Linda Maye Adams's Blog, page 66
August 13, 2017
Writing in Public 4 (Novella), Chapter 16
[image error]CHAPTER 16
“I’m not a ghost exterminator,” Hope said over a meal in the shuttle when they returned. Outside the windows, the day had been sucked up by darkness.
Hope was so worn out that her hands trembled as she tried to scoop up purple goop with, and bless them, a spicy kick. Brooks grimaced at his taste. But he was pretty wimpy when it came to spices.
“Eat even if you don’t feel like it,” Mel said. “And I’m sorry, Hope. I tried to get a better reason than ‘fix it’ from the aliens. I’m afraid I didn’t know what to ask.”
“I just blundered into it myself,” Hope said.
Jian bit into a crunchy vegetable. “Is it possible to kill a ghost?”
“I don’t know how you could kill something that’s already dead,” Brooks said.
Hope stared down at her purple goop. Her brain was so sluggish that it felt stuck in place. Finally words came out, though she wasn’t sure her brain was connected to them.
“The aliens are afraid of the ghost.”
But when she heard it out loud, she knew it was true. People who were afraid of what she did with ghosts didn’t stay away from her. They got angry at her. The anger masked the fear.
“Why would they be afraid of the ghost?” Mel asked.
Hope was on sure footing with this answer. “Lots of reasons. Fear of death…the existence of ghosts puts it right in your face. Reminds us our mortality.”
“Fear of life, too,” Mel murmured. “Sometimes things get so bad that all ghosts remind you is that it won’t end.”
Hope busied herself with purple goop to hide her face. She knew more about the Grauls’ marriage than she wanted.
“Fear of the unknown,” Brooks said. “Can’t see a ghost, but can feel their presence. Feel their emotions. Growing up, I remember there was as spot on the street…every time I walked through it, I felt…something. I couldn’t not avoid that spot, but I always though the monster under the bed was going to reach out and grab me.”
Jian propped her elbow on a seat arm and rested her chin on her hand. “The aliens got very upset when Hope asked about talking to the ghost. Could they fear hearing from the beyond?”
Hope knew the answer, it wasn’t the one she wanted to give. “I need more information about this area. There’s a reason this ghost is tied to this place.”
Mel said, “We’ll try contacting Eric again. Maybe the storm has let up enough that we can get through.” She stood up, stretching her back. “I’m going back to my shuttle. I’ll let you know if I can get in contact.”
Jian ducked her head hiding a smile. “Have fun.”
As she exited, Sanger stuck his stuck his mop head in and rapped on the outside. “Miss Hope in here?”
Hope gave a weary wave.
Sanger hopped up the big step with annoying ease and came over to Hope with a bound notebook. He held it out, then must have seen how tired she was because he set it down next to her.
He grinned, quite pleased with himself. “We gathered data for you. Appearances that we thought were the ghost and when they occurred.”
Jian perked up. “Did you find a lot?”
“I’m not sure how much of it is accurate, Commander. We got into a long discussion about what might be a ghost and what wasn’t and ended up putting it all down.”
“That’s okay,” Hope said. “You have your expertise and I have mine.”
“Can I see it?” Jian asked. “I’ve had enough experience with you that I can do a fast pass through.”
Sanger passed the notebook over.
“Why did you pick this spot?” Hope asked. “I mean, why not a mile away, or closer to Sawyerstown?”
Sanger sprawled into the nearest seat, stretching his legs out. “We didn’t want to be too near Sawyerstown because people would have interrupted. Maybe tried to be helpful.”
Hope licked off her finger. That spice was really good. “But wouldn’t other people finding meteorites be helpful?”
“No. It’s like archeology. We document exactly where we find each meteorite. If someone takes it out of context, we lose valuable data. We wouldn’t even know if a person found it on another planet.”
“Then why here?” Brooks asked.
Sanger shrugged. “The rock. It’s the only landmark for miles around. Even a sandstorm, that rock stands out.”
Brooks grinned at Hope. “I think we need to explore that rock tomorrow.”
Hope said, “As long as I don’t have to climb it. I got muscles now, but not that many.”
Filed under: Writing in Public Tagged: GALCOM Universe
August 12, 2017
Apologizing for History
[image error]This weekend, I wanted to get out and do something fun. That turned into a trip to the Museum of American History, which is right near the Washington Monument. It was cloudy out, with rain predicted…and humid and hot.
The museum can be a lot of fun. Like their Transportation history exhibit, or the one on food (with Julia Child’s kitchen). There’s even the office of the man who invented the first video game. It’s pretty cool looking at how different creative people are.
There were also two exhibits which apologized for history. I got a problem with that.
History’s best value is if we take all of it into context. Apologizing takes a piece of it entirely out of context, and devalues the rest.
When the rest is devalued, we don’t hear about the positive things people did.
One of the exhibits that went on apology mode was on the Japanese internment during World War II.
What happened to the Japanese in the U.S. was a terrible thing. I was glad for the opportunity to read George Takei’s biography, because his internment camp as a child put a different perspective on what happened (it was actually more interesting that the actor part). I also went to an exhibit several years back (think that was at Freer-Sackler) of items made by people in the camps. It was both sad and amazing, because it spoke of the power of human spirit.
But I also have a bit of family history that comes with World War II and the Japanese.
My grandparents lived in San Francisco during World War II. My grandfather was a minister of a church there. My grandmother reported that she had to do a submarine watch on the coast of California.
After the war intended, there was a lot of distrust of Japanese. My grandfather gave them jobs around the church. It was a deeply unpopular thing to do, and he did it anyway. The Japanese honored him about ten years ago.
History is about putting things into perspective and honoring who we are, warts and beauty and all. Apologizing robs of us that perspective, which we need as human beings.
Filed under: History, Photos, Travel Tagged: California, San Francisco, Washington DC, Washington Monument, World War II
August 11, 2017
Adventures around the web August 5-9, 2017
Even though it’s August, the signs of fall are already showing up in Washington, DC. I went to the farmer’s market in Old Town Alexandria this weekend and the first of the apples were for sale. It’s hard to believe the summer is almost gone. It always seems so short!
Kevin Tumlinson on Medium
Self Publishing Destroys the Universe
Post is courtesy of the writer above. It goes after all the nonsense that self publishing means the books are terrible, or that somehow writing fewer books a year ensures quality. A lot of silliness debunked.
World War Wings
Rare Footage of the Blackbird’s Last Flight
My father worked for Lockheed in Burbank, the company that developed the Blackbird. One year, we went up to Palmdale for an organization day, and the Blackbird was on display. I remember it had a guard in front of it and seemed kind of small. I recently went to the Smithsonian, where the plane is on display. It was huge! I had to ask my father what he remembered, and he thought it was small, too. So that one many years ago might have been a test model or one for display. The video shows footage of the jet flying and landing. Link from Wayne Guenther, Desert Storm veteran.
Helen Sedwick on Bookworks
5 Legal Myths That Writers Still Fall For, Debunked
This hits a bunch of myths floating out there that I’ve heard, like mailing your story to yourself. The one that stands out most for me is #3. There was a big lawsuit when a writer published a book with a very recognizable person in it, just renamed. The individual was so recognizable that people who had read the book were commenting on it to her. The writer was sued and lost. Link from Anne Allen.
Orson Scott Card on Galaxy Press
Are We At the End of Science Fiction?
This is an interesting look at the science fiction genre. It hasn’t sold well for a long time–I’ve seen several resources say the low sales are because they don’t have happy endings. I’ve found myself passing on a lot of stories because the world has ended and humans are fighting for survival, and it’s such a negative for me that I don’t want to read it. My own dream–completely outrageous–is that I want to be the writer like J.K. Rowlings who does that for science fiction. Link is courtesy of the Writers of the Future Contest (I have three honorable mentions).
Tom on Feedreader
Information Overload vs. the Human Brain: Infobesity Causes, Symptoms, and How to Beat It
Overload is something I’ve had to look at because of my day job. Most of the time management books talk about how to jam more in each day, not on how to push back on the sheer amount of data coming in a warp speed at us. It’s always good to conduct a review of what we look at and drop anything that’s maybe not worth the time. I’ve unfollowed sites that got too political over what their content should be, and others because they post way too many articles on a daily basis.
Kristen Lamb
Wonder Woman Vs. Atomic Blonde–What Truly Makes a Powerful Female Character?
I remember seeing one of the first books with this strong (and armed) female character, and it was just magic. It filled a hole left by characters who whimpered in the corner and did nothing to help themselves. Somehow it evolved in books to smart-mouthed characters I didn’t like and in movies to characters who seemed to be men in disguise. This is a good discussion on what Wonder Woman did. We’ll see if the film industry gets smart…
Filed under: History, Military, productivity, technology, Writing Tagged: Copyright, Information Overload, science fiction, Self-publishing, SR-71
August 10, 2017
Writing in Public: Story 4 (Novella) Chapter 15
[image error]Most aggravatingly, the ghost vanished as fast as he appeared and did not come back to talk to Hope. She’d only caught a glimpse of him, or it, or whatever. Not one of the touchy-feeling aliens—no tentacles.
Jian, who had been waiting outside by the “Good Food” store, listened grimly to what had happened. When Mel returned with two aliens and a human in tow, Jian went ahead to speak with her, her boots thumping on the wood sidewalk.
“Sometimes it’s nice having an officer along,” Brooks said with a grin.
A old-style truck rattled past, held together by duct tape and purple dust. Brooks watched it.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Could the ghost be not showing up because of the solar flares?”
It was an interesting question. Hope didn’t have enough information to determine that either way. But at least the ghost seemed to be on her side, even if it had gotten violent last night.
Mel finished the discussion with one of the aliens, then spoke to Jian for several minutes. Neither woman looked happy. Finally Jian gestured for Hope and Brooks to cover over.
The aliens were dressed in the same undyed robes Hope had seen the other day—she guessed it was so plain because it would be weird tasting your clothes all day. One wore a heavy chain with a big red stone the size of Hope’s palm. The other was White Crystal.
Red Stone nodded a greeting at the three Kangjun travelers. Where the other aliens and been friendly and curious, he seemed almost too neutral. White Crystal was like a stone, not reacting to anything. Did these aliens have poker faces?
The translator was tanned to the point of badly cured leather. He’d shaved his head, though Hope could still see the faint outline of his receding hairline on his scalp. He was dressed in ratty pants covered with the purple dust and a long-sleeved white t-shirt. He had a chalkboard, which he passed to Red Stone.
Communication turned out to be a combination of hand gestures and writing down words in alien on the chalkboard.
The chalk scratched as Red Stone wrote on the chalkboard, the shovel had curled clumsily around the chalk. Hope caught a glimpse of the words as he turned the chalkboard to the translator. More hieroglyphs. She wondered how those translated into anything understandable. But then, English might look very strange to the aliens.
Jian moved in closer to Hope and Brooks and spoke in a low voice. “Don’t say anything you don’t want them to know. We don’t know how much they can understand.”
The translator provided the words in English. “We apologize if you were frightened of our ways.”
Hope sucked in her checks and crowded closer to Brooks. That wasn’t no apology. That was a politician’s attempt at sympathy, all the while without admitting guilt.
She checked Mel’s face. Mel had gone from cheerful to neutral. Jian wore her own unhappiness openly. The tension hovered in the air, as thick as the purple dust.
Hope met Red Stone’s three eyes. “You invited me here to help you. I am not a tasting feast for you. Surely you were told by your mama when you were little that it was bad manners to go off tasting just anyone.”
The translator’s eyes bulged.
“You go tell them that.” Hope folded her arms across her chest and tried to look intimidating. She needed a few more inches.
Mel’s eyes were shiny. She was trying not to laugh. Probably the first time anyone invoked parents and manners in a negotiation.
The translator erased the first message with his hand and wrote the new translation. It took a while.
Red Stone read the translation. He was so obviously unhappy that Mel moved back to join Hope.
“We respect your ways,” Mel said. “Please respect ours.”
It was the Red Stone’s turn at the chalkboard. The translator provided the text. “We only want to fix the problem your humans caused.”
Hope had struck a nerve. She wished she knew what nerve that was.
“What exactly do you want me to do?” she asked.
Red Stone’s slashed at the chalkboard. “Fix the problem.”
“What problem do you think there is? I don’t want to fix the wrong thing.”
Three eyes glared at her like she was being obstinate.
Mel eased in next to Hope. “That’s always what they told me. That the ghost was brought by the scientists and that we have to fix it.”
Red Stone thumped the chalkboard.
Hope looked from Jian to Brooks, and then to Mel. Deep breath. She was scared to death. She was afraid she was going to screw this up. But if she couldn’t get a straight answer, she knew she would do the wrong thing.
“Fix the problem is unhelpful,” she said. “Do you want me to talk to the ghost? Find out what he wants?”
The two aliens’ tentacles were almost violent in their conversation. This time, White Crystal took the chalkboard while Red Stone stepped back. If Red Stone had been a fire, he would have been pouring out black smoke.
Hope gulped and glanced at Mel.
“Stand your ground,” Mel murmured. “This is like playing poker.”
White Crystal seemed to be having trouble figuring out what to write. He tried out something, then wiped it out with the sleeve of his robe. He had another taste conversation with the other alien. Red Stone smacked White Crystal’s tentacles.
“They know the answer,” Jian said. “They don’t want to tell us.”
Mel spoke up. “My expert came from a very long ways to help you. Give her the courtesy of helping. Or I’ll send her back, and you will have nothing.”
Exasperated, Red Stone threw up his hands. There was no doubt what that meant: He couldn’t deal with Hope.
White Crystal made another go at the chalkboard. When Hope heard the translator read it aloud, she wished it was a translation mistake. The problem was she knew it wasn’t.
Kill the ghost.
Filed under: Thoughts
August 9, 2017
Writing in Public: Story 4 (Novella), Chapter 14
[image error]CHAPTER 14
High above the 49er Planet, Colonel Graul tapped his fountain pen on the table top and looked over his handwritten notes in his military green notebook. Looked up at the image of the sun floating over his conference table.
Didn’t like what he was seeing.
He checked the synchronized clock on the wall that the computer displayed for him. Almost lunch on Kangjun; planet time put it at close to sunset.
Lieutenant Parker sat across from him, trying not to fidget. He could sense Graul’s mood. Many commanding officers took their bad moods out on the nearest target, though Graul tried not to do that.
Chief Marotta was parked on the corner of the table, arms folded across her chest. “Skipper, you’re acting like this is bad news.”
To the point. Graul sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. It was good news. The solar flares had finally stopped. The geomagnetic storm would be gone soon enough, ending the communication disruption.
Yet…
Everyone’s gaze on him, he reached for his coffee and took a sip. It was his special blend that he purchased from Earth. Better than the God-awful coffee the military served.
“Can we reduce the power so we can do a deep scan?” he asked.
Parker seemed relieved to answer a normal question. “Sir, there’s still enough energy in the atmosphere that could play havoc with our systems. We could reassess in a few hours.”
Graul tapped his pen again. The drone was still finishing its scans of the planet. They had no information whatsoever.
“Chief,” he said, “get some volunteers and start digging into the history of this planet for that location.”
That, too, would take time. Every planet was required to submit a data drop of their history when they became a GALCOM member, which was included in the information about the planet. He doubted Mel had looked at anything past twenty years ago. The records would still be in the original written text. Computer could translate.
But again, that would take time.
He slapped the pen on the table. Startled Parker. Didn’t startle Marotta.
“My gut tells me something is wrong on the planet. Really wrong.”
“How about we ready another shuttle?” Marotta said. “We can put a team of Marines and a team of medical personnel on standby. If we need either, it’ll cut some time.”
Graul nodded. It was a good idea and it didn’t help him feel any better. His gut was rarely wrong.
Filed under: Writing in Public Tagged: GALCOM Universe
August 8, 2017
Writing in Public: Story 4 (Novella), Chapter 13
[image error]Though the aliens lived nearby, they interacted with humans and other alien races in a town called Sawyerstown. It was supposed to be named after the founder, though Hope wondered if the one word name had originated as a typo.
This time, one of Mel’s Marines drove the jeep, following the road marked by the barrels. Hope made sure she was buckled in so she wouldn’t fall out and dozed, despite the roar of the engine, the belching exhaust, and the non-stop bouncing.
The sun was already dipping low in the sky by the time they arrived at Sawyerstown. It was like what she had seen on the planets where human merchants were active. It reminded Hope of a town that might have been built for the California Gold Rush miners in 1849. The buildings were simply constructed out of wood. Stores mostly…she saw a place for booze, a barbershop, and a message drop stand. The one that caught her eye was one labeled, “Fabric Scraps.”
The aliens were here, too, lounging out in front of a store front labeled “Good Food,” which, from the displays in the window looked like neither. But Hope had a chance to watch the aliens longer.
This pair was having a leisurely conversation, their sensor tentacles languid.
“Watching the people go by,” Jian remarked.
“How do you communicate with them?” Hope asked.
“We have translators in town,” Mel said.
“They translate the tastes?” Brooks asked.
“No. They know the written language and use a chalkboard.”
Despite the heat, Hope shivered. Maybe that was the reason the ghost hadn’t communicated with her. While ghost was the universal translator, even she had her limits if the ghost did not have a language that she could hear.
“It’ll be a few minutes while I find the pair we’ve been negotiating with,” Mel said. “You want to have a look around?”
Hope glanced at Brooks, who shrugged. There wasn’t that much to see.
She wanted to have a look at the fabric store anyway. Why sell scraps of fabric? Patches for clothes maybe? But she didn’t think there would be enough business to make a profit.
“I’ll go with you,” Brooks said.
Hope worked her way out of the jeep without falling on her face. Bully for her! But she was still dragging her feet in the dirt street, kicking up dust that made her cough.
The fabric scrap store had strange symbols painted on the windows. The symbols looked like Egyptian hieroglyphs. One of the symbols was three squiggly lines.
A bell jangled as Hope and Brooks entered. The store wasn’t any cooler than outside, though a large standing fan was creating a breeze. The store had a thrift shop smell to it.
It took a moment for Hope’s eyes to adjust to the dimmer room. The store was simple in design: Tables lined up in rows and about the most ugly scraps of cloth on the tossed on top. Hope’s eyes smarted just looking at some of the colors. Who paired yellow and red together?
A man stood at the counter in the back. An old style manual cash register sat on the counter. The man had white hair and black eye brows, which looked very strange together. He wore a loose-fitting plaid shirt and plain suspenders to hold up his pants.
“Lost?” he inquired pleasantly. “We don’t get many humans in here.”
“This is a store for the aliens?” Brooks asked.
“Yes.” The shopkeeper pointed at the squiggly lines. “Good tastes.”
It certainly looked…well, odd. Hope picked up one of the scraps of cloth. It was a ghastly pattern with hot pink stripes and green eyeballs. Who came up with this? She wanted to ask why he sold these but that would be terribly insulting. And she definitely didn’t want to ask the real question that popped into her head: Did the aliens eat the scraps?
The storekeeper must have gotten that question a million times, because he said, “You can ask. I don’t mind.”
Still, Hope didn’t want to be rude, so she asked, “What is all this? Are the aliens quilting?”
The storekeeper laughed, making his face light up. “It’s the taste of the scraps. The aliens have parties and pass them around.”
Hope had a picture of aliens sitting on a sofa passing around Tupperware. Too weird.
“Do they have to be so…” Brooks broke off, because there really wasn’t a word that wouldn’t be insulting.
The storekeeper came from around the counter to pick up a print that looked like it must be on drugs. “I tried the more expensive prints. Lovely, pleasing fabrics for humans. The aliens wouldn’t touch it. It’s something in the dye patterns. I’m Orson, by the way.”
“I’m Hope. We’re with the GALCOM group helping out the scientists. How long have you been here?
“Twenty years now,” Orson said. He seemed glad to talk with humans. “I had a dry goods store originally. Thought I could get rich on a frontier planet. There was more trade then. We were on the main trade route until GALCOM added Einara 5 and then everyone went there.”
His voice dipped with discouragement.
“Have you ever thought of leaving?” Brooks asked.
“Sometimes.” Wistful now. “I’m so far away the rest of the world has gone by.”
Hope grinned. “Or is waiting for you.”
He beamed. “Thank you.”
“Would you mind answering some questions about the aliens, being as you’ve been around them for a while? It’s just I find the touching thing kind of creepy.”
Orson went to the table and began folding the scraps. “I also do the scraps so they won’t touch me as much. They aren’t supposed to be offended if you turn it down, but it’s like they—”
Before he finished what he was saying, the bell jangled again. Two aliens entered, their taste tentacles a staccato of motion. They headed, not for the tables with the fabric, but to Hope and Brooks. The one on the left cocked its head and raised a tentacle.
Brooks shook his head and gave the no sign, moving in front of Hope. He shifted just enough so that his Devil Blaster hanging on his belt was in clear view.
Tentacles zoomed back and forth again. Then the aliens seemed to shrug and moved among the tables.
Orson went behind the counter. He’d gone from smiling to all business.
Hope leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper. “You need to leave here. I saw the change when they came in. It’s not good for you.”
Orson nodded, but his eyes were on the aliens.
Hope and Brooks headed for the door. As Hope reached it, a ghost appeared in front of her. So close that she jumped back in pure reflex, gasping.
A tentacle hit the empty air in front of her.
If Hope used profanity, she would find some choice words now. Oh, yeah.
Filed under: Writing in Public Tagged: GALCOM Universe
August 7, 2017
Writing in Public: Story 4 (Novella), Chapter 12
[image error]CHAPTER 12
Hope’s second stop of the morning was with the scientists. They were a grumpy lot. Hope wanted to believe that it was just because it was early morning for them, but she thought it was because the ghost was interfering with their research. The tent the ghost had knocked down had contained the meteorites they were studying. The meteorites wouldn’t have gotten damaged, of course, but putting the tent back up took a lot of time.
Mel’s Marines went to work on the tent, quite efficiently, considered it looked like wrestling with an octopus. Two ducked underneath the collapsed tent, their voices muffled by the canvas. A moment later, the center rose, ghost-like, as they lifted the center pole. The others went to the side poles, which had collapsed inward, and pulled them up, holding them in place. Two Marines went from tent peg to tent peg, stretching it out. Bam! Bam! Bam! A wooden mallet pounded the peg into the sand.
Brooks and Jian joined in to help the Marines. While the Marines worked, Hope sat down with the scientists under the awning in front of Mel’s shuttle. Mel had brought food for them–more finger food for Hope. The meal consisted of chunks of yellow melon and thick slices of bread covered with a thick spread made from nuts, judging from the smell.
Mel did not stay this time–wait, she was leaving Hope alone? With the scientists?
Now she was thinking she’d need a Mel-voodoo doll to stick pins in. What was it about these Grauls?
Hope was silent for too long, feeling terribly awkward around these people. She hadn’t realized it until now, but she’d been dreading meeting them together. Scientists and ghosts did not mix.
Lewis broke the silence with an impatient, “Well? We do have other things to do.”
“Not until the tent is up,” Sanger said. “Was that the ghost last night?”
Hope gulped, feeling put on the spot. She knew her ghosts, but these were people who had spent a lot of time in college learning everything. She’d never gotten past high school.
“I did wonder if the aliens were messing with us,” she said carefully. “I looked around this morning for footprints. Nothing but ours.”
“But someone could have surely covered up any tracks,” Zuver said.
He broke off a corner of the bread and inspected it before putting it in his mouth. Then he wiped off his mouth. It was a three step process to eat for him. Each bite was exactly the same.
“No,” Lewis said, impatience punctuating her words. “There wasn’t time for that. The Marines were out right away.”
“They didn’t see anyone either,” Hope said. “But I felt the energy of the ghost this morning.”
“The ghost stuff?” Sanger asked.
Hope blinked and stared at him. But he was serious, his eyes intent. Maybe he was thinking of adding another discipline to his degree: ghosts.
She tried to pick up her bread. Stared at it, startled. It was hard to lift!
Zuver’s words were muffled by a mouthful of bread. “Break it off. A habit I got on heavy gravity worlds.”
Hope tore off a corner, getting some of the spread on her fingers. It was a lot easier to manage.
“This so-called energy–if it exists, why can’t we detect it?” Lewis asked.
Hope struggled with the heat of anger. She’d endured the hatred of people who feared her. But this was different. It wasn’t just disbelief in ghosts. Coming from these scientists, it felt like they thought she didn’t know what she was doing.
What would Graul do?
She didn’t have an answer for that and all the scientists were staring at her, waiting for answer.
So she did, and the answer shocked even her. “I don’t know. You tell me why no one’s bothered.”
“Maybe because they don’t exist,” Zuver said. “A figment of our imagination.”
Hope’s frustration level rose. She wanted to yell at them how stupid they were and knew it would change nothing except their opinion of her.
She was sweating now. From both the heat rising in the air and her anger.
“We couldn’t see germs,” she said. “People didn’t believe in that either until they got the right technology to see them. Science just hasn’t gotten the right way to detect them yet, and everyone’s closed their minds to it. Wouldn’t it be cool if you could talk to Isaac Newton or Albert Einstein?”
That had them exchanging glances. Even Zuver, who seemed to have disconnected from the conversation, perked up with interest.
Then they talked all at once: “We could do an algorithm to map it out.” “How would we be able to provide data analytics on it?” “Can a ghost be attached to a meteorite?”
Had she really just hooked their interest?
“I don’t believe so,” Hope said. “Ghosts return to a place is usually for a more personal reason. I honestly can’t think of a reason a ghost would be attached to a meteor traveling through space. I’m not sure if that’s possible.” She paused, trying to think like the scientists. “Given the physics.”
That got another, more spirited discussion. Zuver calculated the speed of a meteor traveling through space, which was pretty fast.
“Would a ghost need air like us?” Lewis asked.
“We don’t have enough data for that,” Sanger said. “But there’s a lot about space we still don’t understand. It’s why we study the meteorites, Ms. Hope,” he added.
Hope was feeling more confident now. “Can you provide me data on your experiences with the ghost? Time, date. Anything–your observations? I’m looking for patterns.”
“I’ll work on documenting that for you, Ms. Hope,” Sanger said.
Hope left them discussing what data to record, both amazed and flabbergasted. How had she done that?
The Marines had finished getting the tent erected. Two checked the support lines, making sure they were tight enough. She found Brooks, Jian, and Mel nearby, chatting. Jian’s hair was sweaty on her forehead, and Brooks’ uniform was soaked through on his back.
“Who won?” Mel asked.
“You are a rat for leaving me alone with them,” Hope said. “But we both won. They’re approaching ghosts like a science experiment.”
But Mel only gave her a mysterious smile. “Then let’s go talk to the aliens.”
Filed under: Writing in Public Tagged: GALCOM Universe
August 6, 2017
Writing in Public: Story 4 (Novella), Chapter 11
[image error]Housekeeping notes: As the story evolves, I add the aliens to Chapter 7 (in red).
CHAPTER 11
Graul’s first stop of the morning was the gym for a warm-up, lower body weight lifting, and then an interval run on the walkabout deck. By the time he ended the run, his t-shirt and hair were soaked with sweat. His muscles were pleasantly tired. Since his stateroom was next door to the bridge, he stopped there along to way to check in with the watch officer. The first bells of the day went off as if they were announcing his arrival.
The antsy feeling of everyone waiting to get off hovered in the air.
“Morning, sir,” the watch officer said. Graul was still getting used to seeing him—Lieutenant Parker was a new officer, but he wasn’t young. He’d been an enlisted and decided to become an officer. So he was thirty-five years old and a lieutenant. Unusually deep voice that always startled Graul a little.
“Any news?” Graul asked.
“Yes, sir. I had to use your program to boost the power in the shields.”
Graul had left orders last night to use a program he’d had developed if the storm got worse. Most skippers would divert power from sources they viewed as non-essential like the movie theater and the gyms. Graul thought those were essential, especially with the storm. The crew needed to be able to decompress. So the program pulled a very small percentage of power from many of the ship’s systems to cycle into the shields.
“Also, a text drop came in for you.” Parker dragged the message image across the plot table so Graul could see.
Graul rested his elbows on the edge of the table to read it. Text was a good route to go. It didn’t have as much bandwidth and had a better chance of getting through the storm.
The first message was short and to the point: Deep scan requested. Is there a space wreck in area?
Had to mean that Hope was looking for the source of the ghost.
“I already checked, sir,” Parker said. “We can’t run the deep scan. It’d draw more power from the systems than we can handle.”
Graul pressed his lips together, working out what else they could try to help the landing party. They could research the planet in the GALCOM archives loaded into the computer. He also knew those weren’t accurate and might take a lot of time.
“Let’s drop a drone,” he said.
Parker opened his mouth, then cocked his head. “I’m not tracking, sir. The drone won’t be able to transmit data to us.”
Graul waited, letting Parker figure it out.
Parker’s face lit up. “But the drone can record and come back to the ship with the data. You want just a camera drone or one of the science ones?”
“Science drone. Let’s run it through the full protocol. Take longer, but we’ll have complete information when it returns.”
While Parker gave the order to launch the drone, Graul turned back to the text message from the landing party. There was a second one:
Waves from below. M.
Great. Mel was on the planet, and he couldn’t even talk to her!
Filed under: Writing in Public Tagged: GALCOM Universe
August 4, 2017
Adventures around the web July 29-August 4, 2017
The Enduring Lessons of Star Trek
Very interesting article on how Star Trek The Next Generation went away from Star Trek’s original concept. It mentions one of the things that I always had problems with: people all got along with each other. That made it hard to do stories that were about the crew, without having some outside influence intervene. I know that idea originated with Gene Roddenberry, but still…
Joris Nieuwint for War History Online
When His Landing Gear Failed, This Harrier Pilot Made An Emergency Landing… On A Stool
The primary thing the military does is train. Because in war, training’s all you have when things go wrong. All the training comes in handy in this video.
Zack Walkter on Do You Remember
Meet the First Woman to Cycle Around the World (in 1895)
This is a pretty cool story–and it’s got photos. This actually started because of a bet two men made!
Josh Jones on Open Culture
Writers today tend to diss the pulp writers as “hacks,” usually stories unseen because they produced a tremendous amount of stories. Somehow speed has become equated with poor writing, though this era produced Dashiell Hammett. If you haven’t read any of his stories, those are really good. Link from Harvey Stanbrough (spell checker gave me Gainsborough for his name. Weird).
Gary Grayson
Gary and the Seal in the Scilly Isles
A charming video from Rhonda Hopkins. The seal wants a belly rub and a chin scratch!
Filed under: Entertainment, Military, productivity, technology, Writing Tagged: Pulp Writers, Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, U.S. Navy
August 3, 2017
Writing in Public: Story 4 (Novella), Chapter 10
[image error]CHAPTER 10
“What are you looking for?” Brooks asked Hope the next morning.
She’d gotten up at first light. She’d woken Brooks up. While she could have gone out alone–the Marine guard was probably still out there–it was unnecessarily putting herself at risk.
She pondered her response for speaking. What she really wanted to check was the footprints left in the sand. Everyone thought this was a ghost, and so far no ghost had shown itself to her. Granted, that could be the ghost be contrary, like they usually were. Still, the whole thing felt wrong.
But she also wanted to keep an open mind and not assume anything.
So she said, “I don’t know until I see it.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.”
They left Jian sleeping and eased outside. It was early enough that the world had quieted. The sky was still gray, but the sunrise was already chasing away the chill. The air smelled fresh.
Hope tried to ignore the weariness that pulled at every muscle. All she wanted to do was go back to bed and not get up until heavy gravity was over.
“How can I go to sleep and wake up so tired?” she said.
“It’s not just the gravity,” Brooks said. “It’s the shorter days. Just when you’re getting up to speed, the day’s ending. That four hours makes a lot of difference.”
Two Marines near Mel’s shuttle approached, one male, one female. They had the heavy guns slung over their shoulders, Devil Blaster rifles.
Brooks waved and when they got closer said, “We’re going to have a look around before everyone gets up. Were they any other problems last night?”
“No, Sergeant,” answered the woman. “Dr. Zuver wanted to fix the equipment last night. One of the other shifts had to make him go back inside.”
The Marines walked back to their post.
Hope trudged to the starboard side of the shuttle where she’d heard the pounding. No marks on the side panels. No footprints under or near it either. She couldn’t even tell what the sound had been.
But she knew what had been here. No doubt. She could still feel the ghostly energy. She couldn’t see it, but it felt like it had been splattered all over the hull. The ghost could have walked right thorough the hull to get to her. Why had it stayed outside?
Brooks followed her, hand on his Devil Blaster, letting her wander.
The damage to the rest of the camp was more frightening. One of the tents had collapsed in on itself, the poles like broken sticks. Several of of the tent pegs had been yanked from the sand and hurled away, their orange color standing out against the sand.
Brooks whistled. “That took some work.”
“How so?” Hope asked.
“We pound tent pegs in with mallets. Takes a lot of work to get them out.”
Hope found other things tossed around and scattered. The awning over Mel’s shuttle door had been ripped away and lay in a crumpled pile. The drum that had been used last night for the fire was on its side, ashes spilling over the sand.
She tried to lift it, just to see how heavy it was. Wasn’t happening.
The ghostly energy was all over it, too.
“Could you move this?” she asked.
Brooks shook his head. “Takes two men.”
“The ghost used a lot of energy to do this.”
Hope knelt, laying her hands on the drum, feeling for what the energy was trying to tell her. Ghosts couldn’t physically throw things around like a man could, but they could summon energy that was very destructive. Sometimes they simply wanted to communicate something important, or it was frustration, or–
“Anger,” she said. “It’s angry at something.”
They had walked to the end of the camp. She unscrewed her water bottle and took a drink as she surveyed the damage from this angle.
Stared up at the pointy rock. Except for their shuttle, everything that had been damaged was on a straight line to that rock.
Filed under: Writing in Public Tagged: GALCOM Universe
