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

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

I hope your eye surgery went well and your eye healing nicely and thoroughly, J.F.!
Marianne, you have reminded me of the World's Fair memento in The Grapes of Wrath!

A Murder for Optimism
Copyright 2022 by Paula Friedman

Old Derry lifted his foot from the brake, turned the electric-engine’s key to “off,” and let the ancient pick-up glide down the long rocky twists of Copperhead to the gully’s rough, safe bottom.

Not one tire popped. “Hooh-heh,” he whispered. And raised his eyes in the silence.

They were out there, high on the branches above the arroyo, weighting the Plant with their wheeling, squawking bodies, wings whirring as they cycled through the dry heat in the sere red light, cawing, cawing high in the blinding blue skies.

As always it had been, since—even before!—the Plants arrived. Sweeping with night from the deepness of space—Epsilon Auriga’s 13th planet, to be exact. The origin, while there still were departments and observatories to measure such things, had been traced.

The Plants (well spaced in their landing sites approximately 17 miles apart) carefully had been studied samples tested, heated, dissected. Learned by all Earth’s peoples. Derry could remember.

And remembered the thrill—handling this extraterrestrial entity, back in highschool science, later majoring in its study, later . . . but then the Plant, as this their newfound planet dried further, had “lifted”—taken off to Plant themselves in the heating Earth, soared away in flocks, carrying with them hundreds, soon thousands, even (Derry and his then-colleagues had believed) perhaps millions of humans.

“Hey, you know crows make a murder, folks.” Derry called the words, sibilant like the Plant’s long “schwisssch” by night. He stared across toward the Plant’s high branches. “They like you guys, but don’t let them weight you down.” Someday the Plant might hear him.

The Murder kept cawing, high over Copperhead Arroya, squawking about . . . well, whatever. He still didn’t know either Crow or Plant. Yet the day he’d seen the Murder swooping around its Messenger (or Leader?), clearly questioning, learning, until, firm with new agreement, it had swirled together across the blue--that day, he had realized. “And even,” he’d thought, “as I hadn’t realized they share speech, so I also hadn’t seen . . . ”

The light was turning sunset-gold. Derry pulled three water bottles from the camouflaged box beneath the dash. Hiding the sight from potential spying eyes,, he swigged his evening water, stashed the emptied bottle, then took a hard breath. All right—no matter the others called it “hopeless,” “quixotic.” No other choice. Lifting the other two water bottles, he stepped onto the sandy soil and started across the gully floor in clear view toward the towering Plant.

“My friend,” his voice schwisssched, “here is water, easier to ingest and retain than liquids from us prey. I give you this water to drink, dear friend.”

Over and over, like the circling murder querying, demanding, and learning truths from the single “Messenger” bird each time.

Stepping back, Derry waited. Above, across the gold-lit gulch, the white stalk, wide and tall as an old “city block,” bent, curving gracelessly, toward Derry’s tiny trembling form.

“Friennnd,” Derry greeted it, “my frrriend.” Watching its head-shaped leading end cycle, as if sniffing, hovering over him before dipping to spill and drink the water bottle’s contents through its narrow “hose” that, over arid centuries, had sucked away, with a Plant’s great thirst, thousands, millions of human lives.

“Insane of you, Derry, you crazy geezer. No chance you’ll get through.” For years folks had told him. For years he’d kept on anyhow—no other choice. Like a Murder of crows still circling.

“Sure, your Plant ‘friend’ may learn to suck a water bag instead of you,” Raff had laughed, and Jenny, “but the others? You think they talk, and learn from each other, like we do?” And “Man, they’re plants,” Jenny had added.

That first day that he’d seen the Plant stalk bend, sidewise as if “listening” to the wheeling Murder, was when he’d realized that it too was recognizing, just as he had, that the crows spoke and understood too. And that not only the crows but likewise the huge random-killing Plants, to which people were but quenchings for harsh thirst, were also sentients, and thus might understand a gift, might even realize he—every human--was, equally, a sentient, thus to be valued, too.

“You jest, Derry!” Raff had laughed as they’d huddled in the cave. And “Such optimism, Der,” Jen had added.

Now the Plant pointedly nudged the drying bottle. “Sure, of course,” Derry smiled, pushing the fresih second bottle toward the stalk's thirsty tip. “Enjoy!” And extended a hand to accept the packet of, he hoped, sugar that the Plant was nuzzling toward him.

[726 words]

Hah, got mine up despite the 2 vaxxes a couple days ago. And agreeing with Justin and others here--some amazing stories this month, indeed. Excellent batch.

Yeah, always good to do an extra edit. Do you do that first and then the developmental edit, Kalifer? It's always interesting which order people do these in!

And it's a good story, G.C. And a fine story, Greg. Tom--strong tale with excellent concept. Jack--sharp tale, very well formed indeed.

Please clarify, Jot. Next month meaning the October or the November "best" story? Or for best of (what then will be) the just-past year? Or 10-years best?
What about getting a serious judge to choose that winner? Perhaps ask Jamieson, or Gaiman, or G. Brin, or KSR, or Brisson, or V. Singh--?

Terrific, Jeremy--well deserved! A wonderful story.

Seems like almost any of this month's stories could be named best of the past year or even more. Agreed, a proud and amazing vintage.

Just about every story excellent, this time.

Justin wrote: "Great stories Paula and Kalifer!!"
Thank you, Justin!

Jeremy wrote: "Mississauga is just west of Toronto. :)"

Thanks, Jeremy. I've a relative there I've never met.

Mine's up. Probably obvious I've worked in a museum/archives.
Jeremy, I'm so looking forward to holding a copy of the book. And now you and Jot have reminded me--is it Ottawa or Toronto that Missassaugu's near?

Guide to the carmine ribbon (Archive 1-3—009)
Copyright 2022 by Paula Friedman


****”Here is the carmine ribbon.” We lift it from the case. Stroke the carmine ribbon, feel its primitive touch; breathe the carmine ribbon, inhale its ancient airs, its scents of vanished multitudes. Uncode its scribened lineaments, these twists and curlicues embedded through their lost fine arts.****


****EXCERPTs [from Archive 1-3—009. Seg.3]:
---(A) Our father’s house was third from where the cut-off of our block. Half the day, we still were shadowed by “your mother’s oak,” sunny the rest of the time. While I would weave, Dad would tear fallen branches into kindling, and, when Danby asked, sometimes he’d try to talk about her. “Gathering-in the last fish,” Dad said once. And “water rose too fast.” Again, “I warned her, ‘Enough. Enough.’ She wouldn’t listen.”

---(B) “There was a place.” Place and time. So many years. It seemed enough. Snows of soundless nights, ice crystals falling on the needles of the pine. Your hand reached forward and my breath caught, watching your fingers touch mine. The sun would be up soon. That moment, we couldn’t, either of us, speak.
It should have been enough. Of time, of place.


****EXCERPT [from Archive 1-3—009. RoboNU-Seg.4B]:
The captains had the formulae. Excesses should have been mitigated, recalibrated instantly—even with the weight of refugees—subsumed to preferential arc. They had 12-10 Advanced EGt AI, more than sufficient to have adjusted for any recrudescent turbulence, to auto-postulate a delta value for a Snelling Mean. Quite simply, their pod-ship should never have been lost. The crack (let alone thirteen misfirings in a single drive!) should not—could not—have occurred.
My program regulator teared-up when I told it.


****“Build-uppings make for down-fallings”
No, don't joke, Babe. Those two transports would've been carrying most their survivors. Sure, we can say, ‘How do we know what this even meant to them--maybe nothing?" Except, we've both held that ribbon, rolled their cuddle's toys around their foot-worn, scribened floor."****

****EXCERPT [from Archive 1-3—009. Seg.118]:
I have put the velvet ribbon you once gave me (caressing, as you did so, my then-young throat) in the box, along with the final photo and my diary from our hopeful, “protest” years, your Green Earth button. A pair of unraveling mittens from our days “up in Alaska,” your Musher’s badge and Lucky’s paw print, our old rings. That’s it. Oh, and Cindy’s locket, Matt’s first snowshoes.
Dropped the bracelet on your grave.
I’m off now.
Someone, you know, may yet come—yonder along the dry river, down the empty city, at the relic “Phone Store” where you, when we . . .


****Archive 1-3—009, Drawer 615 (Planet 3, species E-8) holds only three incunabuli, each a fragment (excerpt), transliterated from their apparent "oral" mode; these Excerpts are:
--615 (P3 [E8])(a): “I can't forget the high cumulus, or a pale lenticular crossing the peak under dawn.”
--615 (P3 [E8])(b): "These--roiling, pyrotechnic! Yeah, we know what they mean.”
--615 (P3 [E8])(c): “'Bone shards'--a kind of shells? Disturbing, really, after these eons to know so little of what they were, or this violet glow.” ****

[515 words]

As Tom notes, very few sf stories don't include borrowed tech, Jot. And many borrow styles, plots, and/or characters as well.

Jot wrote: "we should all pick up a copy. I will"

Yes! Good point, Jot.

Jeremy wrote: "My short story collection is out on Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BCSDPX21"

It's a terrific collection. I've read it and I'd urge all of us to buy a copy. There are, and over these past 10 years have been, seriously fine tales and books done by members of this group, and we can each help one another by buying and/or reviewing one another's works.

Marianne wrote: "Thanks, Paula. I am always amazed at your mastery of language."
Thank you. Coming from an author of your abilities, that is an honor.

Marianne, congratulations. Delighted to have shared with you the two "finalists" spot(s) this month.
Interesting factlet---this makes (to the best of my knowledge) the first time in the contest's 10 years that two women took the top 2 spots. Not sure what that says, but seems like a good , rather overdue, thing.

Congratulations to you, Marianne!

So glad you had those 4 clinical-trial vaxxes including the mega (multi-variants) one, Greg! Also, that you're holding out for the 2 neg tests before going out around others, in spite of all the "oh it's nothing," "no more than a cold," "don't worry--be happy" voices filling the voice-waves. Feel well soon!