Paula’s Comments (group member since Oct 28, 2015)

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

Sorry if I went over the word limit! I just forgot; I get more concerned with what a story needs, and was thinking the limit here was 1000. . . . I can cut it back, today or tomorrow, if you want--?

Carrie, oh yes, do!

Sometimes it all comes together and writes itself swiftly. Thanks for the great theme and parameters, J.J.

To Save Nimradov

Copyright 2020 by Paula Friedman

All around him, the frozen wastes of Urda-3, its pink-red sun the tiniest circle sharp above the “skylight” port in the ship Leandra’s shielded metalli-skins. Under his feet, the faint—now barely felt—throbbings of Leandra’s fading engines.

This was—now, with lives at stake!—the third engine failure on this run! Something about Leandra’s aging systems, was it, her chips and links too oft-replaced? Or Urda-3’s sine-model gravity? No matter; “repair” was beyond his knowledge of co-linked ectratronics, but if the vacs could not reach the sickened port of Nimradov, isolate upon its far peninsula, before the virii overran that town’s sparse systems, there would be, on this chill planet, solely death—death and the Hurim, those vicious distant cousins of the wolflike Hars (the once-killer creatures who’d near-destroyed Earth’s settlers of far Harl, until a human child’s help to a Har-pup led to the two species’ friendship). Hurim, however, unlike Hars still regarded people as tasty prey, and if Urda-3’s virii turned Nimradov’s humans to corpses, happily would Hurim feast.

Thus either he could bring the vacs to Nimradov while—if—time remained, or Urda-3 would become Death Planet. "Be Ware: Here DANGER!" He could envision that all-points Spacer Alert, flashing through Frontiers Empyr.

And who would history call this failure’s cause? Rodney ducked his head as if to hide—but the issue was other. His mind’s eye saw the writhing bodies, the sufferers struggling in gasping desperation, lives and destinies falling to dust, in separate sorrows and pain. Unless—

Forcing hope, Rodney strode toward the prep room, suited up, readied to exit safe Leandra, to march onto Urda-3’s slippery surface. One thousand kilometers to sickened Nimradov, that lonesome spaceport colony, and only his four frisking, friendly Harimas to express-drag-bring him there.

Like storied “dogs” of elder Earth they were, leaping now to greet him! Pretty, sleek-“furred”, joyous at his thick-gloved touch. He kissed their stiff-uplifted “ears,” watched them frisk about him. Yet he knew this trip might ask of them—even more than of himself—full sacrifice. Unlike Hurim, which could “sniff” out the mouse-like Wanri, Harimas could not live by hunting; the freeze-world cold would kill them if they lay outdoors through Urda-3’s long nights. “Come, me lovies,” Rod said—meaning the warmth and knowing also that the phrase “me lovies” was key, the very password, when spoken with caring, to his dear Harimas’ hearts—courageous hearts that would risk all, once touched.

Taking the vials of vacs from storage, he enwrapped them in translucent NFpackaging and plunged the packets deep within his pack. “Come, beauties; now we Trek!”

And so into the Hurim-haunted night.

*
Near dawn of the third day, they reached the great ocean, Thalla, that engirdles Urda-3. Only this day’s travel more now—by evening, they should reach Nimradov. For the first time, Rodney let himself remember the deepest, most potent reason for his urgency—Jeannnie and their sweet daughter Miranna waited there, trapped with the others. His arms reached out, embraced the “sledge-dash” as if to embrace his small Miranna, Jeanne his most beloved. “On, me lovies,” he cried to his small Harimas, watching their eyes beg “Help us!” though all food was gone. “I'm sorry, me friends, but we must.” Stifling whimpers, they pulled bravely on.

*
Only Florina, the eldest, remained when they came down into Nimradov. At high noon, a coven of Humri had plunged upon them—flashing, lashing, in that fashion of all Har or Humri, even of Harima—and torn apart his gentle team. Voice hoarse, “Me dear,” Rodney whispered, and shivered, “me poor dears”—then saw, as Florina pulled his sledge into Nirmradov’s frozen square, the forty-four human survivors of the virii rush toward him.

“My Jeannie! My Miranna!” His voice broke; his hands reached out to offer everyone the lifesaving vacs. The people of fair Nimradov crowded close, laughed, cried. And the first vaccine he gave was to Florina, even before the elders or the babies or Miranna or Jeanne.

*
So, you see, it is Rod and his dear Harima friends we celebrate—in their desperate run to bring, in full self-sacrifice and hope, the urgently needed vacs that saved our sickened Nimradov; it is both humans and Harima we celebrate each year when our Harimas-human teams reach their long commemorative trek’s finish and we chant aloud, voicing with Rodney true inter-species love, “Florina, me lovie, brave soul! You too, you too, me dears!”

[748 words]

Oh! Great, J. J.---your story definitely deserved to win--a really exceptional piece--even though two or three others were also outstanding, this month. Congratulations!

J.F. wrote: "Someone mentioned "Johnny Got His Gun" and now I'm craving hamburger sandwiches. I should re-read it and study how Trumbo's descriptive writing of the hamburger stand could stay with me since high ..."
lol. I can't remember the hamburger stand at all--must be from waiting to read it in college.

I wanted to mention, before mention of the book gets lost here, that Jack's novel Purple-Hearted Man, works as a deeply felt vision of, and tribute to, the experience of those war-wounded who came back shattered from US wars in western Asia/Middle East.

Wonderful story, J.F.! I love it. --And, btw, it needs every one of those words, 400-over-the-line or not.-- Beautiful piece, and nicely ends at the exact point where it should.
Let me ask you, this is a pointy reference, yes?--"Durwood Hock's Ft. Lauderdale resort, Pinto-del-Fuego, the portly owner sat at the only..."--? Again, a fine, well-worked-out, powerful story.

Greg, I meant my first comment to you here strictly as praise. That you were referring to mind, not body, failing was clear. I like your slight revision to the tale, though--nice work.
"Flowers for Algernon" frightened me, too, the first time I read it--the part where he sees what is going to happen, what is happening. . .

Must have been quite a documentary, J.J.
And in your story, quite the wise grandmother-professor. Nice work on her part--fine story on your part.

Marianne wrote: "Thanks, Paula. Pain and anxiety have their uses, I suppose."

I hear ya.

Another of your very recent stories to soar above the Brilliant range, Marianne. Wonderful.

Greg wrote: "Mine's up. I missed last month, so I'm doing this one earlier.

While I am working from home and should have about 90 minutes more a day to work with, I've been busier than I ever have been.

I w..."
Well, no one ever forced me to read Trumbo's book Johnny Got His Gun, Greg, but you've captured a great deal of the same, or similar, essence in your fine story. Could've been any war, any time, and yet very specific, and well into the character. Nice.

Thank you both, C. and Tom, for your concise and accurate descriptions and your very kind comments on my stories, and on each of this month's stories!

Nice work, Tom! A very fine story.

Pizza AND cheezecake--wow, Justin! Glad you've had such a great birthday!

Oh, that is good news, Jot. Wishing him a swift recovery.

Jot, very glad your brother survived the heart attack and is recovering now. Best wishes to him, to you, to the whole family.

Wow, you're really going strong, Marianne! I won't say more until folks have a chance to read the stories, though. :)

Just read your newer version, Justin. I agree with Tom, it flows more readily now. Now I'm seeing a need for more clumping together, as in normal (short) paragraphing, of some of the lines, with subject distance (in place or time or subject/content/feeling) enough between clumps, so the flow is also broken into blocks--into separate and perhaps contrasty tones or subjects. Yet keeping the flow, too, for you don't want to lose that; nor, however, would you want to lose the new gain in flow, so it's a marvelous balance you search for. IMHO. LOL, but go for it--it's a wonderful piece!