Justin’s Comments (group member since Mar 13, 2016)

Justin’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

What a very interesting crop of stories this month! There is a strangeness to them all that reflects this strange month for me.

I've dropped two sons off at college, and the house feels weird with only 4 out of 6 kids at home, and now the Boeing strike and my impending furlough in Oct. I feel like I'm in a bit of a Twilight Zone episode.

Happy Autumn everyone!

Justin

Just the furlough time. :(

My story this month may be semi-autobiographical. I do work for Boeing... at least for three weeks out of every month from here until the strike ends.

The Unintentional Strike Breaker

The union was on strike.
For the first time in sixteen years, the mechanics who built the massive rockets that carried millions to the stars were now earth-bound and on the picket lines outside Acme Rockets’ executive headquarters. There were no more trips up the space elevator to the orbital ship yards or excursions to Luna, only placards and pacing until they were pacified with higher pay. The union was going to get what they were due come hell or high water or Halley’s Comet. But these types of things have a way of swallowing up those around them, like a black hole, and this was especially true in the case of Acme office worker Anton Five.
Normally Anton would not have cared what the union was doing, except in this instance, due to Acme’s poor financial position, he was being furloughed for the first time in his working life. Through no fault of his own and solely because of the actions of others, he would now endure a twenty-five percent pay cut – one he could ill afford. After all, there was Allison Three and E’s one through six to support, and a mortgage and new roof to make payments on, not to mention college tuition for E’s one, two and three all coming due in the same month.
It was enough to drive a man to drink, if Anton Five had been the drinking type – but he wasn’t. So he wallowed in his despair, casting his mind about here and there, desperately seeking some kind of solution to his financial ills.
“Damn the union!” he thought to himself, and only to himself, lest a union member hear him and vandalize his hovercar and incur costly repairs.
In theory he understood why the union was striking, and that unions could be a good thing for workers who were often exploited through bad pay, bad working conditions or both, but now, when their strike impacted his life, he was having second thoughts. He did not like the idea of his job being sacrificed on the union’s altar until they got what they thought was a fair deal.
It was dark and raining heavily in the early dawn as Anton passed the union members on his way to work and the main Acme parking lot. Their signs went up and down as he drove by. Several other vehicles honked in support. As he slowed to make his customary turn, a few union members began crossing back and forth in the pedestrian path, blocking his progress. Anton tried to wait patiently, but when the light changed and he was in the way of oncoming traffic, he panicked. He frantically honked his horn and flared his car’s hover jets, sending plumes of burning steam into the meandering union members. They crumpled under the scalding cloud, but their brothers and sisters were quick to pull them back to the sidewalks, and in an instant, he was surrounded by a screaming horde who banged on his windows and doors with everything from fists to firewood.
Anton’s heart raced and it took every remaining ounce of self-control to not floor his hovercar’s accelerator. The passenger-side rear window cracked, then spider-webbed under the pounding assault. He could feel the entire car rocking up and down, straining to maintain an even altitude above the pavement. His life was in jeopardy! It was getting hard to breathe and the windshield was fogging up despite the defogger’s best efforts. He swallowed hard and loosened his collar. His hovercar was being forced to the ground as more and more union members joined the fray. Where was Acme Security?!! The driver-side window finally shattered and Anton Five was dragged through it. He could feel the jagged edges cutting through his required safety jacket and tearing into his skin, but the worst was yet to come.
They pummeled him repeatedly, mercilessly, but in the end it was ultimately their doom. Because they did not know that Anton Five was a native of the planet Medusa, a planet reached by the very rockets the union members had built, and that when a Medusean’s blood was exposed to Earth’s water it created a biotoxin as a defense response. As Anton’s blood flowed from his head wounds and through the cuts of his safety jacket, the deadly biotoxin got onto the hands and feet of the union members. Nearly instantly, and in a horrific chain reaction, they all fell to the ground in a writhing, dying mass.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2024
Reviews/critiques welcome

Yes, another great story Tom!! Good work! Are you close to publishing another collection? I've accrued enough now that I should publish another one myself.

Jot, very funny story! As someone who is afraid of heights, it was terrifying and hilarious at the same time!

Thank you Tom! The Pan Am "First Moon Flights" club and of course the sequence from 2001 with the Pan Am "shuttle" were the inspiration. Oh that it were so easy and commonplace. And hey, where's my flying car already! :)

Pushing the Ragged Edge

Consortium Aerospace’s orbital passenger liner sat in Pan Am’s infamous Hangar Number One. Looking like the offspring of a Saturn V rocket and the defunct XB-70 Valkyrie Mach three bomber, it glistened in its pristine white and blue livery. Coolant vented along the fuselage from overflow valves while cables from diagnostic equipment hung from strategic hardpoints and covered the hangar floor like so many snakes. It was 1970, and an air of giddy anticipation hung thickly over Pan Am’s newly christened “space port,” located conveniently near Florida’s Kennedy Space Center. First flight was scheduled for Monday in front of God and everybody, and Chief Flight Test Engineer John “Roscoe” Talbot could feel his ulcer growing as he reviewed the current glitch list. On paper NASA was in charge of first flight, but everyone knew it was really Pan Am’s program – and the airline – soon to be spaceline – executives, were not brooking any delays. They had paying customers waiting for their first flight into space who were practically frothing at the mouth to do so.

Talbot stubbed out his third cigarette in an overflowing ash tray and ran his hand through a bristle-brush flattop of iron gray. It made him long for the days of the Mercury program and the simplicity of a capsule designed for just one astronaut. Now this new behemoth could carry over two hundred passengers to the Skyhub Orbital Platform and then beyond to the growing lunar outpost. That meant life support systems strong enough to scrub carbon dioxide for that many people, room for sufficient food and water, not to mention enough zero-gee toilets. Most passengers could barely manage the lavatory on Boeing’s 707’s, so how could they possibly handle doing one of Nature’s most basic functions without gravity?

Talbot’s push button desk phone rang and it jolted him out of his negative spiral.
“Talbot,” he answered brusquely.
“Roscoe, I’ve got some bad news.”
“Bouncer,” said Talbot, using his friend’s old Navy call sign. “Why do you only call me when you have bad news?”
“Sorry man. We just had a Notice of Escapement come down from Rockwell-Aerodyne. Something to do with the injector regulators. They strongly recommend scrubbing first flight until they can do an analysis and inspection.”
“They want to start pulling apart Pan Am’s bird two days before it’s supposed to fly?”
“That’s what they’re telling me. Mathematical modelling says it’s if-y.”
“They still using slide rules over there?”
“So what if they are?”
“I’d rather have numbers from an IBM box Bouncer and you know it.”
“Well they don’t have a computer yet, so we’ve got their best figures from their best eggheads.”
Talbot contemplated lighting another cigarette but refrained and blew out his breath instead.
Bouncer continued, “I know man, I really want to fly too, but we’re talking catastrophic failure when they light the rocket on the back of that bird. They think first stage is safe, but the injectors in the second and third stages are suspect.”
Talbot hesitated, then answered, “Okay Bouncer, I’ll take the bad news upstairs but it’s not going to go well. Get the inspectors out there, but no one takes anything off the plane until I get Pan Am’s approval. Got it?”
“Sure thing Roscoe, we’re on it.” The line went dead and Talbot’s sense of dread began growing with every step towards the Pan Am executive suite.

***
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the first flight of Pan Am’s new spaceliner Orbiter One!” The announcer’s voice echoed between the hangars and flight line, sounding like competing hosts among the cacophony of the crowd – who were out in force along the runway, but safely back in cordoned off areas. The countdown clock spiraled rapidly down as Orbiter One taxied into position on its massive conventional jet engines. Everything from the weather to spacecraft telemetry was perfect, but in Launch Control, John Talbot was conspicuously absent. Orbiter One’s engines howled at full power as the gigantic space plane lumbered down the runway, quickly picking up speed. At the halfway point it pulled its nose into a forty-five-degree angle and began a tearing climb into Earth’s upper atmosphere.
“And there she goes!” exclaimed the announcer.
Cameras tracked its progress, beaming the successful launch into living rooms everywhere. The first stage successfully ignited with a boom, delighting the crowd. But their excitement soon failed as the second stage quickly exploded, raining debris across Florida and dashing hopes that spaceflight for the masses would soon become a reality.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2024
Reviews/critiques welcome

Wow Tom! Your story stressed me out! Nicely done!

Hello Jot, I've posted the three August theme and element discussion topics. Please move them to the top. Thank you!

Theme: Catastrophic Failure (of anything – ships, life support, governments, relationships, etc.)

Required element: Bad customer service

Theme: Catastrophic Failure (of anything – ships, life support, governments, relationships, etc.)

Required element: Bad customer service

Theme: Catastrophic Failure (of anything – ships, life support, governments, relationships, etc.)

Required element: Bad customer service

Theme: Catastrophic Failure (of anything – ships, life support, governments, relationships, etc.)

Required element: Bad customer service

Thank you all! I am but a very large shark in a very small pond - or a very small shark in a very big ocean, or there's always a bigger fish - or something like that!

Greg, do you want to do the theme and elements or would you like me to? Just let me know!

Paula wrote: "Such a terrific story, Justin! First rate!"

Thanks Paula! I had the idea but really struggled with getting it into a compact form and making it somewhat believable. I really appreciate it!

Thanks Tom!!

Regression

The Elder sat upon his tired steed as it chewed its cud in the evening cool. He had ridden many lengths to reach this massive thrust of rock that jutted towards the heavens like a dagger, and now he gazed at the night sky. His steed snorted and pawed at the ground impatiently, so he gave it a gentle nudge with the small fins that protruded like natural spurs from his calves.
“We’ll head home soon,” rasped the Elder, and he patted the beast’s enormous head between its three horns. He unfocused his eyes and slowly searched the stars, not knowing exactly what for. Some lights merely twinkled, others tore across the firmament in a flash, yet there was one that caught his attention. He held a webbed hand up as if to shield his face, but placed the light between his thumb and index finger to measure its size. The Elder sighed and blew his breath out through his gills.
“So…you are coming at last,” he said to himself. A chill rippled down his spine, causing his small dorsal fin to shudder, and those on his forearms to stand on end.
“Come my friend,” he clicked to the Triceratops. “We’ve lingered here long enough and my skin longs for the waters of home.”
***
“Father, why do the Old Ones not recognize us any longer?” asked the boy as they swam lazily in the saltwater lagoon near their village, their dorsal fins breaking the surface ever so slightly. He breathed deeply and forced the water through his gills. The boy preferred breathing on land, but his Father told him it was important to be able to do both.
“Well,” his Father hesitated, “It’s hard to explain.”
“But they’re basically the same as us, they just don’t come on land. Right?”
“They can’t come on land,” his Father corrected. “Long ago, before my great-grandsire’s first row of teeth fell out and giants roamed the land, we and the Old Ones lived together in the deep waters. All the creatures of the sea feared us. But as some of us learned how to spend time on the land, they began to hate us. Eventually we became so different in their eyes that now they usually attack us as prey. Even our languages are foreign to them because they rarely speak, and when they do, it is only of raging hunger and blood.”
As he finished speaking, the Father noticed a dark shape trailing some distance behind them. The sway of its tail and shape of its fins were unmistakable.
“Son,” the Father said calmly, “I want you to swim as fast as you can to shore and meet me on the beach.”
“But,”
“Do it!” his Father gnashed at him, exposing his three small rows of serrated teeth. “Quickly now!”
The boy obeyed sullenly and sprinted to shore, eventually coming to stand on the beach where the Elder was waiting.
“I must speak with your Father,” the Elder said.
A violent thrashing of water erupted behind them, followed by a darkening pool of foaming blood.
“Father!” yelled the boy, who tried to run back to him but was held firmly by the Elder.
The lagoon’s surface once again became placid, but finally a small dorsal fin broke the surface and the boy’s Father emerged, bleeding, but alive. The two embraced as the Elder spoke.
“My Chief,” he said, “We have much to discuss.”
“Then let us council, for I have food to share!” said the Chief, as he raised the torn body of a great shark above his head.
***
The asteroid approached Earth, gaining speed with each passing second. Its brightness in the night sky was soon matched by that in the day. Even if the great saurians had known their end was near, there was nothing they could have done about it. But the tribe’s Elder was wise, as was their Chief, and so it was decreed that all would now forsake the land and return to the sea. They abandoned their simple village, left no tools or implements to speak of, and had made no art or monuments to mourn. Those who had died before them had already been returned to the waters of their ancestry, of the Old Ones. For the few who had died far from the water, their cartilaginous bones left no remains. Thus, as the asteroid remade the surface of the Earth, any evidence of the Shark People was completely and entirely erased forever.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2024
Reviews/critiques welcome

Almost done!!!

Good action story Greg!!

I will have one up today. I'm off from work, so I'm sitting down to do it now.