung his head, shaking it. The Pack Leader and the Herd Mother knew the motion well. Both Xio and ‘Car used it when they were about to give up.
Xurf softened his voice, lowering himself a bit closer to the ground as he said, “The strength of the Triad is that we each have strengths that will play to the others. Show us this ‘tank’. Together, perhaps we can make it work again.”
Kendi lifted his head, nodded and said, “Follow me.”
Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 392

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.
SF Trope: Interstellar TravelCurrent Event: http://ntrs.nasa.gov/archive/nasa/casi.ntrs.nasa.gov/20110015936.pdf
Giovanna Mukhomorov shook her head slowly as she stared through the meteoroid [meteor = “celestial (brighter among the stars) phenomenon”; oid = “still seen”; ite = “a piece of”]-scarred window of the International Space Station. “When the old NASA announced this in 2014, my mom said she cried.”
Artyom Pai-Teles snorted, staring out the same window. “My fathers both shook their heads and said, ‘American hubris’.”
Gio didn’t bother looking at him as she said, “Thirty years later, the same might be said of them when they first planned your genstruction.”
“Hey! I was a successful...”
“How many times did they have to try, AP?”
He could do nothing but grunt. They’d been best friends up here since the day they’d arrived in space. Two years ago. Sometimes he thought it was too bad she was straight gay.
He sighed and she added, “It’s never gonna happen, AP.”
He said, “A man can dream about stroking those massive engines, can’t he?”
She slugged him, forgetting to hold herself down and floated away and into the main stream of older men and women, prime-age men and women, young adult men and women, and a smattering of boys and girls. Most of them politely excused themselves, bouncing like oddly-shaped ping pong balls as they moved hurriedly around Gio.
One of them did not. A young adult grabbed a bar near her feet and said, “You need to stay out of my way, kid.”
Flicking her toes, she came within a millimeter of his rather big nose. He flinched but didn’t move. Impressed despite herself, she said, “Titus, you’re ninety-one days older than me. You were one grade behind me. Even if you do the simplest math you’re most capable of, you still come out behind and I still don’t like you.” She pulled herself up and shoved herself toward the assembly area. “Come on Artyom. We have a galaxy to explore.”
He followed her, taking her hand, but she didn’t see the look on Titus Polamalu’s face. He did. He not only didn’t like the look, somewhere deep down inside of him, he found himself terrified of the mind of the man who watched his best friend.
Names: ♀ Brazil, Russia; ♂ Russia, Brazil, ♂ Hawaii, Hawaii Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/13/Shuttle-c_launch_painting.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 142: Stepan of Burroughs

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. If you’d like to read it from beginning to end (100,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.
At the end of the street, people were running. Copdrones hovered in the air, laser scans flickering over the faces while at the same time dodging flying debris, clubs, sticks, and stunner shots. Projectile weapons had been banned on Mars a century ago and had never made a return. But the technology to kill without projectiles had been honed to create seriously deadly weapons. Before he could reflect on the ability of Humanity to create more and deadlier weapons, and the failure of the Unified Faith in curbing that desire not at all, the mob took a sudden turn and he found himself facing a wall of running, cursing, and panicked Humanity.
They ran, fighting among themselves, and he realized suddenly that it wasn’t just Rimmers, poor and dressed in cast offs from other parts of Burroughs, wealthier parts. There were others mixed in; some dressed in clothing he’d only seen in historical video from Earth – women in hijab, men wearing yarmulke, women in saris, men with collar tabs, there were a few turbans, and even a black and white head covering he thought had been called a habit; all of them had been banned on Mars.
There was a brief break in the mob, then another crowd followed after them. Some had clubs. One or two had gardening tools. Others lobbed stones. This mob was dressed in coveralls, usually with logos stenciled or sewn onto one the breasts; these were the workers. They were not from the towers that poked up from the Dome, rather they were the ones who worked at the base of the towers.
Stepan took a step forward and as he did, someone tackled him from the left. Rather than a crushing weight, it was light and knocking him over owed more to the speed of his attacker than mass. He rolled and when he looked over, he shouted, “Quinn!”
The boy scrambled to his feet, “You gotta get outta here! The other ones, the smarty pants ones, they said they needed you!”
“For what?”
“They got a plan! They’re smart, what do I know about smart! They sent me back to get you ‘cause they knew there was gonna be a riot!”
“How’d they know that?”
“They got someone they stay in touch with, someone what knows what’s goin’ on in all the Domes! They said you gotta follow me and I’ll lead you to them!” Quinn scrambled to his feet and reached down to drag Stepan to his.
Stepan tried to pull away, but genetic engineering gave the Artificial Humans muscle that was almost three times as dense as standard-born Humans. They’d been engineered with faster reflexes, and their neural net was less tangled and more tightly woven. They were, in many ways, superior. But they were internally gender-free, though their external appearance was left to chance and then artificially enhanced or designed based on the owner’s needs or whim. He shook off that thought as he started to let Quinn drag him back into the warehouse. Stepan tried to pull free. As the roar from the riot grew, Quinn tightened his grip and shouted, “I’m supposed to send you to them in Breakport. They’ll meet you at the marsbug Bradbury rental store.”
Stepan struggled against Quinn’s grip, “I’m staying here with the garden!”
“You can come back when the people aren’t going to murder you and feed you to Mayor Peta Nasseri.”
“I have to…”
“You have to live today so you can come back and keep doing your God’s work!” Quinn threw Stepan over his shoulder. “You’re gonna go down the chute…” Quinn opened the floor chute and kissed Stepan on the cheek, then shoved him into the chute and slammed it shut. Outside the crowd got uglier. Looking at the door, Quinn sighed, then hurried to the secret stairway door. A moment later, the warehouse was empty.
Image: https://media.recovery.org/wp-content/uploads/recovery-shutter280148666-man-watching-sunrise-over-city-640x300.jpg