MARTIAN HOLIDAY 109: Paolo In Burroughs

On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom directed against Christians, Molesters, Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters, go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read it from beginning to end (70,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

Paolo Marcillon looked over the small crowd gathered around him on the floating stone disk Burroughs Dome called the Court of Eleusinian Mysteries . He continued his discourse, “I’m here to say that the soul belongs to the Water God – who, like a pot of snow on a hot stove is solid, liquid and gas yet water all the same, the God of Heaven is Father forever, Son crucified and alive again and Spirit of unimaginable power yet all the same. That’s who we belong to.”

There was laughter, angry mutters and words that sounded like “slavery” and “haters” and “terrorists”. Rather than shouting over them though, Paulo’s voice lowered as he said, “God wants us to turn away from evil and come to Him.” He stood abruptly, ending his session.

People drifted away, but some stayed. A man with two children approached him and lowering his voice said, “Get moving, young man. Some have gone to fetch the mind police.” He snorted softly. “You know, even your Christian forebears had friends in high places who believed that people should be able to choose for themselves what they believe. Some of them never became Christians themselves.” He turned and hurried away.

Farther on, another man watched, standing and lifting his arm as if he were stretching. He was with two small children who were tussling on the turf. Paolo had started to look away when he saw the man’s first two fingers together, pointing up; the other three clenched his palm. The signal vanished in stretching fingers and a flat-handed twitch 45 degrees to Paolo’s left.

Paolo dipped his chin and set off across the floating platform, an additional 45 degrees off of the indicated direction. The other man set off at a tangent a moment later, bisecting the two trajectories. Not long later, they passed each other in front of a service passageway. The man was alone and paused, knelt and adjusted his boot straps. Paolo sneezed then turned to the service hatch, pushing it. It was identical to every other hatch door on Mars. Maintenance, while sloppy on Earth, had to be precise on Mars. The lives of the entire population of the planet depended on it. Paolo kept walking.

He turned a corner and stopped. A few moments later, someone else entered the passage. He heard the tread of booted feet. A moment later, the man came around the corner. Paolo said, “You could be about to kill me, using a easily discoverable sign of the prehistoric Christian church.”

“I could kill you for even saying that, but your slaughter isn’t my business. You took a huge risk out there – and you’ve put us at risk.”

Paulo shrugged slightly, “No different that the Twelve three thousand years ago.”

The man nodded. “Trudat,” he said. Paolo couldn’t help but smile. “What?” the man said.

“The rituals are three millennia old; how we speak is purely Martian.”

“Probably – the Christ spoke Aramaic or Hebrew. We’re speaking Spandaringlish.” They looked at each other for several minutes. The man said, “I’m Judas.”

“Paolo.”

“The connotation isn’t significant.”

“Whew!”

Judas smiled. “All right. I can connect you with the underground here, but I need to know why we should risk talking to you.”

“You’re talking to me.”

Judas shrugged. “It was my turn to be pastor this week.”

Paolo nodded. “I need to exchange my ‘bug for a new one. I’m on a quest.”

“What are you looking for?”

“I’m not looking for anything in particular. I’m sort of gathering clues.”

“A private investigator, of sorts.”

Scowling, Judas crossed his arms over his chest. Paolo knew Human behaviors well enough to recognize resistance, so he said, “I stumbled across an alien satellite.”

Judas shrugged. “Interesting, but irrelevant.”

“It has markings on it only visible when you project ultrasound over it.”

“How’s that?”

“We can’t see them, but a computer tuned to it can change the reflections into visual images – and they show up as symbols.”

“A language?”

Paolo shrugged this time. “Maybe. The tablets of a collector here has the same markings.”

This time Judas pursed his lips then finally said, “How does that help the underground Church?”

Paolo took a deep breath. He hadn’t tested his idea on anyone ever before. Perhaps someone who wasn’t a partner would be more inclined to poke holes in his thoughts. He said, “I think Mars had life on it long ago.”

“Duh. Well-known and accepted evidence supports…”

“Intelligent life.”

Judas shook his head, “Impossible. Mars wasn’t viable long enough…”

“It didn’t come from here. It was extraterrestrial in origin.”

Judas didn’t say anything for some time. “So? I reiterate my question, ‘How does that affect the Church’?”

“If we come forward with evidence that Humans aren’t alone in the universe – and our faith doesn’t go to pieces – the witness will bring more into the arms of Christ. If the Unified Faith in Humanity either attempts to suppress us by increasing the efforts of the pogrom, we aren’t any worse off than we’ve ever been. But if we lead people to a new understanding of our place in the universe and are seen to embrace it, the UniFiH can’t exactly crush us AND celebrate the discovery. Besides, I think God is leading me to gather the evidence.” He paused, waited, then said, “I also believe that other Christians have other pieces of evidence pointing to the same thing. I think God is preparing the Church to lead Mars.”

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kB5wP5o5VuzbhQVDthrqJohh8uL52IGDt84n3dGhkCI-t4RMfYH8kx-KjMU4CpHSKfJBCYAuX3Vx2BD_SMD5j06A-Tm_tz_6b29Ohv5Dkl5xtNoaecKLHOMkCWDbP_RrQZrjnatLx0A/s1600/Astronauta+Marcos+C%C3%A9sar+Pontes.bmp

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 319

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

SF Trope: god-like aliens

Current Event: http://www.amazon.com/Twilight-Gods-Calendar-Return-Extraterrestrials/dp/1601631413/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1323863963&sr=1-1

This is SUCH an old idea; tired; worn out…I read CHARIOTS OF THE GODS when I was like, thirteen. It was lame then and the books since then are STILL lame, as is his website and his continued insistence that the rest of the scientific world is crazy and he’s right – that aliens came down from space to form our total mythology – from the Greek pantheon to the Mayan gods poised to return to Earth in December of 2012. He also has a theme park and is planning a media extravaganza (http://www.daniken.com/e/chariots_project.shtml) – sounds to me just like any other property developer: out to get rich!

I’d like to try something different.

Besides the possibility of One God, the broadcasts of van Daniken’s book in the form of his movie of the same name, have been floating into space since 1974.

No doubt the “alien gods” have seen it.

I notice they haven’t been around to reclaim their godhood lately.

But what if they did come back? What if they are here? Now?

Fifteen-year-old Tommy Servant has been into his mom’s old books. After reading the relatively new TWILIGHT OF THE GODS on his friend’s NOOK, he’s been reading one of the writer’s books a week.

In the heat of the summer, he’s camping in a nearby state park and he’s out laying on a stone outcrop over a shallow valley, watching the Milky Way wheeling overhead. Something descends from the sky and moves directly toward him. Shortly, there’s a small spacecraft hovering directly in front of him. A ramp extends from a door that opens. All he can see inside are a few banks of lights and a rectangle of darkness.

The invitation is obvious but…crap! What should he do? Then a voice speaks – it’s female and surprisingly sounds a lot like Mom’s voice.

It says, “Tommy, what you see before you is a ship that carries a gateway to our world. We are not gods and even though our ancestors sometimes visited Earth, we didn’t make your pyramids or your Easter Island heads or anything else like that. We want you to set your world straight about what we DID do here: we explored. That’s it. Your own people created the Nazca lines as well as created calendars. We may not be gods, but we’d like you to be our prophet. Because some of us are coming to Earth; but not all of us are benevolent…”

YOU take if from here!

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b1/3,2,1_blast-off!_(15871161250).jpg/511px-3,2,1_blast-off!_(15871161250).jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: DOWNTON ABBEY as Science Fiction

NOT using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Kansas City in August 2016 (to which I was invited and had a friend pay my membership! [Thanks, Paul!] but was unable to go (until I retire from education)), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. But not today.

The entire premise of the incredibly popular historical drama (that my wife and I just binge watched over the past four weeks…) concerns the impact of TECHNOLOGY on PEOPLE…

Think of it! The entire six-year-long series of eight or nine episodes each year (aired in the US in mid-winter!) covered the years 1912 to 1926, OPENS with the sinking of the Titanic. The most technologically advanced ocean liner in its time, it was also the most technologically advanced form of transportation of its time. It removes the heir-apparent of a decidedly ordinary, aristocratic family and their servants.

From there, technology runs totally RAMPANT all over them!

Medical advances (cataract surgery, hospital consolidation), weapons advances (gas and airplanes), communication advances (the telephone and records), agriculture advances (breeding and farming methods), MORE transportation advances (the CAR!!!!!), pedagogical advances (people who teach from a knowledge base rather than because of a degree), – even social advances (women’s rights) constantly trample the cast into the ground.

Sometimes LITERALLY. I asked my wife shortly before we finished the series what the body count was for the show. We didn’t know, but I found out: the two heirs who died on the Titanic, Ambassador Pamuk, William, Lavinia, the FIRST Mrs. Bates, Lady Sybil, Matthew, Alex the Rapist, Mr. Gregson, Isis, Charlie – oh, and the 41 million who died in WWI, as well as the 1503 on the Titanic, and 20-50 million who lost their lives during the Flu Pandemic of 1918-1919.

Rough estimate then:  41,000,000 + 35,000,000 + 1503 +12 = 76,001,515 dead on Downton Abbey.

The fact is that the number was almost certainly due to technological advances – or the lack thereof. If you removed the technological advances, then the story would collapse in on itself.

I’m not kidding. Downton Abbey is SCIENCE FICTION at its best in that it showed repeatedly the impact of technology on BOTH individuals and Human civilization.

Need more convincing?

The entire series would have failed miserably if the two heirs of Downton Abbey hadn’t been on a ship. The Titanic was cutting edge technology from stem to stern (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RMS_Titanic) and was, as we all know so well, touted as “unsinkable”. It had also been built to be the fastest ship (as well as the most luxurious ship) on Earth.

The continuing failure of medicine to control viruses brought about the deaths of millions during the pandemic – but specifically killed Downton’s heir’s fiancé  and throwing him into the arms of the daughter of the Earl of Grantham…and then he was killed in a car accident. Medical procedures both cured and complicated the lives of the people there; jazz music spread by both recording and wireless caused endless complications with the “teeny-bopper” Rose; and the increased ease of transportation allowed not only Tom to flee England for America, but brought Cora’s interfering mother from America to England.

Off stage and in a slightly different age, the introduction of the wireless in the 1920s along with the continued development of transportation methods, led to the involvement of a future King of England with an American divorcee and the necessity of him speaking on the wireless to all of the British Empire as they flew into a second war with Germany – in THE KING’S SPEECH.

I’ll stop here and rest the defense of my premise: DOWNTON ABBEY is Science Fiction at its best!

Image: https://c1.staticflickr.com/7/6120/6283730117_f8007ca60c_b.jpg, https://i.ytimg.com/vi/GidbEhL0teE/hqdefault.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION -- Chapter 69

On Earth, there are three Triads intending to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. All three intelligences hover on the edge of extinction. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society might not only save all three – but become something not even they could predict. Something entirely new...

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Xiomara; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two, warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds.

“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”

“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.”

 “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.”

 “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)

“What was the worst-case scenario?” I said, feeling as if the darkness was suddenly tangible.

Great Uncle Rion lifted its chin and didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally it said, “The one where I’d been caught, had my memory yanked and been melted down for parts. Based on my informing you, all of the Triads are captured one-by-one, tortured and then your brains are injected with a flesh-eating bacteria and you get to suffer some more.”

My eyes reached their maximum bugging-out distance and I gagged. “Worst-case?”

It nodded. “Best case was than none of this happened, the Yown’Hoo and the Kiiote made up, and they helped us rebuild Earth and formed a strong, interstellar alliance.”

I nodded, then said, “Let’s try to stay as close to the best-case scenario as we can.”

“Agreed.”

“How do we do that?”

GURion said, “You won’t like the answer.”

I nodded, “The only answer I would hate worse than having my brain slowly eaten by bacteria is that I shut my mouth and do everything Retired tells me to do without question.” [AUTHOR’S NOTE TO SELF: YOU HAVE TO MAKE ‘CAR MORE RECALCITRANT AND HARDER TO HANDLE THAN HE HAS BEEN. HE’S BEEN KIND OF A WUSS SO FAR…]

                                                                                      

The android, who didn’t breathe except when it wanted to appear alive, snorted and said, “If you can do that, then maybe the Triad Plan has a chance.

I went to get my stuff and headed to the hallway. “No guarantees, but I’ll do the best I can.”

“Then I’ll spend my time hoping your best is enough.” He closed and locked the hideaway’s door and set off into the tunnel. “Perhaps I’ll take up prayer. My studies indicate that it’s a good way to focus mental energies.”

We had to hurry to catch the others, but Retired had been right, they were moving fast and the walls of the tunnel had been chiseled or drilled or mined from the bedrock, turning sharply, going downhill. They heard voices ahead before they saw the group. Xio was standing on their side. The rest of the Triad and Retired were farther ahead, shouting, “It’s not that deep!”

“I don’t care how deep it is, it’s freezing cold and all I have is these tennis shoes on!”

“Jump over it,” said Dao-hi.

“I can’t jump as far as you can.”

“Walk through it then,” said Qap.

“I don’t have waterproof feet like you do! If I walk through this raging river…”

“It’s a stream,” said Retired. Me and GURion stopped behind Xio. It was a freaking creek cutting through the tunnel!

“I don’t think I can…” GURion grabbed me under my armpit and threw me across the water.

Retired caught me and held me up until I wasn’t about to fall. I jerked my arm free and started walking, pushing through Herd and Pack, even giving Fax a knee to the chest when he tried to calm m down. I kept going as I heard Xio cry, “You will NOT throw me across this raging river like a football!”

“Then how about I carry you, young lady?”

I missed the rest of the conversation as I stormed off down the tunnel. I hadn’t understood what was going on from the beginning but since the creepy conjure tried to eat us, it was finally starting to sink in.

We hadn’t been holed up in the old stadium as an experiment that might or might not succeed. We’d been training there for a mission that was the only chance Humanity had to keep the Earth a viable proposition. If the Kiiote – the intelligences my best Earthly friend belonged to – were to really, truly go after the Yown’Hoo, there would be little left of Earth. The planet would survive, but the intelligent life on it would vanish.

I would vanish.

We would all be gone and then eventually, the Kiiote and the Yown’Hoo would fight themselves back into their respective Stone Ages…and that would be it for intelligent life in this Galaxy. Oh, I know that for a fact. Before they started their war, both had explored the galaxy and knew that it’s Kiiote, Yown’Hoo, and Humans.

Some whack-a-doodles on their home worlds decided that it was THEIR manifest destiny to get rid of the inferior Other and the mutual feeling spawned their war. We’re just an afterthought because Earth was the perfect place for both of them to reproduce. Plus they got smart babysitters into the deal so they could continue to fight and make new soldiers.

I know. It sounds sick, but as far as I can see, it’s what Humans did to the Korean peninsula two hundred years ago.

We had to fix this. We had to learn how to get along. We had to change the future or it would just be more of the past. I stopped my charge to the north to wait for the others.

I stopped my charge north to wait for the Triad, its guardians and its teachers.

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 318

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc.) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

Change of pace for a bit – I’m going to look at elements of EXTREMELY popular SF, F, and H; break them apart and use each element as a jumping off point for a story idea…

H Trope: adaptational heroism

Current Event: “Throughout this work, we advance four primary ideas: (a)The concept of heroism is a way to unify several types of courageous or brave actions that have largely been treated independently in the literature to date; (b) that the simple presence of risk accompanying prosocial behavior is not enough to define heroism; (c) heroism is viewed as distinct from other prosocial activities, such as compassion and altruism (and may represent an entirely different behavior); and (d) that while heroism is primarily a positive and prosocial act, a simplistic view of this behavior misses important (and sometimes negative) aspects of the phenomenon.” (http://www.scribd.com/doc/161425346/A-Conceptual-Analysis-and-Differentiation-Between-Heroic-Action-and-Altruism)

Altered Definition: This idea originally meant that when people write scripts of books, they make the main character BETTER than they really were. No doubt – in the HP books, H himself is a jerk. They maintained that pretty much in the movies, but he STILL came across as “wunderkind”. I interpreted this to mean that a normal person will become a hero under the correct set of circumstances: to win the girl, save his parents, get the golden fleece, whatever. It takes a really good writer to create a situation and character in which the character even CAN become a hero…

“My baby sister tells me you can help us find Carlos,” Carmita Rodriguez Cruz said. Her eyes narrowed, “She’d better be right.”

Austin Ventura remembered then that she was also taking kickboxing lessons – and that his best friend was missing. “I’m not sure exactly where he is. I just know that there are certain places he’s likely to be.” He dared, “We’re in probability together. You do the math.”

She scowled darkly at him, but didn’t contradict him.

Score one, he said to himself.

Paulina Rodriguez Cruz, sister to Los Traviesos Gemelos, said, “Quit flirting, you two! Carlos has been kidnapped and we have to rescue him!”

Austin exclaimed, “I’m not flirting!”

Looking at him, Carmita said, “She’s right, A-man.” Looking at Paulina, she said, “¿Qué te hace pensar que fue secuestrado?”

“I have another question for you, dear sister – what would he be doing out in the middle of the night, by himself, without telling one of the three of us? Aren’t those enough reasons?”

“The bigger question is why would anyone kidnap him,” said Austin.

Carmita bristled, “Just ‘cause he’s not rich like you, doesn’t mean that there’s no reason to kidnap him!”

“You two have to cut it out! Carlos may need us out there!” Carmita and Austin looked at each other then looked away, hanging their heads. “You both know that Carlos is a better person than all three of us put together.”

Austin felt a chill run up his spine. He said, “What would that have to do with kidnapping?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It just…felt right. Don’t you think?”

He grimaced as a chilly breeze blew from across the parking lot, chasing bits and pieces of leaves and paper over to them. “Much as I know about him, I have to say I agree.”

“What do you mean?” Carmita said. “I’m his twin. I’m just as good as him!”

“Better,” Austin said.

“What?”

“You’re better than him in everything. It’s like when you guys were conceived, you sucked all the talent out of him. You got everything.” Carmita was glaring at him. He added slowly, “You got everything except his good heart.” She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it. Austin said, “You look like los peces de colores loco.”

“A crazy goldfish?” she echoed, puzzled.

“Yep. You ever seen one?”

“No.”

“Sure you have. Someone who’s locked up and can’t do a single thing – and if they don’t start moving, it’s gonna drive ‘em crazy.”

Paulina said, “Fits you like a glove, Cabroncita.”

Carmita snorted and said, “Let’s get going.” She tossed her gigantic purse over her shoulder, “A-man, we’re gonna need your car.”

Names: ♂ Mexico; ♂ Italy; ♀ Spanish/French/Hebrew

Image: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-arXKTiwzTybeiZ-IjR8P9j_aP2vqKXJulRCqqk_e42EoyXriDrQffp-dV_b96wQqLf5Y-M9XYpYkS4Lpz0PJvQcjGfHXS3M8QSPWCq9l9UURqlah0AR2TAlNeS4yX_NR2arOLIZVuY/s1600/2212_1025142570.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: Can This Story Be SAVED? #15 “THE ‘KRASIMAN, THE MONKEYBOY, AND THE FROGFATHER” (Submitted 6 Times Since 2014, Revised Once)

In September of 2007, I started this blog with a bit of writing advice. A little over a year later, I discovered how little I knew about writing after hearing children’s writer, In April of 2014, I figured I’d gotten enough publications that I could share some of the things I did “right”. I’ll keep that up, but I’m running out of pro-published stories. I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it, but someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. Hemingway’s quote above will remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales, but I’m adding this new series of posts because I want to carefully look at what I’ve done WRONG and see if I can fix it. As always, your comments are welcome!

ANALOG Tag Line:

Given a hopeless life on an alien world, a dark past, and a strange ally, could Koti trick his way to a better future?

Elevator Pitch (What Did I Think I Was Trying To Say?)

Koti is a company slave on Enstad’s Planet as his mother and father were. She died, tricked by an alien into trying to fly again. After her death, the alien works with the boy to create a fulcrum to leverage the departure of Humanity and gives him the neural link taken from his mother so that he can fly again and take the rest of his kind with him.

Opening Line:

“Koti Christofferson breathed deeply of humid brimstone and rot, then jumped half up the ladder. Bamboo wind chimes warding plague rattled under his feet as he scrambled up the thin plastic rungs.”

Onward:

“If you don’t stay up there and keep an eye out for marshsharks, I’ll feed you to them myself, Monkeyboy!”

Koti laughed, and called, “You only own my hands and feet, Deck Master! I own my life!” He raced barefoot past the first flash vessel, mallet on his belt slapping against his thigh and orange nylon shorts. An instant later, the vessel blew a cloud of super-heated steam that flowed back along the harvester’s hull. Sliding head down the other side, Koti dropped onto the walkway sticking out a meter over the swamp. “I can see the ‘sharks better from here, Deck Master, and only I know how to scare them away!” he called, leaning over the side, dry reeds brushing his face.

“No tricks from you boy!” the man shouted. “You need to be…”

What Was I Trying To Say?

I wrote the story for a contest for CICADA. We were supposed to tell a “trickster” story; so I suppose my intent was to say that “Tricksters can live in any time, on any world.”

The Rest of the Story:

Lord-a-livin’ is this a mess!

The WORLD is the character of this story and it’s complex both sociologically and ecologically. I have life cycles, weird creatures, and a society that is made up of Indian Christians and Haitian and Louisiana voodoo believers…all done on purpose by an Earth government intent on eliminating faith in anything but Humanity…

I have technology: starships, neural implants, harvesters that collect organics from the vast marshlands of Enstad’s Planet – or Murr< as the aliens call their world – for processing into oil via thermal depolymerization which has had only spotty success in the US (most likely due to opposition from Big Oil, I’d say…*grin*)

I even have a story. Simplified: Alien creates tool to get Humans to leave its world, boy (aforementioned ‘tool’) wants a life off the mud ball he’s grown up on, his passport is the neural implant (incidentally dug from the skull of his dead mother…) which Alien uses to engineer the boy’s enemy, thereby getting him off world…

End Analysis:

Like I said above, this is a mess.

On the other hand, it’s a mess because there’s so much here that I tried to cram into the tiny space of 7000 words.

Fump, the alien Murr< (which “was a purring ‘murr’ followed by a ‘ribbit’.”), killed Koti’s mother in order to get the neural implant which he gives to the boy. The intent is to persuade him to lead the exodus of Humans off their world…

As I was writing this article, and while this thing is a sorry mess, it’s NOT a sorry mess because I don’t have a story here. The story COULD become a novel about Koti in the same vein as Heinlein’s CITIZEN OF THE GALAXY (from Amazon.com: “In a distant galaxy, the atrocity of slavery was alive and well, and young Thorby was just another orphaned boy sold at auction. But his new owner, Baslim, is not the disabled beggar he appears to be: adopting Thorby as his son, he fights relentlessly as an abolitionist spy. When the authorities close in on Baslim, Thorby must ride with the Free Traders -- a league of merchant princes -- throughout the many worlds of a hostile galaxy, finding the courage to live by his wits and fight his way from society's lowest rung. But Thorby's destiny will be forever changed when he discovers the truth about his own identity....”)

Can This Story Be Saved?

How about this for the novel that this story, properly sliced, might be part of: Koti’s parents fled a pogrom on Mars aimed against Christians. She nearly died in a ship mutiny and they landed on Enstad’s Planet, where his mother gave up navigating Interspace “forever”, though she never powered down her computer-brain link. They made a hard – and anonymous life – together. Then her husband was badly injured. The company that owned the organics industry on the planet ran a “cash-only” medical care system. She borrowed to save his life, then he killed himself when he was to be handicapped on a “working world” forever. She owed a loan shark who sold her the cash. She tried to get back into space, but when she took the first step, she died and Koti only escaped the loan shark because he was taken in by an local alien. What he doesn’t know is that the alien engineered his mother’s death, created their relationship, then releasing him to take his mother’s place as a starship navigator. But HE understands aliens and when he has a chance to help with a Gwelch “invasion” of Enstad’s Planet, he does – with stunning consequences…

Ah! Now I know how to FIX the story. But it could be lots of work…I don’t know. The future will tell.

Image: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9f/22/3b/9f223b1e57a36e14db3eb13715fbe3f9.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 108: Aster of Opportunity

On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom directed against Christians, Molesters , Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters and I’m sorry, but a number of them got deleted from the blog – go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read it from beginning to end (70,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

The young blue man stepped up to Aster Theilen, Consort of Mayor Etaraxis of Opportunity Dome. As a group, the derogatory epithet was inti – because Artificial Humans had had all their introns removed – the non-coding sections of their Human DNA. They could only reproduce via cloning. They called themselves the aych, short for AH, as in Artificial Humans. He said, “Great-Great said that you need to watch vo’Maddux. That she was a slimy evil.” He leaned closer, “We will watch for you, your Majesty. We will watch and protect you.”

The look he fixed on her made her want to shudder.

She wanted to say she was just a secretary who’d been randomly chosen by the Mayor. But God had his hand on her life and called on her to do something that hadn’t been successfully done on Mars yet. She nodded slowly and said, “Go, then. When the moment is right, I will give the signal.” He grinned, turned, and ran into the darkness.

A moment later, Aster was alone. She wasn’t certain how to get out of the Underground, but there would have to be ways for both Artificial Humans and Naturals to get down here. She pulled out her phone and tapped it to project. On the Burroughs Dome home page hovering in front of her, there were no simple icons to swipe to get a map of the Underground. “No big surprise there,” she muttered then pursed her lips. There had to be access – she couldn’t be the only civilian who found themselves in the Underground.

“Ah!” She keyed through to a general search page, tapped her phone to audio and said, “BexMars – Exploring the Underside of the Planet.” There had been both reports and documentaries she’d seen in passing regarding Naturals who explored the Underground for thrills. A few moments later, she ended up on a page that detailed the tours they both offered and encouraged.

She scowled, struck by how the organization could easily be a front for Naturals sympathetic to the cause of Artificial Humans. Possibly even a contact FardusAH might not know of. Despite the resemblance to an ancient Earth organization that had ferried another group of slaves to freedom, there was nowhere on Mars an Artificial Human could run to. Always identifiable, often programmed to die young, and so far with only few Natural Borns offering support; they could not be spirited away to the Northern Lands to claim their freedom.

Aster sighed and kept at the site. She didn’t have much trouble finding where she was on one of the maps they displayed, though they were somewhat vague. As she looked around the hub station stood in, she noted that the map excluded three of the exit tunnels and showed nothing of the small doorways between three tunnels. While she had no idea what those might be for, it was their absence on the maps that intrigued her.

She started when a male voice said, “I’m here, Aster.”

For an instant, she thought Etaraxis had followed her – or more likely had her followed – then she recognized her father’s voice, altered by the size of the space.

“You didn’t have to, Dad. I have a map.”

“They aren’t much good if they’re put out by the Dome…”

“No, these are by a bexing group…”

“A what?”

She laughed, crossing the hub, following her father’s voice. When she reached him, she said, “Bexing is the art of exploring Human-made structures from a side not normally seen.”

“You sound like an advertisement,” he said, taking her hand and leading her into one of the pitch-dark tunnels.

“That is what they said on their website. The maps they provided weren’t entirely accurate, either.”

He stopped suddenly and turned to her, “They have online maps?”

“They aren’t really accurate…”

“They don’t have to be! If the authorities have even an inkling of what the Underground looks like, they could very easily have tracked you down here!”

“I don’t know…”

“You probably have a tracker on you!”

Aster shook her head, “Dad, please give FardusAH some credit.”

“Who’s that?”

“She the Artificial Human who serves Etaraxis – and she knows I want to use my position to change Martian society. I’m sure anything the Mayor put on my to track my whereabouts – and I don’t think it’s come to that yet – she would have neutralized or redirected…”

“It’s not the Mayor I’m worried about, Aster. It’s vo’Maddux…”

A voice in the darkness said, “And you’d be correct to worry about just that, Madame Consort. Entirely and completely correct…”

Image: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/pv5BzHM3TJ8/hqdefault.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 317

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc.) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.

F Trope:  curses, curses, curses

Current Event: http://www.cracked.com/article_18809_the-6-most-strangely-convincing-real-life-curses.html (Scroll down to Curse #5)

Apparently Soviets removing the skull of the Great Khan, Timur caused the Germans to invade Russia in World War II. When the Soviets returned the skull to the Tomb, it caused the Germans to be crushed in their attempt to flee Stalingrad and lost the rest of the war.

There are people who think that that is a curse.

Some people think it was a hoax.

It is now 2038. Hans Diefenbaker and his father are in Samarkand, Uzbekistan to look at both the Tomb and the history of the supposed curse.

Leonid Omelchenko and his parents are also in Samarkand, Uzbekistan doing the same thing – studying the Tomb and its Curse.

Both them are there with the 3D cameras and production money from DreamWorks and Lucas Films that are being poured into the investigation – because in three years it will be the 100^th Anniversary of Operation Barbarossa, the Nazi invasion of Russia in 1941. The largest, deadliest and most horrific battle ever fought in human history, the coming anniversary has sparked wild claims and commentary in the blogosphere – and taking the blame off of Adolph Hitler is one direction that has become increasingly popular. The death of the last surviving WWII soldier had happened in 2037 in Maine. He was 97 and had joined the Army in May of 1945 at 17, so there is, in fact no one left who personally witnessed the fighting. The film makers want to change that.

They also want to see if the Timur Curse is real. Leo and Hans are standing in the Tomb with their parents when the skull is lifted from its base. They are all standing there when, what they think is an earthquake shakes the ground. It wasn’t a big one. Nothing was knocked over except for one of the cameras. No one was hurt. At least not in Uzbekistan.

No one they could see, anyway.

No one Human, for sure…

In far off Stalingrad, another ancient tomb is stirring and a guard at Lenin’s Tomb is knocked off his chair by an earthquake. Another earthquake causes the Biederitz River east of Magdeburg, Germany to slosh between its banks and a heavy fog to raise from the water in the middle of the night.

In Uzbekistan, Hans and Leo end up together outside in the darkness as the power in the city fluctuates. As they talk in English – both young men have been to the US for their first year of college – they are suddenly struck dumb, frozen in the darkness then abruptly fall to the ground as if they are having seizures.

But they aren’t important. No one notices them. Not yet, anyway…

Names: ♀ Germany; ♂ Russia

Image: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg

Slice of PIE: Emma Thompson – From Shakespeare & Jane Austen To Alien Cat Starship Captain & Agent O of MIB…

NOT using the panel discussions of the most recent World Science Fiction Convention in Helsinki, Finland in August 2017 but I was unable to go (until I retire from education)). I would have chosen a topic, then proceed to jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Program Guide. But not today.

Let me just say that I LOVE Emma Thompson's acting.

My wife and I first ran across her in the Kenneth Branagh production of MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, in which she played the fiery Beatrice in the early 90s and again in SENSE AND SENSIBILITY a year or so later. The first was, of course, a play written by William Shakespeare, the second from a book written by Jane Austen. She has won two Oscars, three British Academy Film Awards, a primetime Emmy, and two Golden Globes for her various works – including writing the screenplay for SENSE AND SENSIBILITY (as well as starring in it).

Then she popped up again – a doctor who has cured cancer in I AM LEGEND, a weird “anti-Mary Poppins” in the NANNY MCPHEE movies – and oddly, the woman who created Mary Poppins in SAVING MR. BANKS, a divination instructor in one of the HARRY POTTER movies (of course are there any British actors who did NOT have a part in a HP movie?) While she played a plain, old, ordinary writer in STRANGER THAN FICTION her work-in-progress is a novel directing the life of man doomed to die at the tap of her typewriter, which she discovers just in time.

The reason I’m writing this is because to me, she embodies the idea that all movies are fantasies – whether she’s playing a lawyer, a dissident journalist, or a crystal-ball-gazing diviner and teacher – she does all with equal gusto and creates characters who are believable and sympathetic.

I’m plagued right now by a long stretch of disinterest in my writing and so I’ve started to search for what I’m doing wrong. One of my biggest weaknesses has been character development, so I look at acting sometimes to see how actors of disparate realities create characters. How does someone like Emma Thompson, whose net worth is somewhere in the neighborhood of $50 million dollars (https://www.celebritynetworth.com/richest-celebrities/actors/emma-thompson-net-worth/) play the part of a working-class German woman after being raised in a creative acting/writing family in London, spending time with Scottish grandparents convincingly? Clearly, she draws from some well of character because the words on the page of a script can’t precisely dictate how a character behaves – especially if the descriptions are painted with minimal strokes and the characterization in the script is simply typed words.

How can I create a character on paper when my work is NOT scriptwriting? How do I make readers “see” my characters clearly?

Perhaps I can learn from someone who has portrayed an alien cat starship captain, the director of a super-secret alien integration bureau, and a pre-war, working class German housewife convincingly.

Resources: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X26IiREk7QA, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-Wit0JspII

Image: https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-BUtpBMovSQc/VQBDiH78WxI/AAAAAAAAABY/Wh-tdmNCCjA/w336-h405/174009_original.png , http://www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/films/2017/05/25/Alone-in-Berlin_PATHE_00368_trans_NvBQzQNjv4Bqek9vKm18v_rkIPH9w2GMNvrBHlngucm5MflHTV9w6vk.jpg?imwidth=480

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION -- Chapter 68

On Earth, there are three Triads intending to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. All three intelligences hover on the edge of extinction. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society might not only save all three – but become something not even they could predict. Something entirely new...

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Xiomara; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two, warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds.

“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”

“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.”

 “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.”

 “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)

“Why are people trying to kill us?” I said.

Great Uncle Rion shrugged and said, “That seems to be the nature of the universe – hatred…”

I couldn’t help it, I guess Xio couldn’t, either. At the same time we said, “No.”

He looked startled. I said, “If we go that way, we might as well give up. If everyone is motivated by hatred, then there’s no reason for us to take one more step. There’s no reason to keep on with the Triad, either. If all that’s going to come of it is Humans loathing the Kiiote who loathe the Yown’Hoo, then what we’re trying to do is against nature and against all of our natures.” I stepped up to it and leaned forward, “So, are you exempting yourself from that statement? Your nature is somehow different – because if you’re going to try that, I’m going to mention briefly that you said that you were created by Humans – who somehow managed to keep their hatred out of you. Right?”

GURion held up both hands and said, “I will amend my statement only.”

“Go ahead,” I said. Right now, I was thinking I wanted to deactivate him and continue on in my delusion that the nature of the universe was to NOT hate. Hate required energy; apathy required nothing.

He said nothing for a while. Finally he spoke. We were all there – the Herd, the Pack, the Tribe along with Retired – waiting. Finally, he said, “I will amend my statement to say that it is the nature of the universe to be neutral. It requires intelligence to expend energy to choose to accept or hate; but I posit that hatred is more entertaining than acceptance.”

“What about love?” Xio said. “Love can be more entertaining than hate.” She glanced at me. “I can be fun as well.”

“I will concede the point. But not all intelligences link love and sex. For some, hatred is the choice that leads to sex.”

I was getting embarrassed, so I cut into the conversation. “We need to leave. We’re all awake and we have a long way to go to our next destination.” I turned to Retired, aka Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh. “Where’s our next stop?”

He jerked his chin sideways as he said, “Nowthen Station. We’re under a burned out school that used to be called Ramsey. From here we go north, this tunnel follows the bank of the Rum River, then turn west and exit under an old greenhouse. We’ll rest there, take a ditch farther to the Station. From that point, we’ll have to go overland to Sand Dune State Forest. There’s a supply cache there where we can spend a night.”

“How far is that?”

“About thirty-five kilometers.”

“What?” Xio exclaimed, “I can’t walk that far!”

He shrugged. “GURion can carry you or you can ride one of the Yown’Hoo…”

The Herd Mother reared in alarm. Retired just shook his head, then stuck his fingers in his mouth and blew. The resulting whistle stunned everyone except for GURion, and I’m pretty sure even he was surprised. Retired glared around at the Triad. “You people have no idea what kind of danger you’re in, do you?” He let the words just hang there. I had no idea what we were doing. For a while, it’d seemed like the adventure we were made for – literally. “We’ve a trip of nearly a thousand kilometers.” Everybody made a sound that was like me and Xio screaming. When we calmed down, Retired continued as if we hadn’t interrupted him. “That’s quite a walk, but we have to do it under fire. Granted, we’re not always going to have Human or Yown’Hoo or Kiiote military hot on our trail, but there are people against us! Against YOU – and that’s because you’re strong enough to cause a paradigm shift not in just one society, but it three societies on three different worlds.”

“But how can we travel that far?” said Lan-mai-ti, then youngest and smallest member of the Herd.

“We have to work together. Me, or GURion, or Qap or Xurf or Car or Xio or Dao-hi or Zei-go, Seg-go, and Ali-go – will beg, borrow, steal, or outright buy various modes of transportation to get us to Grendl. When we DO get there, there’s a way to join all of the other Triads in the Antarctic. That’s were the real work will begin. You’ll continue to learn all the way there – but you’re academic days are pretty much over. Your educations will be practical now. You’ll all be armed when we leave here…”

I couldn’t help it, shouting, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

Retired stared me down until I hung my head and cleared my throat and said, “Sorry, boss.”

“You’ll be trained how to use them, but more importantly you’re going to learn WHEN to use them. There will be no alien star wars in this Triad. Discipline and hard work will be all you do.” He swept us with a withering glare, “And you will take orders from me and me alone.” He looked directly at GURion and said, “Protocol A, Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh,  Alpha Five Seven Omega.”

GURion’s head tipped to the side and it said in a voice I’d never heard before, “Acknowledged. A57Omega.”

“Everyone get your gear, we’ll break camp and head north in fifteen minutes. Make sure you use the facilities here. All that’s between us and Nowthen Station is bare walls.”

The group scattered, but I stayed behind. “May I speak to my great uncle?” I asked.

Retired nodded and grabbing his own pack, went out to stand in the hallway, closing the door behind him. I looked up at Great Uncle Rion and said, “Is this really what Dad wanted for me? For all of Earth?”

He didn’t say anything right away. Finally, “It wasn’t he best-case scenario plan, but it was one of the plans.”

“What was the worst-case scenario,” I said, feeling ghoulish.

It lifted its chin and said, “The one where I’d been caught, had my memory yanked and been melted down for parts – and following my information, you’re captured, tortured, then you brain is injected with a flesh-eating bacteria and you get to suffer some more.”

My eyes reached their maximum bugging-out distance and I gagged. “Worst-case?”

It nodded. “Best case was than none of this happened, the Yown’Hoo and the Kiiote made up, and they helped us rebuild Earth and formed a strong, interstellar alliance.”

I nodded, then said, “Let’s try to stay as close to the best-case scenario as we can.”

“Agreed.”

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg