Betty Adams's Blog, page 87

Thursday Thoughts Knowing Things

He knows. What is more the audience knows he knows. That knowledge could deeply disrupt the five-man-band. It might tear them apart, it might bring them closer. But he knows, and he isn't telling them for some reason. A reason unknown to the audience. Is he a villain? Or a protector? 

About secrets.

It is a very common trope in every genera from Arthurian romance to ​hard science for secrets to be kept. One character keeps a secret from another. A government keeps a secret from the populous. Most of the cast keeps a secret from an individual An secret is kept across ages due to people simply forgetting. . A secret is revealed in moments because a character can't stop talking. Secret keepers are portrayed as honorable, horrible, dishonest, just trying, or completely in command. 
But usually, keeping a secret involves some dishonesty and dishonor. There is some stain on the secret keeper's soul even if they have the best of intentions. 
So here is a question. What is the best reason to keep a secret? What motivation provides the most honorable position for the character?
​ Secrets  * Indicates required field What is the best reason for secrets to be kept? * To protect the feelings of another character(s).To prevent the further dissemination of information. (Three can keep a secret and all that.)Newness of relationship(s) and lack of trust in other characters.Other If Other please specify: * Submit

Wednesday Wisdom Stay Warm

It is still cold out there. Stay Warm folks. 

Rocket Men

Rocket Men 

The seventh decade of the nineteenth century is winding to a close to the sounds of mortars and rockets that shook a nation nearly to death. Eastward, across the storm tossed Atlantic however, the crew of a large fishing vessel has little thought for the civil war of a rebellious colony. They might have taken sides against a humanitarian crime, but now the full force of a North Atlantic gale as crushed their ship of oak and hemp into the rocks that ring the coast of Great Brittan. The stable shore is merely fifty yards away, the lights of cottages clearly visible through the driving rain. But the lifeboats have no chance in the pounding waves. It might as well be the full distance behind them to the war torn colony. Then a flash of light as a red lantern is waved frantically on the shore. The Captain waves his own signal in reply and a breath of hope goes through the crew. There is a boom of gunpowder faintly audible through the storm and a blaze of fire arches up from the cluster of men on the shore. The rocket files over the stricken vessel and splashes into the water on the far side. The fishermen leap to the cord that now straddles the boat and secure it solidly to the broken mast. A Breeches Buoy comes swinging over the water and the first sailor is loaded in. One by one the men are pulled off of the doomed vessel, the Captain leaving his boat behind with a single pained look. On shore they are greeted with warm blankets and hot tea. The ship is soon torn from the rocks and dashed to pieces. The rocket that saved their lives is loaded back onto its wagon and carried back to its shed by the Rocket Crew. 
 
A scene such as the one above played out so often off of British controlled coasts that it is estimated over a thousand lives were saved between the time these lifesaving devices were invented and the time their inventor passed away.

What I want to know is where is the BBC drama series based around the lives of the Rocket Men of the  Royal National Institution for Saving Life from Shipwreck? Come on, rockets, danger, history? Get on that BBC! 

​Also who on earth is in charge of naming things in Britten? 

Humans are Weird - The Wrong Broom

​Humans are Weird – The Wrong Broom


Third Cousin gave a hiss-click of surprise as the canister of dry ice-salt tipped over and hit the metal floor of the hanger with a noise that made his frill cling to his shoulders in pain.
“Disorder and confusion!” He cursed, and then glanced around sheepishly to see if anyone had heard the profanity.
He shook out his frill that was still tingling with the pain of the noise. He was not in Grandmother’s hive anymore. He was a free ranging seeker with the blessing of both his parents and his hive. There was no reason to worry about offending the elders. Still he settled his frill carefully, properly, back into its resting position as he surveyed the salt spill. The warning labels, clearly visible on the canister showed that the substance wasn’t directly toxic to a Shatar but did carry mild warnings. He pulled out his data pad and summoned the specifics. Ah mildly caustic to his outer membrane, he shouldn’t really handle a spill of this magnitude without a full body gloving, which would take some time and waste one of their precious few full body gloves. Third Cousin vibrated his mandibles as a happy thought struck him as he pulled up the warnings for the newest member of the base.  As he suspected the tougher outer membrane of the humans showed little to no reaction to the salts. He opened a comm line.
“Ranger Dodge,” Third Cousin called out brightly. “Please come assist me in the main storage bay. There has been a solid state chemical spill.”
“Sure thing Third,” Dodge replied in a cheerful tone. “I take it there is nothing more seriously needed than a broom and a dust pan?”
“Well a simple respirator is suggested but not required,” Third Cousin said. “But the spill is only ice salt.”
Mack Dodge laughed and the Shatar knew the safety suggestion would not be followed. “I’ll grab the broom on the way down.”
Third Cousin continued his survey of the storage bay and by the time the tingling in his frill had finally faded he heard the steady double-tread of the human’s approaching footsteps. Third Cousin saw the human turn his head towards him as he entered but didn’t bother returning the binocular vision greeting so unnecessary to his own species but simply lifted his frill in greeting and waved towards the spill.  Ranger Dodge glanced at the salt but instead of addressing it directly he came towards Third Cousin holding up the mentioned broom.
“Hey Third,” Dodge called out. “Have you seen the right broom?”
Third paused in confusion but didn’t look up from his work. “Is not the one you are holding sufficient?” he asked.
“Well it’ll do I suppose,” Dodge admitted but Third Cousin could see that his fleshy face was contorted in a look that suggested sullen resentment in a human. “But this isn’t the regular broom. Where did it even come from?” The human pulled at the bristles of the broom in annoyance. “It’s worn all different.”
Third Cousin finally turned his multi-faceted eyes on the human to reassure him that he had his full attention.
“That broom came from another level of the base I assume,” Third Cousin said on careful reflection. “Will it not suffice for the task at hand? Or is it less efficient for the task?”
“No,” the human admitted hesitantly. “But it still isn’t the right broom.”
Third Cousin stared in blank confusion at the human who was returning his look expectantly. Dodge clearly wanted him to do something about the situation that the human found undesirable. The broom was the same printing as all the others on the base and Dodge himself had clearly stated that it was adequate to the purpose. Yet he clearly was not satisfied. Still, Third Cousin was not the youngest quartermaster in the Core for no reason. Solving problems, even situation that reasonable species didn’t consider problems, was his particular skill set.
“Would you like me to locate and retrieve the right broom for this level for your future use?” Third Cousin asked carefully.
Dodge’s face smoothed out into a look of pleasure and relief in much the same transformation Third Cousin had seen when a human visitor to his hatch-hive had been injured and then received medication for the pain.
“That’d be great!” Dodge replied, before abruptly turning to the task and proving the efficacy of the ‘wrong’ broom.
Third Cousin made a note to track down that particular broom and then another to check the cultural database. If this were not simply a quirk of this individual, and the Great Hive knew that Survey Core Rangers had their individual quirks, the knowledge that humans became emotionally attached to inanimate objects would be critical information for any Shatar working in a quartermaster position.

Contemplation

Sometimes you just need to take a deep breath and ponder on where you are and what you are doing there. 

Mrs. Plumtree and the Dragon

​“It is not,” Mrs. Plumtree said as she carefully paced over the mountain path that led back to her small house, “that I mind bein’ 'napped by dragons y’see.”
“Of course not,” said the young night who followed her.
“It’s always a jolly lot of fun.”  Mrs. Plumtree said brightly. “Getting’ snatched and all that. Old Gumms back there is always real careful and hasn’t torn my dress once but four times.”
The middle aged woman gave a hearty laugh at her clever Irish satire and the knight smiled grimly as the path narrowed and they edged along a sharp cliff.
“Are you sure?” the knight asked as the path finally started to level out, “that I don’t need to go back and actually, you know, slay the dragon?”
“What?” Mrs. Plumtree demanded with a snort. “Slay Old Gumms? Are ye’ daft?”
“Well it is the usual thing,” the knight said. 
“Well it’s the usual thing for dragons to snatch fair maids ain’t it?” Mrs. Plumtree demanded. “And I might'a been fair enough back in the day. My Jack thought so at least but he can swear to the fact that I ain’t no maid. I got four soldiers in the Queen’s Red to prove that now don’t I?”
“Right you are,” the knight muttered as they approached his horse. He had heard enough of that on the walk down.
“Naw my young Sir!” Mrs. Plumtree said brightly. “That bright pig sticker would’na have done a bit to Old Gumms. His hide is tougher that old Widow Smith’s pastry.”
“Are you ready to mount up?” The knight said, kneeling to offer his knee to aid the portly woman.
Mrs. Plumtree burst into raucous laughter and shook her head. “Up on that terrible beast? Not on your life young Sir! No, I’ll trot on home on my own two legs. Good day Sir.”
The knight stared blankly out after the woman and wondered idly why on earth the Queen had even bothered sending him on this quest. Mrs. Plumtree seemed to have the situation well in hand. 

Guilty as Charged

With paws and nose, soft and warm, he nudges my leg. I know he did it. He knows I know. Neither of us really cares. Ears back, eyes up, you love me anyway. 

Humans are Weird - Q-tips

Humans Are Weird – Q-Tips


Everyone inhabiting Rough End Base knew that Thursdays were luxury days. Not every Thursday mind, usually every third, but if the nebula were tricky every fourth or fifth. The overworked Confederation supply ships rarely carried anything heaver than data in excess of the strictly necessary food and mechanical supplies. No, it was the cloud runners who brought the isolated sentients the little pleasures that saw them through the cold dark nights and scorching days of a planet that just barely qualified as habitable.
“One box for Human Sharon,” the Shatar free-merchant said holding up a roughly rectangular box wrapped in brown paper.
At nearly two meters tall and covered in body paint and semi precious stones the outcast Shatar made a rather spectacular sight. The fact that there was no way to tell which of the ornaments were actually ornamental and which were weapons added a certain zest to these mostly legal transactions.
“Yes,” Michael Sharon, PhD geology, crowed in delight as he snatched up the package. “About time.”
“We brought it in good time,” the Shatar said, his frill bristling with offense.
Sharon grinned at him and patted the free-merchant on what served him as a shoulder.
“Sure thing Big Guy,” he assured the Shatar. “There is no question. You little ships are never the problem. This probably got bogged down at the post office in Fairbanks.”
The Shatar’s skin, or outer membrane, Sharon wasn’t sure what exactly you called the smooth covering of their exoskeleton, cooled to a more reasonable shade of green. Or at least what was visible under the extensive body painting did. Big Guy dipped his antenna in curiosity even as he finished sorting the unclaimed packages back into his satchel. Sharon knew the free-merchant had a few hours before his ship had to jump back into the nebula currents and was probably interested in conversation. With a smile Sharon began to carefully open the paper wrapping that covered his purchase. Big Guy clicked in interest as he tilted his head back and forth to get a better look at the tightly packed items.
“Q-tips,” Sharon explained as he popped the package open and pulled out two. He handed one to Big Guy and slipped the other into his ear with a contented sigh.
“What are you using that for?” Big Guy asked in surprise. “I was under the impression that human auditory canals were nearly as sensitive as our own.”
“I’m cleaning out the waxy buildup in my ears,” Sharon said with a grin. “It’s okay. Look, there are instructions on the box.”
Big Guy reached over and took the offered package. He held it up in front of his eyes and rolled his head to analyze the human writing.
“It says it is for applying dermal paint,” Big Guy said in surprise. He glanced at the one in his hand and tested the soft tip with his fingers. He clicked in approval before turning back to the package. “It also says that it is good for cleaning hard surface optic sensors, and applying medication to minor injuries.” Big Guy’s frill suddenly stiffened in a show of surprise and he shot an annoyed and perplexed look at Sharon who had taken a second Q-tip to his other ear. “And here, in markedly larger print, it specifically says that it is illegal, unsafe, and unsanitary to insert them in your ear canals. It says in fact that this behavior serves no purpose and causes damage.”  
“Does it now?” Sharon drawled, giving the Q-tip a twist.
Big Guy stared at him through one incredulous eye for a moment before tossing the package back and walking away muttering something about humans. 

A Long Cold Drive

Here is a story idea.
Tell the story of first contact thought the casual, natural conversation between a father and grown child driving for at least five hours through a snowy landscape. The story would be revealed in anomalies in the landscape, unexplained comments in their conversation, and maybe a big twist at the end. 
​Think of the scope. 

Hohmann, Starman, and Elon Musk

For a moment, let us stand back and take a deep breath.

appreciation

gratitude

AWE

Look up into the night sky tonight. (Bundle up it's very cold.)
Appreciate the timeless beauty. (Man that starlight's really old.)
Be grateful for the giants of engineering who went before us. (The rocket men were mad as hatters.)
Those who gave us a stair way to heaven. (They got it done that that's what matters.)

Starman rides his roadsters around the Hohmann orbit, circling the sun is class. Some day one can imagine astronauts taking selfies against the asteroid dust pitted body of the roadster.

Cheers Elon Musk. 


Seriously, think about that. There is a roadster circling the sun! 

Oh, and according to space.com it will circle close enough to Earth to be seen by private telescopes