Guy Stewart's Blog, page 85

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION 86: Oscar Alone 2

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.
“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)
I was finally loose enough to set off on my own trek. I had about thirty kilometers to go until I could head back up to the surface. Retired had said I should be close to the Dunes by then. He’d another surprise, too. He’d given me directions to a shelter that contained a wing I could use to fly, combining helium and a small hydrogen jet. Slow, sure, but faster than walking to Saint Clodoald. Once there, he wanted me to see if I could get the cargo plane flying or the tank running, or some other thing that could carry us all the way to Grendl.
I found that if I kept my elbow pressed to my side, I could almost jog. As I lit out for my rendezvous with the surface, I realized that if I had secret orders, then everyone else could have secret orders, too.
I just hoped we were all working on the same side, though we knew that the conjures wouldn’t be…no idea where the things would crop up.
On the other hand, why would Retired have sent me to get something so big if we were just going to sneak away by ourselves? He had a plan. For all of us. For all I knew, he was working with others as well.
We hadn’t heard from the Triad Corporation for months before we were attacked down in the Cities. They were supposed to have taken care of us.
But what if Retired was our contact with the Corporation? What if my great uncle Rion was our contact? Both of them were gone now and they’d put me – literally – on point. I had to get the transport – the rest of them would gather the people that would go on the transport.
For a moment, I was blinded as the entire plan came into sharp view: each Team would gather up a leader of some sort. My guess would be each Group would gather up some one that would be safe for us to connect with – allies, I’d hope.
Retired, GURion, and me? If I had the transport, there had to be someone who would be able to run it. Who? Human allies? There weren’t any that we know of. It seemed that this whole thing was being run by…well, aliens.
But what about St. Admiral? She’d given her life for the plan – a plan that was supposed to meld all three societies into one. We’d been taught that the society the Corporation was hoping for would be a van Der Waals society.
The name came from a scientist in the 20thCentury who came up with evidence that there was a force that held molecules together – it wasn’t as strong as ionic and covalent bonds which did their work by either sharing or giving up or picking up electrons. But it was more subtle than the others and was the force that let geckos walk on walls, and nanotechnology, and holding enzymes together, as well as being fundamental to condensed matter physics. It was both mysterious and incredibly powerful.
That was us. At least that’s what we were supposed to become – something better than any of the three could be paired or alone.
I kept running, taking breaks for water and some of the protein bars I had in my hip pack. It wasn’t really long before I reached a branch in the tunnel. This was my place to get off and go up to the surface. I could still see my breath – it had been a constant ten degrees C our whole time. The sleeping room had been warmer, but I also knew it was winter up on top.
That would probably mean snow. I stopped at a ramp I came to. There were no more branches. The ground just went up. At the foot of the ramp was a chest which I opened. Boots, pants, a jacket, and a fur-lined hat. All of them a little big for me, but I tied the boots tight and figured they’d be fine. From here, Saint Clodoald was about thirty-five kilometers straight west. I glanced at my chrono. It was still light, but at this time of year, it would remain so for only another hour. I wasn’t excited about floundering around in the dark, so I poked around, finding a backpack which I opened.
There was a Kiiote coldlight and I used that to root around in the bag – it was designed to be held in the mouth – where I found a knife and a collapsible bottle as well as a small supply of dried food. By then, sunset was less than a half an hour away. I ran up to the surface and cracked the door.
Something rammed it, knocking me back, my head slamming against the wall…
Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 354

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.
Fantasy Trope: Historical Fantasy (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HistoricalFantasy)Current Event: http://www.mlive.com/entertainment/bay-city/index.ssf/2015/12/the_spirit_of_christmas_was_al.html
Filip Dybdahl sighed then said, “All of the magic has gone out of the world.” He was working a potion to lay down gold circuitry on an enchanted matrix for a board to be packed off into space. The telescope the University was working on for the United Nations would help astrologers make more accurate horoscopes for each of the signatory countries. Non-signatories would just have to take their chances with fate. 
Shrugging, Maja Wiig said, “Our ancestors didn’t help keep the saints alive, you know. They could have been Catholic, but chose to be Protestants instead. Killing off all the saints, as it were.”
Filip grunted. “If there was one bit of magic I could call back,” he began.
“Don’t!” Maja exclaimed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t you know anything about the intersection of the real and the fantastic?”
He straightened up, thumbs going into the small of his back, shaking his head. “I had the same fundamental courses you did before I sat for my Masters in Alchemy. What are you talking about?”
“You remember when you took that elective class in Classical Egyptian Incantations?”
“Duh. Professor McGuillicudy said if I wanted to get my bachelor’s I had to take her class.”
“Yeah? Well I took a physics class instead.”
His eyes widened. “You took Planar Mathematic Spells for Physicists?”
She shrugged again. “Calculus was always fun for me. Conjuring gravity anomalies was a great way to meet boys with brains.”
“So you learned about this what, ‘intersection of the real and the fantastic’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
She scowled at him and said, “You sound pretty hostile. I don’t know if I want to tell you about it. Especially if you’re standing there ready to bite my head off. Whatever happened to your Scandinavian coolness?”
“It heated up when we got here. The Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy isn’t exactly a place where I can lay back on my frozen butt and bask in the glories of my previous accomplishments! I’ve had to fight against these Gud forbannet Amerikanere for everything I’ve gotten.” He swung a flat-handed chop at her. “You have, too!”
She surrendered with both hands up and a laugh, “You’re the one who wanted to bring back the magic of Christmas!”
He opened his mouth to continue his attack, then closed it. He closed his eyes, then put dug one thumb into each temple, adding, “I’m tired. Not myself.” He looked up at her and for a moment, his gaze was bleak. “And I miss home. It’s Christmas…”
Names: ♀ Norway; ♂ NorwayImage: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: What Went RIGHT With “A Woman’s Place” (Submitted 11 times since 2000, sold to PERIHELION in 2013) Guy Stewart #43

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”.
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!
As far as I can tell, I tried to sell this story longer than anything else I’ve ever written – with the possible exception of EMERALD OF EARTH…
Why did I keep at it?
I guess because I loved this story. On reflection, I think my mom was the model (appropriate as next weekend is Mother’s Day) for . This summer, we’ll celebrate her memory two years after her passing. Ruby Marcillon is a long-time Lunar worker, pilot, paramedic, and anything else she needs to be.
She’s got a smart mouth and she’s funny! I loved her, but then, I love my mom, too, so my perspective wasn’t exactly unbiased. So let me see if I can step back and be objective. What did I do RIGHT about this story?
Let me go for a second, into one of the things that went wrong. “A Woman’s Place” was written when the electronic magazine age had barely begun. One of the subs I made was to SciFi.com, edited by Ellen Datlow, which ceased publication in 2005. I sent it twice to Artemis, which closed down in 2003. Tales of the Unanticipated died a few years ago, as did Ray Gun Revival and Absolute Magnitude. Two others, I can’t even find references for: Fantastic Stories (2002), and HMS Beagle (2002)…so of the places I submitted the story, only ANALOG, ANDROMEDA SPACEWAYS, and the Baen Contest remain active; so I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t try and send it anywhere else.
I revised the story and send it to PERIHELION after Sam Belatto published my first piece with them, “Invoking Fire”. Sam took it and ran it.
It can’t be accessed anymore, but I just discovered that he does keep a few Permalinks of stories at the author’s request. I want to pursue that…
At any rate, why did it eventually get accepted?
Ruby is a great character! Her entrance into the story and her first words is fabulous: “From the shadow in front of the LookOut!’s door, a female tenor voice crooned, ‘If you ain’t the Pickled Sexist from the Twentieth Century, then I just won the Miss Universe swimsuit competition in a bikini.’”
Priceless! She and her ex-husband, who is nearly as famous as she is, are sent out on a Lunar rescue mission which necessitates her removing her helmet and becoming the first Human to breathe the air of an alien world. The science of it, while close to fantastic is at least feasible; and the resolution of the story covers both the rescue and a their personal struggle – as they haven’t spoken about the death of their adopted daughter for years.
I don’t usually say this, but after thirteen years of re-writes, I think I finally got this story right. I SHOULD have tried ANALOG again; even ASIMOV’s or F&SF. There’s a good chance it would have been picked up.
As it is, it was an exercise for me in developing character.
I went down to my paper files to look up how she grew and it was…instructive. In several earlier drafts, when she enters the Lunar Bar (or Martian Bar in one version), she announces, “If that ain’t the Last Sexist of the Twenty-Second Century, then I  must be at the Gorilla Recovery Reserve outside of Kinshasa, Zaire.”
Hmm…that would have landed with a resounding “thud!” on the ears (or eyes as the case may be). It’s not in the slightest bit funny, though it was trying to be. I guess that it might have been practice that finally made her line sing. Thirteen years of practice…
The piece I sold to PERIHELION clocked in at 5000 words. I’ve discovered that that is a sweet spot for fiction magazines, though hitting it regularly has been a struggle for me. It seems MY sweet spot in about 8000 words. *sigh*
At any rate, the reason it was successful was because I wrote it over a period of 13 years. I also wrote it at the correct length and I’d finally developed a sense of comedic timing. Oh, and I finally learned to trim out things I thought were funny – because they weren’t funny at all.
All for the best – I had an idea yesterday for a humorous story about a road veterinarian who gets a call to northern Minnesota because a US experiment may have invaded Canada…stay tuned for details.
Later!
Image: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9f/22/3b/9f223b1e57a36e14db3eb13715fbe3f9.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 125: DaneelAH & Company Leaving Burroughs Dome…

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 ChristiansOn the roof of a warehouse on the Rim of Burroughs Dome, DaneelAH said, “The stele, the dolphin suit, there are probably other artifacts scattered all over the surface of Mars.”
“Why?” QuinnAH, the pastor’s young artificial human and assistant, said suddenly. “Really? So what? There’s all kinds of artifacts out there! Why should any of them matter to us?”
“Good question, Son,” said Stepan. “They wouldn’t matter if we know what they were doing here. If there is life elsewhere in the universe, what was it doing on Mars?”

QuinnAH shrugged, “Dying?”
HanAH lifted his hand to strike the boy until Stepan said, “It could be.” He shook his head, “But we won’t know.” He handed waved to them, “You can have the tail piece as well as the VR unit. We,” he looked down at QuinnAH, “have work to do here.” He nodded. “Good luck.”
DaneelAH said, “Thank you, Stepan. Whatever we find, we’ll send word.” He gestured to the floor opening, “May we take the steps down to the floor?”
“Be my guest. Be careful of the spacesuit with bones.”
HanAH saluted, “We will, Reverend.”
They started down the stairs, stepping carefully around the suit. “What do you suppose they’re going to do with it?” said MishAH.
“Obviously he’s going to sell it to the highest bidder,” said HanAH, shaking his head. “He’s a charlatan just like the rest of his ilk – the Molesters, Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers…”
MishAH interjected, “Don’t forget yourself, dear vatmate.”
“What?”
DaneelAH laughed as he bounced down the steps and turned on the landing, “We’re always included in that list of radicals and undesirables of Mars.”
HanAH silently outpaced them down the steps, slamming the door at the bottom a few moments later. DaneelAH shook his head and said, “Now he’ll be in a mood for days.”
“I don’t care. Sometimes he’s such a know-it-all I want to slap him upside the head and tell him to get over himself.”
“Oh, that would be effective,” said AzAH. “Then the martyr complex would set in and he’d be in a funk for a month!” They reached the bottom at the same time and stepped into the dim interior of the warehouse. The door across the filthy expanse of floor was open, letting in orange light. “Looks like it’s sunset.”
“Or a dust storm,” DaneelAH said. Though weather and climate were outside of his specialty, knowledge of weather was invaluable when excavating outside of the Domes --  even coordinating a team of robotic surveyors. He’d done that many times when he was young and fresh from the vat. While HanAH had a keener sense of weather change…
He shouted from across the warehouse, “Hurry up! There’s something going on and I think now would be a good time to get out of Dodge,” the group, spurred by his tone, arrived at the door at a gallop.
MishAH, master of patterns stepped up to the door, saying, “What do you perceive?”
“I can hear shouting in the distance. I thought I heard an explosion just before I stepped out. I wouldn’t have exposed us if I was just curious.”
She nodded, stepping out cautiously and listening intently. She stepped back in, “You’re right. Not only is it shouting, it’s chanting.” She reach out, touched each one, and said, “We have to move fast and now.”
DaneelAH said, “What’s going on?”
MishAH made a face, then said, “I’m not certain because the sounds are distorted by distance and the shape of the Dome but there’s a crowd out there and they’re angry about an individual. I think the name is ‘Natan’…or something similar.”
“Who’s Natan?” HanAH said. “I’ve been surfing the police net for news and never heard that name.”
“That’s because he doesn’t exit anymore,” said Stepan’s voice from the darkness.
The vat mates turned as one. HanAH said, “He’s dead?”
“Didn’t say that,” said Stepan as he walked up to them. “He’s just different these days.”
AzAH said suddenly, “Your voice is stressed. You’re not saying something vital. What is it?”
Stepan sniffed. “A skill like that, if it became well-known, could get you arrested or showed out the airlock.”
“Don’t deflect,” she said. “You know something about this character.”
“Of course I do. I’m Natan. Natan Wallach.”
MishAH and HanAH cried out in startlement. DaneelAH took several step back. Only AzAH stepped closer. “You’re Natan Wallach, one of  the Heroes of Mars during the ascent of the Unified Faith In Humanity. You single-handedly defended seventy-two children in an elementary school from Christian and Buddhist gang members caught up in inter-gang warfare?”
“So goes the legend,” said Stepan.
“Why would a mob want to kill you?” MishAH said.
Stepan snorted this time then said, “Because my father has likely told them that not only am I a fake, I became a Christian in the process.”
“You didn’t defend those kids?” AzAH whispered.
“That much of the legend is true. I kept them safe from a crazy mob intent on fighting a turf war around them. The part that isn’t true is that they were just a couple of gangs; hopeless kids, sons and daughters of immigrants who’d come to Mars to start a new life and found that it was just more of the same thing. Even with the United Faith in Humanity as a foundation, they felt just as helpless as they had when they lived in Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, or Communist countries back on Earth. The ‘united faith in humanity was just one more broken promise – and I had planned to tell everyone on Mars the story.”
Image: http://img11.deviantart.net/c3c5/i/2009/067/9/3/dr__manhattan_by_theknightinhell.png

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 353

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: Absurdly Sharp BladeCurrent Event: http://archaeology.about.com/od/ancientweapons/a/damascus_steel.htm, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/29/space-elevators-stronger-materials_n_3353697.html
Zahra Gourian stared up. Straight up. Into the cloudless sky. The base of the space elevator, Zulfiqar was fifteen kilometers across and had roots that extended half that down into the ground and three times that in all directions. Plastic injected sand formed a massive block anchoring the largest object ever engineered by Humanity. Where she stood with her new friend, it was still the dark before dawn. “Isn’t it blessed?” she said faintly.
Hydar Aualgeath shook his head, “Why did they name it after the Prophet’s sword?”
She looked over at him and said, “It’s symbolic.”
“Of what?”
Zahra snorted and said, “You’ve been away too long.”
“I was born in Minneapolis just like my dad. I’m as American as Taco Bell®.”
“That’s American?”
“F0unded in southern California in 1962.”
She grunted and said, “I love Taco Bell.”
“Me, too.”
“But you hate the Sword of the Prophet?”
“No need for Islam United to threaten the rest of us with a sword hanging over our heads.”
“The world’s been threatening us for hundreds of years!”
Hydar sighed then said, “I chose Allah not because He was stronger but because He is better than any other faith offering I have ever studied. Besides, Islam has threatened various parts of the world for just as long – we’ve proven our staying power. Now we need to prove our building power.” Zahar didn’t realize she’d clenched her fist and raised it until Hydar stared at her and softly said, “So you are in favor of killing all Humans who don’t agree with you in order to go to the stars and kill all the aliens who don’t agree with you?”
“You’re Muslim!”
“I am. But my intent isn’t to subjugate infidels, it’s to emancipate them. The same will hold true when I’m on the first ship out there.”
“You’re only fifteen,” Zahar said.
“Yeah, but I’ll be twenty-five, then thirty-five, then forty-five. Then I’ll be out there somewhere.” He gestured to the infinite depths of space. “I’ll bring the emancipation of Mohammed to the Universe.”
She stared at him then turned away, shaking her head. Without looking at him, she said, “Emancipation only allows others to enslave us – just as they’ve always done. We need to subjugate the wrong thinking of the infidel, no matter what world they come from or what their shape.”
“What are we subjecting it to?” Hydar said softly.
“The same thing the superior has always subjected the inferior to – the undefeatable logic of our faith and our lives.”
“I suppose superior technology is proof of Allah’s greatness?”
“Insha'Allah.”
He nodded sadly. “Then the Koran is unnecessary to demonstrate Allah’s greatness?”

Zahar spun around, looked up into the morning sky. The sun’s rays were racing down the razor straightness of the Sword of the Prophet eventually to touch the Earth. That was the moment the Sword began to sing, and the song it sang was of power...
Names: ♀Iran, Afghanistan; ♂ Iraq, SudanImage: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b1/3,2,1_blast-off!_(15871161250).jpg/511px-3,2,1_blast-off!_(15871161250).jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: Misreading BROTHERS OF EARTH

NOT using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Helsinki, Finland in August 2017 (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…
Carolyn Cherry had the first novel she’d written published (after the SECOND novel she’d written) twelve years after the American Civil Rights Act of 1964. The novel was aptly titled BROTHERS OF EARTH.
One reviewer wrote, “If anyone knows what C.J. Cherryh was thinking about when she wrote this, I'd love to know. It might have been something else entirely. Or maybe she made it up out of whole cloth.” (http://smuhlberger.blogspot.com/2006/07/cj-cherryhs-brothers-of-earth.htm) The reviewer takes it to be reminiscent of the interaction of three ancient Earth societies.
Reviewers on goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57091.Brothers_of_Earth) take an even dimmer view of her book: “Not great, but certainly good. The seeds of her wonderful alien/human/various species thing is there…”; “I didn't find any of the characters believable in their motivations and there was no real characterisation/emotional realism, as well as the slow pacing.”; “Kurt rather thick-headedly brings disaster down on everyone around him by his ignorance of the ethnic tensions of the city, so that the suspense is about just how bad it will be and how much will be salvaged.”; “But it piles improbability on improbability until the storm in a tea cup becomes a full-fledged civil war, amongst people with very long and difficult to pronounce names.”; “the plot is pretty boilerplate sci-fi: lonely human finds himself marooned on an alien…world. Gets involved in local culture and politics and so on. Conflict, both bloody and cultural ensue.”; “a pulpy, adventure-centric novel like this.”; “fairly simple plot and characters, reminiscent to some extent of Andre Norton.”; “this book is over 30 years old and reads like it.”
I didn’t read any more reviews because they seem to flop in the same vein…
A quick bit of background: I am a school counselor and was a science teacher for thirty years before that. The school I work in is nearly 70% non-white, borders a major metropolitan urban area (which also happens to be the “bad part of town”), and about 85% of our students come from families that qualify for free/reduced lunch federal programs. As a big, old, fat, white guy, I have grown to be very aware of cultural, ethnic, and race issues. Equity is a major issue in our district, situated as it is adjacent to a large northern city. I refused to vote in the past election (national, state, and local) because I saw little difference in the candidates being offered up for our election.
Maybe that’s why I saw the images I did when I read CJ Cherryh’s first published science fiction novel. Twelve years (or less) after blacks were legally protected from racism by the federal government, they had continued to live as slaves to an economy and government controlled by the people who had either owned them or condoned the owning of them by inaction.
The images I saw in BROTHERS OF EARTH were of a society on an alien world that was little different from the one she was living in in 1976. Of course she tweaked reality – the Indras had invaded Sufika land rather than taking the Sufika from their land and bringing them to Indras lands.
But the effect was the same, and there are scenes and dialogue that were very little changed in the US at that time. Take for example this scene from Chapter 10 might have been a conversation written on Twitter last summer:
“You have taken us from our land, our gods, our language, our customs. You accept us as brothers only when we look like you and talk like you, and you despise us for savages when we are different…Here I am, born a prince of Osanef, and I cut my hair and wear Indras robes and speak with the clear round tones of Indresul, like a good civilized man, and I am accepted. Shan…does what many of us would do if we did not find life so comfortable on your terms.”
“…the long-haired braid in the back, that is an ancient custom, the warrior’s braid. No one has done it since the Conquest. It was forbidden the Sufaki then. But in recent years the rebel spirits have revived the custom, and the Robes of Color, which distinguish houses.”
While I haven’t finished the book, it’s clear where the lines of the two cultures will intersect: civil war.
The main character’s job as I see it, is as an observer; a named version of the unnamed viewpoint character in Ralph Ellison’s INVISIBLE MAN. He’s not part of either society, yet has gotten himself entangled in what I think of as the dominant “white” culture of this world. He has been victimized by the subjugated “black” culture of the same world. The scope of course is in a city, a microcosm of the society as a whole, and while the Indras are themselves a despised offshoot of yet another superpower (American roots are…hmmm. And those same people still can’t figure out whether to love or hate us (http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-20857972)), they are fighting a cultural battle that is fascinatingly predictive of Ferguson, MO in 2014 and reflective of the Watts Neighborhood of Los Angeles in 1965.
I’m continuing to read and may update this essay later, but the intersection in BROTHERS OF EARTH seems clear from this point. Far from being a trivial story by a soon-to-be-famous speculative fiction writer, this books seems to have laid out a scenario that is playing out in the second decade of the 21st Century.
Oh, last point, I find that the title itself makes me think that Cherryh’s intent was as much to spark conversation as to entertain. It seems to speak to race relations in the US at the time better than it speaks to relationships between two alien peoples. As far as I can tell, the people reading the book (then and now) entirely misread it (out of ignorance or because they found the message too pointed)……or I’m reading way too much into it.
Image: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/8e/d7/cf/8ed7cf3c31a69c5c0f77a501b0a17b58.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION Chapter 85 The Trials of Team Four: 2

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.
“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)
“We go!” Dao-hi snarled, then tipped her slender head back and howled. A moment later, she raced ahead, what remained of her Herd fast behind, at times dodging between her flashing legs. A short distance, and she found the abandoned branch of the tunnel and raced up the ramp screened by a holographic image of a collapsed tunnel wall. Ten minutes later, they emerged into a partially collapsed Human garage and after that, though an easily collapsed door and into belly deep snow surrounding a Human forestry station.
With a flash of hooves, she broke through untouched snow to lead her Herd into the dense pine woods. The smallest stopped, shouting after them, “We will be lost! Go on without…”
Dao-hi snarled again, swung around and charged at them. The immatures wailed. She unsheathed her tentacles, leaned to one side, and plucked them up, tossing them on her back. “Hang to me like infants!” She winced as she felt the mostly dulled birthclaws of the immature Lan-mai-ti dig into her hide. Its strength was small when newborn because it was barely larger than a Human foot. At this size, she wondered if it would draw blood should it ride much longer. The potential male, Por-go-el had to content itself with wrapping tentacles around whatever parts were convenient, typically her flowing hair. The thought flashed that she should shake them off and leave them behind. She could think of no use for them in the potential search for the Primeval Retired had whispered to her.
She’d refrained from rearing in outraged laughter because Retired was whom he was, but she had little faith that she would find such a creature, especially here on Earth. The Herd had explored far and wide for a world both suitable and capable of supporting young. Most alien planets might allow conception, delivery, or even rapid growth, but all but Earth had proven to be repeatedly unsuitable to produce both strong young and warriors.
That the Kiiote found Earth equally perfect made her tentacles swell with rage and her eyesight narrow to forward focus. That Humans had already occupied such a perfect world…
She stopped abruptly, legs straight and digging into the snow. The immature and the potential tumbled from her back, one leaving a pair of gouges that would sure become impressive scars, if she could direct the healing fevers correctly; the other simply left her back with great clumps of fur.
“Herd Mother!” both shrieked in unison. She extended her tentacles to their maximum length, snatching both from the banks of frozen water ‘Car and Xio called “snow”, curling them tightly to her sides. Her forward and rear hearts uncharacteristically pounded in unison, creating a hyperaware state Dao-hi had only experienced during mating and the most tasteful debates with the Mothers who held her respect.
“Silence!” she cried, her voice silent to most of Earth’s creatures, though a startled yip from a pack of coyote made her snort in disgust. Those creatures had always been a source of great humor among the Herd! They were such ridiculous caricatures of her Kiiote Triad-mates, that when she did get the chance to see them, she invariably made jokes about how much their Human friends looked like the recordings they’d seen of Japanese Snow Monkeys…
“Herd Mother?” said Por-go-el.
“Yes. Our mission, which I did not believe has now been confirmed in a most startling way.”
“What mission?” said Lan-mai-ti.
“We seek the Primeval.” Por-go-el shuddered and the immature dug its claws into her side. “The Primeval chose this world for all of the Herd. It chose it because it was perfect. At the same time, Kiiote discovered that it was perfect for them. And Humans have bred here for tens of thousands of year.” She paused, “It does not strike you as strange?”Por-go-el said, “This world is more than it appears, Herd Mother. It must have been both chosen and ideal for a reason deeper than we can see.”
The Herd Mother curled her neck to look at the potential male. If it continued to grow in such keep thought, she would have to make sure she bore at least one litter with it. She said, “Indeed, Por-gel. Indeed. The Primeval is on this world; and we go to meet her!”
Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 352

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: http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AndIMustScreamCurrent Event: http://nypost.com/2013/10/15/brother-of-missing-autistic-teen-searches-on-his-own/
Yarelis Smits held up her tablet computer and shouted to the mass of people, “My foster brother has been missing since yesterday! He’s autistic and he can’t speak! A friend of his from school saw him in this neighborhood late yesterday,” she stopped shouting as the crowd had quieted. “Please remember that even though he can’t speak, Ray Cantú can hear us.”
A girl from school, a year older than Ray, who was in ninth grade, said, “This is a really bad neighborhood. What if we can’t find him?”
Yarelis’ heart felt as if it had stopped in her chest. She looked around the crowd, hoping to see Dorian. The high school police liaison officer had showed up after most of the volunteers had arrived, hanging back, supposedly separated from them all, but still part of them. No one else had noticed him yet.
She was also pretty sure no one had noticed that he was an android. The only reason Yarelis knew was because her Mom was a detective with the local peakers – peace keepers and Yarelis had stumbled across a stray text message that hinted at it. When she’d asked Mom, who never lied outside of work, she’d admitted it.So to find her missing brother, she had a bunch of people she went to school with, and a robot cop. All she was really missing was her best friend, the mysterious, supposed reincarnation of the late Turkish singer, Selda Bağcan.
Warm breath brushed her ear as a voice mimicking a Turkish accent said, “What, you think I was going to leave you all alone with these insane muggles?”Yarelis rolled her eyes, the whole HP phenom was so four decades ago. Jane Eyre – which was her real, actual name – was the only one Yarelis knew who still read the things. Except for her, but Yarelis only read them because Jane was her best friend. That’s what she told everyone, anyway.
The girl shouted again, “Isn’t it dangerous here?”
“Dangerous for who?” called a low, bass voice. Yarelis didn’t recognize it and stood on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd. On the edge opposite Darius, there was movement as people who had actually heard the voice turned, then parted between the speaker and Yarelis.
“You’re not from school,” she said, scowling.
“No, I’m from the neighborhood.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You might call me a vigilante.”“What? My brother’s harmless – he’s autistic, mute. He’d never say anything to anyone!”
The man, who wore a faded, black cowboy hat, pushed up the rim then looked at her intently from under it. He said, “They say it’s the silent one’s is the most dangerous.”
“He’d never hurt anyone!”
“Then how do you explain this?” the man said and pulled his hat off. The blood mixed with his gray hair had been concealed by the back rim of the hat. “I was on my way here and he attacked me with a broken board. He...”
“You must have done something to frighten him, then!” Yarelis cried.
“He ain’t the one scared here, missy. I am.”
Names: ♀Puerto Rican, Dutch, ; ♂ Mexican
Image: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OCWXw6InF70/TKigMBk87NI/AAAAAAAAAy4/tL7MhIfL9CM/s1600/2212_1025142570.jpg

Slice of PIE: Prayer as a Plot Device & THE AGENT -- An APEXView Original Thriller Series!

NOT using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Helsinki, Finland in August 2017 (to which I 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. 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…
Us 21stCentury folk have a weird idea of what, precisely, prayer is. For the most part, we think it has little to do with laptops, cellphones, GMO-made Human insulin, skin cancer, organ transplants, and bioremediation.
Yet a quick exploration of the word “prayer” leads to a fascinating observation: it shares the proto-Indo-European root “prek” with a number of other words. Some of them: “precarious”, “precaution”, and a dual-use word for logical argument word, postulate (to “suggest or assume the existence, fact, or truth of (something) as a basis for reasoning, discussion, or belief.) that has a math usage as well: “an assumption used as a basis for mathematical reasoning.”
This is interesting because in geometry, “A postulate is a statement that is assumed true without proof.” For example, you’d think that this postulate is absolutely true: “Postulate 1: A line contains at least two points.”, yet it is only ASSUMED true but doesn’t need proof.
Would that we did the same for prayer! It’s OK in math, and logic, but NOT OK in religion. Funny that.
A number of religions allow for prayer and it’s interpreted in many, many ways. A slow read through the Wikipedia entry (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayer) is very educational.
So how does this all connect at ALL with plot?
I’m at a men’s retreat with a group from my church, most of us also attend a Bible study together. The subject (in case you can’t guess!) is prayer. So then, how DO prayer and plot intersect? There’s certainly no fancy word-way they do. But the spirit of the two DO intersect. Paul wrote 32 prayers in his letters to the various churches; in the Book of Acts alone, the disciples prayed 37 times and it was recorded, so the subject is important as well.
I sometimes think that the Bible is only good for spiritual advice of suggestions or teaching, but I forget that there IS entertaining story in it. Noah’s ark has been made into twenty-one movies (according to Wikipedia) alone; thirteen about the Exodus; seven just about Joseph, including of course, Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat (1999)…I’m not going to count them all. If you do, the article’s here, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_films_based_on_the_Bible
So, to see if there was a word intersection, I searched in my Etymology site and alas, I couldn’t see anything. I tried looking up “plot” in my Bible concordance, expecting very little – and I stumbled across an incredibly detailed story that, were it expanded into a screenplay or a novel and then set in the 21stCentury, would probably reach BLOCKBUSTER series status!
It begins with the betrayal of a state government by a former agent. When the state finds out about it, they begin to plot the kidnapping and murder of the agent. There’s deceit, lying, and intrigue to start with – then the feds get involved! Oh, and it’s not because they were spying; this superpower doesn’t think the state’s worth their time to do anything more than routine monitoring. But the nephew of the agent overhears the state plans and at his mother’s urging, goes to the feds and spills the plot. The chief of the federal agency believes the kid, speaks for him, and is granted NOT just a SWAT team, but seventy Humvees, and two hundred foot soldiers and paratroopers!
It ends when the feds storm the prison, grab the ex-state agent and remove him to a secure location. Though it’s not explicit, I think there’s an implication of some sort of running battle between the state and the feds! Once the man is rescued, he’s locked up (for his own good, right???)…this one might be called, THE AGENT AT DAMASCUS.
The federal officer in charge of the prison attempts to get the former state agent to turn informer on the state – and keeps trying to break him for two years! He doesn’t want to get the armed forces on him because he has secrets to keep, so he’s subtle, maybe even playing psychological games with the man – who, having been a state agent for some time and had an extremely impressive kill record, never give the officer what he wants, and after two years he was replaced, probably THE AGENT IN HIDING.
The new man, once he reviews the files, he decides to send the prisoner higher up; where he is bumped higher still, until the man is sent to the capital because he’s requested an audience with the supreme leader of the nation. By now, I have to imagine that the case has hit both the national news as well as the tabloids; most likely the LAST thing the state government wanted to happen! On arrival in the capital, he not only was given a place, but the state representatives asked to see him – and he turned THEM on each other. While he never saw the president, he stayed in the capital for two more years…this one say, call it THE AGENT ON TRIAL.
This plot is clearly outlined starting in Acts 23, chapter 12 and running until the end of the book; Saul, who’d become Paul after an encounter with the Lord Jesus Christ, then goes on to write most of the letters of the New Testament – writing prayers we still use two thousand years later. Interleaved through the story are the prayers of one man, Paul of Tarsus, former agent of the state, traitor, and now a man with influence in that nation’s capital.
If you left the the Christianity out, you could market it as a standard thriller…well enough. You get the idea. Prayer and plot; who knew they could be the foundation of “THE AGENT: an APEXView Original Mini-Series”…
Resources: https://www.cliffsnotes.com/study-guides/geometry/fundamental-ideas/postulates-and-theoremsImage: https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRr31r4AneP1PHhx9VkuA-6t4-SMWpyc5ZQj1SkiAJqJAHDGMdS

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 124: Paolo Exiting 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 (80,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.
The young Lotharian – a flame-haired Martian of some sort of mutated stock – had passed Paolo his message. After knocking him over while he was supposedly jogging.
Judas pulled Paolo to his feet and said, “You have to get moving. The regular police are satisfied, but I’m pretty sure that there are mind police still skulking nearby.”
“Did you say ‘skulk’?”
Judas clearly couldn’t keep himself from a faint smile. “Yes. Yes, I did.” He bumped Paolo with a shoulder. “I like to practice ancient vocabulary.” They started walking. “You said you needed a new marsbug?”
“It would help. I’m not sure how much more surface time this one can take.”
Judas nodded, then with a jerk of his chin, directed Paolo to a spiraling stairs. “Let’s walk.”
“How far?”
“Four down and then a kilometer to the ‘bug garages. You can exit then connect with Via Cydonia just north of Burroughs.”
“Do I need to be anyone else while I’m driving the ‘bug?”
Judas looked up at him, surprised, then shrugged. “Yeah. You’ll be me.”
Paolo lifted his chin. “Purely accidental that we have some similar facial characteristics?”
Judas shrugged, then said as they passed a level exit. The steps were wide enough for three to walk comfortably. A ‘steppie’, someone who used the vertical spiral stairways as an exercise tool, huffed past them going up. They gave her clear berth by stepping aside. They were both acutely aware of the three-meter surveillance camera dots pressed to the wall. Once she was gone, Judas said, “Entirely coincidental.” He started moving down again. Though, your spiel did catch the ear of several of my associates.”
“My spiel?”
“You were pretty eloquent, but I think the gist of your philosophy was that if we come forward with evidence that Humans aren’t alone in the universe – and our faith doesn’t go to pieces – was a pretty powerful persuader. It dovetails with our Martian mythologies neatly, and UniFiH hasn’t ever squashed it. If God is, in fact, leading you to gather the evidence and other Christians have other pieces of evidence pointing to the same thing, even if we don’t end up leading Mars, it may be that we’ll at least gain some legal footing again.” He held up a hand as they passed another level, then said, “Not that I believe your wild-assed theory.” Paolo’s eyes widened. Judas sniffed, “Yeah, I used a vulgar word.” They pounded down the stairs a while in silence until Judas said, “You know the root word of ‘vulgar’?” Paolo shrugged. “It was just a word that meant ‘ordinary’ or ‘common’ in Latin. I’m pretty sure that Jesus and his disciples, who were mostly common men, used vulgar language on occasion. As it fit the situation.”
Paolo grunted then said, “Here?”
“Yes.” They exited the stairwell and joined the heavier flow of traffic picking up the slidewalks heading slowly to the edge of Burroughs Dome. Judas leaned closer, “Just because I don’t believe in your marooned aliens theory doesn’t mean I don’t think your mission won’t work. It’s time for our Church to come out of hiding. There are people who aren’t Christians who would just as soon see Martian society return to civilized discourse.”
Paolo snorted, saying, “More like the middle of the 21st Century?”
Judas lifted his chin, “Most people don’t know their Earth history that well.”
“The early half of the last century was a blot on the face of all Humanity. We’re lucky we learned to shut up and listen and then talk after we thought.” The slidewalk let out into a huge cavern. “I didn’t come in here.”
“Nope. This is Breachport. Common Law – about the closest thing we have to a free port on Mars – is enforced here by squads of police from all of the major Domes and a few of the minor ones. Makes certain everyone gets a fair shake if things go sideways. All the Domes are supposed to have one.” Paolo followed Judas until they reached a parked marsbug. “This is mine. Touch your com to mine.” Paolo pulled his out and did. “All right. You have all my passcodes and IDs. They’ll get you out of Burroughs lands. After that you’re on your own.”
“Thanks,” Paolo said. The two men faced each other awkwardly. “I think in better circumstances we might have been good friends.”
“Agreed.” He stepped forward abruptly, hugged Paolo and whispered, “We’re being followed. Get moving.”
Paolo hugged him back, nodded and got into the ‘bug. He was rolling a few moments later after using the IDs on his com to check out. He lifted his hand as he passed Judas and said a brief prayer. Then he was on his way.
Image: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_x2tsYqz5q3c/TFpRAD3RNyI/AAAAAAAAC70/ASN65Y_L4lQ/s1600/Astronauta+Marcos+C%C3%A9sar+Pontes.bmp