Long-distance interstellar travel rarely had any excitement. For a ship the size of the Meteora, that meant that the seven pilots and astrogators had an easy job. Admittedly, the training was difficult and the level of expertise to operate such a craft was high, but once one was able to break into the field, it was smooth sailing the rest of the way.
Four pilots and three astrogators oversaw the flight operations. Always, two pilots and two astrogators were on duty.
In reality, the astrogators did most of the work. There job was to calculate intergalactic conditions and plot course alterations based on registered data. Of course, not all significant data was obtainable before launch or between jump points, so complications, though rare, were not unknown.
That is where the pilots came in. Their primary job was to maintain the ships pre-programmed course, and make manual adjustments when needed.
Needless to say, the possibility of emergency conditions mandated that the navigation crew remained in the command center nearly all of their shift. If the astrogators did their homework ahead of time, there would be no complications. Most of the crew’s work revolved around the periodic checking of calculations and holo-games.
Holo-games took the most time.
The four navigators sat around the table, each skillfully manipulating hand-consoles. Sounds emitted from the devices, adding to the activity of the images that hovered over the devices. In this interactive game, each navigator started with an IGCR-5 (Inter-Galactic Common Rank 5) company, and through corporate takeovers have advanced their standing to Ranks 2 and 3. None had been eliminated thusfar, and they were on turn seventy-one.
As frenzied hands worked over the controls, a voice sounded from the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to inform you that our ship is arriving at our next jump point. Only two more left until our destination. It also gives me pleasure to announce to you that dinner will be ready in five minutes. The Service Hall is now open. Please note the options available according to your citizenship package. Also, citizens of Strato-Sphere, N-I Inc., and Veritas Plus, please observe that you have bonus packages available to you. Furthermore, naturalized citizens need to observe established Menu Restrictions. Thank you for your zeal and cooperation.”
One of the pilots spoke. “Well,” she said, “anyone ready to eat?”
After the affirmative response, she continued, “Game control, pause in three.”
Her hand-held device spoke in an automated tone, “Pausing in three, two, one, pause.”
The holograms stopped moving. Upon the verbal command “off,” they disappeared.
The blonde, bearded man with the nametag “Garris” looked over at his co-pilot, “Bellina, you realize how close you are to going down don’t you?” She shot him a stabbing glance.
“And you were doing so well,” Marcia continued. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Bellina replied as the crew rose from their chairs and moved over to the eating table. Garris went to the Automated Service Provider across the room to fetch the food that had been sent to them. “I thought I was close to reaching Rank2, and then everything just fell apart.”
Kris raised her eyebrows and looked at Bellina with the smug look that can only come from a player who had reached Rank 2 some time back, “You didn’t cover your assets. I’ve told you a million times, if you don’t cover your assets you will lose them to vultures.”
Garris placed the trays on the table. “Dig in everyone.”
The navigators pulled their food before them and sat properly in a moment of silent thanksgiving to the Divine before eating.
Filling her glass, Bellina muttered, “I thought I did cover my assets.”
“For a while you did,” responded Kris. “You were fine until you sent your negotiation team into Krylon-2. That particular station had alternate investors. Those alternate investors had an observation committees established in key areas for effective espionage. Your R&D division didn’t have the financial backing necessary to uncover those deeper connections. Your resources, instead, went into more overt operations. That works well when you’re running a Rank 5 and 4 union. But when you moved to Rank 3, you didn’t change strategy. And when you came close to Rank 2, you only identified yourself as a easy target who had overextended herself. Hence your rapid plunge in standing.”
Bellina leaned forward on her elbow and said to Kris in a knowing, cocky voice, “And how, might I ask, would you know all this?”
Kris replied, “Because I helped them.” A statement punctuated by her smug smile.
“Did they make it worth your while?” Garris asked.
“Oh, you bet they did.”
All broke out in laughter. Such was the way of games.
“It’s amazing,” Garris began, “how close to real-life those holo-games are getting
isn’t it?”
A flashing light on a subsidiary astrogation panel interrupted the good-spirited time. Marcia rose and walked to the panel. Pushing buttons, she looked perplexed.
Garris called to her, “Marcia, what is it?”
“It appears as though there is a freighter floating in space. It doesn’t have any
recognizable markings according to the database. I’m running a scan for identifying mechanisms.
Marcia continued to scan the ship and the Meteora’s immediate area. Garris pressed a com-button on his belt. “Communications.”
The speaker in the room replied, “Yes, Pilot Garris.”
“We have an unknown freighter near our path. Scan is initiated. Prepare security. Send good eyes to the crow’s nests. Run in silent mode. We don’t want to alarm anyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Stargazing
Hela sat with her father in the Cosmos Lounge on the Meteora, a mid-line, intergalactic passage transport. Due to her father’s citizenship status as a top-grade scientist, her travel with him was paid two times each year. She had been traveling with him ever since she was a little child, which now came to about thirty-seven years. They loved to sit in the lounges and look out upon the stars together. An entire transparent wall revealed the most spectacular view. At times like this, very few words were spoken. They had a deep relationship. This was their way of sharing a father-daughter moment. To Hela, however, this trip somehow seemed different.
Her father was exceptionally distant. Every once in a while, he would become like this. Senior Ares was one of Nexus-Interlocutor Inc.’s researchers on the Animus Project, which sought to tap consciously into the divine energy that permeated all existence. Ever since Ivory Tower Research proved the existence of God over two-hundred and fifty years ago, this type of research has been explored on various levels. But with the recent work of the Animus Project, it appeared as though breakthroughs may be near.
What path would the universe take if sentients were finally able to participate in the divine undercurrents of reality? What would change? What would stay the same? Answers hovered just out of reach.
Sr. Ares was an important man. Perhaps it was the pressure of his work that disturbed him on this trip. Or, perhaps it was because the Ecclesia had assigned a Shepherd.
As far as Hela knew, they had not received any word of expected complications on the trip. But a mandated ecclesiastical presence was abnormal. This rarely happened to others and had never happened to them. Despite the Shepherd’s assurances otherwise, his presence still brought a perpetual sense that trouble brewed. Always near (somewhere) he sat quietly, attentive, and armed.
A meteor shot through distant space, but Sr Ares did not seem to notice. He sat, holding drink in hand, motionless for several minutes. A news cast appeared and hung in the middle of the room. To this, too, he seemed oblivious. Hela knew that he rarely became this lost in thought. Yes, something was definitely wrong. While watching her father out of the corner of her eye, Hela continually asked herself, How much does he know?
“Father,” she said as she leaned her head in his direction. The sound did not move him. His eyes continued to stare blankly into space.
Hela reached out her hand to touch his. Sr. Ares lowered his head to look at her hand. His eyes traveled up her arm until his gaze locked with hers. The expression in his eyes signaled exhaustion and despair. He had this look when he was depressed. Something definitely burdened him in the silence.
“Father,” she said, “what is wrong?”
He turned his eyes back to the stars. “Nothing is wrong, dear.”
Hela too turned her gaze to the stars, with an added air of dignity. “You are lying,” she said coldly.
Her father was exceptionally distant. Every once in a while, he would become like this. Senior Ares was one of Nexus-Interlocutor Inc.’s researchers on the Animus Project, which sought to tap consciously into the divine energy that permeated all existence. Ever since Ivory Tower Research proved the existence of God over two-hundred and fifty years ago, this type of research has been explored on various levels. But with the recent work of the Animus Project, it appeared as though breakthroughs may be near.
What path would the universe take if sentients were finally able to participate in the divine undercurrents of reality? What would change? What would stay the same? Answers hovered just out of reach.
Sr. Ares was an important man. Perhaps it was the pressure of his work that disturbed him on this trip. Or, perhaps it was because the Ecclesia had assigned a Shepherd.
As far as Hela knew, they had not received any word of expected complications on the trip. But a mandated ecclesiastical presence was abnormal. This rarely happened to others and had never happened to them. Despite the Shepherd’s assurances otherwise, his presence still brought a perpetual sense that trouble brewed. Always near (somewhere) he sat quietly, attentive, and armed.
A meteor shot through distant space, but Sr Ares did not seem to notice. He sat, holding drink in hand, motionless for several minutes. A news cast appeared and hung in the middle of the room. To this, too, he seemed oblivious. Hela knew that he rarely became this lost in thought. Yes, something was definitely wrong. While watching her father out of the corner of her eye, Hela continually asked herself, How much does he know?
“Father,” she said as she leaned her head in his direction. The sound did not move him. His eyes continued to stare blankly into space.
Hela reached out her hand to touch his. Sr. Ares lowered his head to look at her hand. His eyes traveled up her arm until his gaze locked with hers. The expression in his eyes signaled exhaustion and despair. He had this look when he was depressed. Something definitely burdened him in the silence.
“Father,” she said, “what is wrong?”
He turned his eyes back to the stars. “Nothing is wrong, dear.”
Hela too turned her gaze to the stars, with an added air of dignity. “You are lying,” she said coldly.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Talking with the Prisoner
It has been a while since I've updated this. Not enough time and energy right now. But, it seems that I just can't get away from it. Here's what I wrote today.
***************
Arael sat on his bunk with his back against the wall. His detainment cell was quite small, as was expected on a starship. He stared across the small room into empty space. Closing his eyes was not an option. Whenever his lids shut, visions of the horrific past few hours kept replaying before him. How he wished he were anywhere but here.
He wasn’t quite sure why he was still alive. Surely, most…if not all…of his kin had been executed by now. Years ago, he had thrown in his lot with a tribe of independent contractors. Life was not going as well as expected while a citizen of Solar-Ecliptic Corporation. His arranged marriage was a wreck, causing him to dismiss two of his concubines. Three of his children had died in corporate exploration. (How proud he had been when they graduated the prestigious SEC Academy of Exploration. If he had only known….) Labor responsibilities had grown well beyond the bounds of his citizenship benefits plan. Bottom line: he was in a hole and needed to get out.
That was when he came across Skeet on a mining run. He had an offer that Arael just couldn’t refuse. And it really did pay. Quite well, really. Maybe too well. But it wasn’t the pay that ultimately took him the next step.
Working with Skeet, who turned out to be an independent contractor, brought about a certain freedom that unleashed something deep within him. That unleashing brought a new appreciation for life, the likes of which he had never before known. The experience had transformed him into something more than he could have ever become as a citizen of Solar-Ecliptic.
Of course, this did not help on the home front. His wife begged him to go to the Lesser Court and fill out “Repentance Form C-3.” That would reinstate him as a full citizen. He could “come home” with only a minor reduction in civil rights. But, emotionally, he just couldn’t bring himself to do that. He couldn’t go back to his old self. That would mean living a lie. His new self was too real. He had tasted liberation, and after one has swallowed such fruit, “going home” is no longer an option. No, his journey had taken him elsewhere.
More specifically: to this cell.
Was it worth it?
Arael allowed his eyes to close. The visions came. He quickly reopened them.
Was it worth it? Is freedom worth the price? Is becoming all I can become worth the price? I miss my family. I miss my friends. … I miss being able to sleep.
Arael focused on his breathing, hoping to fight back the tears. He had been thoroughly conditioned to belive that “grown men don’t cry.”
The door to the cell opened. A young man stepped in carrying a rubbery tray with very little food and drink on it. An armed guard stood at the door, eyes fixed on the prisoner.
Arael spoke to the young lad in the jumpsuit, “Is that all I get?” His voice shook with emotion.
The lad pushed a button on the wall and a small table slab slid out.
“It will suffice,” he replied as he put down the rubber tray. The young man avoided looking at the prisoner. Arael couldn’t stand being ignored that way when he was trying to speak with someone. And right now he really need to speak with someone, even if it was just his captors.
“Please, tell me,” he said, “what do you have in store for me?”
The young man stared at the wall as he talked, “As of yet, I do not know. I am not in the decision-making loop.”
“What about the others?” Arael turned on his bunk so that he could put his stocking feet on the floor. The armed guard likewise shifted, unfastening his holster. Arael made sure to move slowly. He had no doubt that the guard would shoot.
“They have been executed,” said the man coldly, still staring at the wall.
In frustration, with his still shaking voice, Arael pleaded, “If you are going to hold me in a cell for crimes I didn’t commit, you could at least afford me the dignity of looking at me when you speak to me. I am still a person, you know.”
The man paused. Then still staring at the wall, he spoke. “No, you are not ‘a person’. It is the nature of ‘a person’ to be in relationship. ‘Personhood’ does not exist outside of corporate life. When you abandoned society by forsaking your citizenship…even if it was with Solar-Ecliptic…you forsook your personhood. You are not part of any socio-eco-system. Therefore you are not a person; you are a thing. Actually, you are worse than a thing. At least the wall to which I speak has not abandoned its purpose in this universe. You have. That means the wall is more deserving of my attention than you are.”
With that, the man left the room and the door hissed shut.
Talking usually helped ease the pain of life.
This time, it only made things worse.
Tears flowed.
***************
Arael sat on his bunk with his back against the wall. His detainment cell was quite small, as was expected on a starship. He stared across the small room into empty space. Closing his eyes was not an option. Whenever his lids shut, visions of the horrific past few hours kept replaying before him. How he wished he were anywhere but here.
He wasn’t quite sure why he was still alive. Surely, most…if not all…of his kin had been executed by now. Years ago, he had thrown in his lot with a tribe of independent contractors. Life was not going as well as expected while a citizen of Solar-Ecliptic Corporation. His arranged marriage was a wreck, causing him to dismiss two of his concubines. Three of his children had died in corporate exploration. (How proud he had been when they graduated the prestigious SEC Academy of Exploration. If he had only known….) Labor responsibilities had grown well beyond the bounds of his citizenship benefits plan. Bottom line: he was in a hole and needed to get out.
That was when he came across Skeet on a mining run. He had an offer that Arael just couldn’t refuse. And it really did pay. Quite well, really. Maybe too well. But it wasn’t the pay that ultimately took him the next step.
Working with Skeet, who turned out to be an independent contractor, brought about a certain freedom that unleashed something deep within him. That unleashing brought a new appreciation for life, the likes of which he had never before known. The experience had transformed him into something more than he could have ever become as a citizen of Solar-Ecliptic.
Of course, this did not help on the home front. His wife begged him to go to the Lesser Court and fill out “Repentance Form C-3.” That would reinstate him as a full citizen. He could “come home” with only a minor reduction in civil rights. But, emotionally, he just couldn’t bring himself to do that. He couldn’t go back to his old self. That would mean living a lie. His new self was too real. He had tasted liberation, and after one has swallowed such fruit, “going home” is no longer an option. No, his journey had taken him elsewhere.
More specifically: to this cell.
Was it worth it?
Arael allowed his eyes to close. The visions came. He quickly reopened them.
Was it worth it? Is freedom worth the price? Is becoming all I can become worth the price? I miss my family. I miss my friends. … I miss being able to sleep.
Arael focused on his breathing, hoping to fight back the tears. He had been thoroughly conditioned to belive that “grown men don’t cry.”
The door to the cell opened. A young man stepped in carrying a rubbery tray with very little food and drink on it. An armed guard stood at the door, eyes fixed on the prisoner.
Arael spoke to the young lad in the jumpsuit, “Is that all I get?” His voice shook with emotion.
The lad pushed a button on the wall and a small table slab slid out.
“It will suffice,” he replied as he put down the rubber tray. The young man avoided looking at the prisoner. Arael couldn’t stand being ignored that way when he was trying to speak with someone. And right now he really need to speak with someone, even if it was just his captors.
“Please, tell me,” he said, “what do you have in store for me?”
The young man stared at the wall as he talked, “As of yet, I do not know. I am not in the decision-making loop.”
“What about the others?” Arael turned on his bunk so that he could put his stocking feet on the floor. The armed guard likewise shifted, unfastening his holster. Arael made sure to move slowly. He had no doubt that the guard would shoot.
“They have been executed,” said the man coldly, still staring at the wall.
In frustration, with his still shaking voice, Arael pleaded, “If you are going to hold me in a cell for crimes I didn’t commit, you could at least afford me the dignity of looking at me when you speak to me. I am still a person, you know.”
The man paused. Then still staring at the wall, he spoke. “No, you are not ‘a person’. It is the nature of ‘a person’ to be in relationship. ‘Personhood’ does not exist outside of corporate life. When you abandoned society by forsaking your citizenship…even if it was with Solar-Ecliptic…you forsook your personhood. You are not part of any socio-eco-system. Therefore you are not a person; you are a thing. Actually, you are worse than a thing. At least the wall to which I speak has not abandoned its purpose in this universe. You have. That means the wall is more deserving of my attention than you are.”
With that, the man left the room and the door hissed shut.
Talking usually helped ease the pain of life.
This time, it only made things worse.
Tears flowed.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Ships Passing in the Night
[A cross-post from Ecclectic Mass.]
I've decided to start (yet another) blog. This one is to post a story that I wrote some time back. It's called Ships Passing in the Night. Okay, it's not the best title, but the story itself isn't that bad. I think this is a good way to show off my writing. Besides, I've had so much fun re-designing Ecclectic Mass that I wanted to do it again.
I've decided to start (yet another) blog. This one is to post a story that I wrote some time back. It's called Ships Passing in the Night. Okay, it's not the best title, but the story itself isn't that bad. I think this is a good way to show off my writing. Besides, I've had so much fun re-designing Ecclectic Mass that I wanted to do it again.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Calypso
My first character portrait. It has taken me 4 1/2 hours to get this done.
I just noticed that I haven't put in a shadow for her, but it's late now. I'll have to deal with that later.
Edit: I've added the shadow.
Starship
I think it is a little too "Star Trekish" in look right now. But one of the main reasons I did this pic is to practice with digital art.
The idea is that the "free agents" will have a ship large enough to have a couple of scouts or fighters attached. This means a relatively large crew, but not an army by any stretch. I haven't decided on numbers yet.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Speed Bump
I've hit a speed bump. But it's a good one. Another side project of mine is now taking up more time. I've mentioned it on my other blog, Ecclectic Mass. Since I'm doing all this in my free time, I need to prioritize.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
*Bangs Head on Desk*
I looked at a book of publishers today (the Writer's Guide?). It turns out that a publisher might pay something like $2500 to $5000 for a book, plus royalties (something like 10%).
And how much is that an hour? Egad! How in the world do writers support themselves? I've no idea. Part of what I wanted to do with this is eventually turn it into a side business. But then there's the question of viability.
What I need to do right now is to stay focused on the task at hand. Remind myself that this isn't about the paycheck (yet). Get the story first. Then figure out the rest later.
New idea: maybe a script? Hmmm....
And how much is that an hour? Egad! How in the world do writers support themselves? I've no idea. Part of what I wanted to do with this is eventually turn it into a side business. But then there's the question of viability.
What I need to do right now is to stay focused on the task at hand. Remind myself that this isn't about the paycheck (yet). Get the story first. Then figure out the rest later.
New idea: maybe a script? Hmmm....
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Going to Get the Job
The doors on the turbo hissed shut and the interior refreshment system kicked in. Calypso crossed her arms as she leaned against the wall. Soft music filled the little lift. The lone passenger sighed. She always considered that sound to be more irritating than soothing.
“Turbo-lift: music off,” she said. The music disappeared, and the hum of rapid elevation came to the fore. Little wall lights flickered in a nearly hypnotic pattern. Calypso began to daydream. She had served the Agency faithfully for over twenty years now. She had led her team for the last seven years since her predecessor retired early. They began their corporate assignments together, but eventually Felix had had enough. And now, she was the team’s Alpha.
The turbo-lift hummed as it came to a stop. The doors slid open and Calypso stepped into the corridor. She had been down this route several times before. She walked down a long corridor, passing several people as she did so.
“Good morning, Agency Team Alpha,” greeted several people as she walked. She returned their attention, even stopping a couple of times to exchange further pleasantries.
Eventually, she reached the end of the corridor which ended into an option to go left or right. She took a left turn and began the final stretch to her destination. On her right, large window allowed her to see across the city.
New Cairo, on the planet Scenari, in the Osiris system. Home of one of the largest intergalactic unions ever known: Nexus-Interlocutor Inc. [have I heard this somewhere??] But N-I Inc. was not free from overzealous competition. It had grown from corporate takeovers and mergers, and to maintain its security from being a victim of its own games, it power games, it had to utilize it’s espianoge wing: the Agency.
Some call those of Calypso’s profession “added security,” some “negotiators,” and some even “counter-terrorists.” But she and many of her ilk preferred to be called “agents.” The nutshell version of her citizenship package for faithfully serving N-I Inc. through the Agency was simple: the corporate union takes care of her interests, and she takes care of the union’s interests.
Besides, she couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of pride, ownership even, with this company. Just over fifty years ago, it was a Rank 5 company (according to Inter-Galactic-Common-Rank, or IGCR), on the bottom of the galactic scale. As such, they were forced to make risky investments and offer juicy citizenship incentives to join. Thanks to genius-level-and-beyond marketing schemes, N-I Inc. caused a crash in the citizenship market, which opened up new possibilities for upwardly-looking, ambitious young corporations.
There was a certain amount of pride to be felt for one who was a citizen of such a successful union. They had made something out of nothing. They defied the odds in doing so. And Calypso and her team had been a valuable part of that story of becoming. While secretaries of expansion engineered the corporate takeovers, those like her in the Agency “protected” and “promoted” those investments. The story itself was a revolutionary one, and she was an integral part of it.
N-I Inc. had finally broken into Rank 2 status as a union. There were a total of three Rank 2 companies, and only one Rank 1 company: Strato-Sphere. The Secretaries and Administrators were working on that one. It was a holdover from an age that was dying. Its governance was not that of a union, but rather a conglomerated hierarchy. Calypso figured that its days were numbered. It was going down, and she intended to do her part so that N-I Inc. would be there to snag the lion’s share of the market.
Calypso enjoyed the view as she continued down the slightly curving outer corridor of New Cairo Office, Scenari Division. They specialized in tele-locators. Only a few other companies dabbled in such things. And a few conveniently “folded” before they ever really could earn the label, “competition.” Nonetheless, New Cairo Office was the best at what it did, and that gave it an edge in the market. Arguably, it had the best researchers, staff, and financiers. As such, it was a significant contributor to its union, N-I Inc.
Calypso reached a door marked “Director of Negotiations.” As she stepped intentionally toward the door, it hissed open and she entered the ante-chamber for his office. The Gatekeeper sat in her hover chair, interacting with her holo-grid via her interface gloves. Waving her hands in the air, she dimmed the holo-grid. The Gatekeeper was the stereotype of corporate appearance. Plain suit with silver trim. Badge of identification. Colored glasses.
“May I help you, Agency Team Alpha” she asked.
“I have an appointment with the Chamberlain at 75.50,” she said, using the one hundred hour scale that was common on Capital Worlds. “I know I’m a bit early. No hurry.”
The Gatekeeper stood and walked to the wall. The press of a button opened a panel that revealed a retinal scanner. Familiar with the process, Calypso stepped forward to be scanned. A moment later, a green light signaled an identification match.
The Gatekeeper said, “Chamberlain told me to send you in once you arrived.”
“Thank you.”
“Allow entry: Agency Team Alpha Calypso” the Gatekeeper announced. The door to the main chamber opened and Calypso entered.
“Turbo-lift: music off,” she said. The music disappeared, and the hum of rapid elevation came to the fore. Little wall lights flickered in a nearly hypnotic pattern. Calypso began to daydream. She had served the Agency faithfully for over twenty years now. She had led her team for the last seven years since her predecessor retired early. They began their corporate assignments together, but eventually Felix had had enough. And now, she was the team’s Alpha.
The turbo-lift hummed as it came to a stop. The doors slid open and Calypso stepped into the corridor. She had been down this route several times before. She walked down a long corridor, passing several people as she did so.
“Good morning, Agency Team Alpha,” greeted several people as she walked. She returned their attention, even stopping a couple of times to exchange further pleasantries.
Eventually, she reached the end of the corridor which ended into an option to go left or right. She took a left turn and began the final stretch to her destination. On her right, large window allowed her to see across the city.
New Cairo, on the planet Scenari, in the Osiris system. Home of one of the largest intergalactic unions ever known: Nexus-Interlocutor Inc. [have I heard this somewhere??] But N-I Inc. was not free from overzealous competition. It had grown from corporate takeovers and mergers, and to maintain its security from being a victim of its own games, it power games, it had to utilize it’s espianoge wing: the Agency.
Some call those of Calypso’s profession “added security,” some “negotiators,” and some even “counter-terrorists.” But she and many of her ilk preferred to be called “agents.” The nutshell version of her citizenship package for faithfully serving N-I Inc. through the Agency was simple: the corporate union takes care of her interests, and she takes care of the union’s interests.
Besides, she couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of pride, ownership even, with this company. Just over fifty years ago, it was a Rank 5 company (according to Inter-Galactic-Common-Rank, or IGCR), on the bottom of the galactic scale. As such, they were forced to make risky investments and offer juicy citizenship incentives to join. Thanks to genius-level-and-beyond marketing schemes, N-I Inc. caused a crash in the citizenship market, which opened up new possibilities for upwardly-looking, ambitious young corporations.
There was a certain amount of pride to be felt for one who was a citizen of such a successful union. They had made something out of nothing. They defied the odds in doing so. And Calypso and her team had been a valuable part of that story of becoming. While secretaries of expansion engineered the corporate takeovers, those like her in the Agency “protected” and “promoted” those investments. The story itself was a revolutionary one, and she was an integral part of it.
N-I Inc. had finally broken into Rank 2 status as a union. There were a total of three Rank 2 companies, and only one Rank 1 company: Strato-Sphere. The Secretaries and Administrators were working on that one. It was a holdover from an age that was dying. Its governance was not that of a union, but rather a conglomerated hierarchy. Calypso figured that its days were numbered. It was going down, and she intended to do her part so that N-I Inc. would be there to snag the lion’s share of the market.
Calypso enjoyed the view as she continued down the slightly curving outer corridor of New Cairo Office, Scenari Division. They specialized in tele-locators. Only a few other companies dabbled in such things. And a few conveniently “folded” before they ever really could earn the label, “competition.” Nonetheless, New Cairo Office was the best at what it did, and that gave it an edge in the market. Arguably, it had the best researchers, staff, and financiers. As such, it was a significant contributor to its union, N-I Inc.
Calypso reached a door marked “Director of Negotiations.” As she stepped intentionally toward the door, it hissed open and she entered the ante-chamber for his office. The Gatekeeper sat in her hover chair, interacting with her holo-grid via her interface gloves. Waving her hands in the air, she dimmed the holo-grid. The Gatekeeper was the stereotype of corporate appearance. Plain suit with silver trim. Badge of identification. Colored glasses.
“May I help you, Agency Team Alpha” she asked.
“I have an appointment with the Chamberlain at 75.50,” she said, using the one hundred hour scale that was common on Capital Worlds. “I know I’m a bit early. No hurry.”
The Gatekeeper stood and walked to the wall. The press of a button opened a panel that revealed a retinal scanner. Familiar with the process, Calypso stepped forward to be scanned. A moment later, a green light signaled an identification match.
The Gatekeeper said, “Chamberlain told me to send you in once you arrived.”
“Thank you.”
“Allow entry: Agency Team Alpha Calypso” the Gatekeeper announced. The door to the main chamber opened and Calypso entered.
Sci-Fi Spirituality?
Remember a movie called Powder? It's about an albino who could use the totality of his brain. He was more "fully human," if you will. That's what made him a "spiritual" being. Great flick.
Anyway, I had thought of using religious parlance as if some sense of "God-Presence" were common place. (Could it be that the existence of "God" has been "proven"? It is sci-fi after all.) In this setting, dualism is out (which causes its own problems). Since fully human and fully divine are considered to be two sides of the same coin, psychic ability is considered to be a sign of call to priesthood. (It's the whole gifting/calling thing.) This may very well create a caste and have its own dark and violent side (which of course challenges the whole foundation of the religious orders).
Anyway, I had thought of using religious parlance as if some sense of "God-Presence" were common place. (Could it be that the existence of "God" has been "proven"? It is sci-fi after all.) In this setting, dualism is out (which causes its own problems). Since fully human and fully divine are considered to be two sides of the same coin, psychic ability is considered to be a sign of call to priesthood. (It's the whole gifting/calling thing.) This may very well create a caste and have its own dark and violent side (which of course challenges the whole foundation of the religious orders).
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Target Length
When I was a teenager, I used to read a series of books entitled Phoenix Force. It was about a group of US government anti-terrorists. I suspect those books will have a bit of an influence in what I do with this.
On of those influences is going to be on length. I don't want to do a work of collosal proportions. I would rather do a series of small books. My target length will be about 125 to 150 pages. Sometimes, less is more.
On of those influences is going to be on length. I don't want to do a work of collosal proportions. I would rather do a series of small books. My target length will be about 125 to 150 pages. Sometimes, less is more.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
"Rough" Draft, and I Mean "Rough"
I just re-read the post below. It's amazing what a little time away from my writing does to how I read it. Good grief is it "rough." It sounded much better when I originally posted it. It moves very quickly and the language needs a lot of tweaking.
So, I'm now posting a fair warning: prepare for the messy to happen all over the place. Mostly, this is about the storyline first. Then the polishing will have to happen.
One thing I need to watch for, though, is that my writing tends to be very "character-driven." (This was noted to me by a friend a few years ago.) By that, I focus a lot on the characters and not much on the setting. I like dialogue a lot. I'll need to work on balancing out my work in this area. But, that probably won't happen much until the polishing phase.
So, I'm now posting a fair warning: prepare for the messy to happen all over the place. Mostly, this is about the storyline first. Then the polishing will have to happen.
One thing I need to watch for, though, is that my writing tends to be very "character-driven." (This was noted to me by a friend a few years ago.) By that, I focus a lot on the characters and not much on the setting. I like dialogue a lot. I'll need to work on balancing out my work in this area. But, that probably won't happen much until the polishing phase.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Loki and Calypso in the Command Pod
Multi-colored lights flashed on the virtual control panel hanging in the air before Loki. Using the sensor glove, he slid the appropriate galactic files into the calculations module. His task at hand was routine. He should not have been having as much difficulty as he was.
Another negative beep sounded from the console.
Loki rubbed his brow and leaned back in his seat. As he sighed in frustration, the hatch opened.
Calypso sensed his disturbed state and closed the hatch behind her. As she slid into the pilot’s seat, she did her best to pretend she had not noticed. “Are the astrogations ready?”
“No, sorry. I’m having difficulty focusing right now.” Loki returned to his virtual screen.
“There is no hurry right now. As long as we get the calculations in a timely matter.”
Loki flipped off all local monitoring devices, creating secure space. He sat silently for a moment before speaking. “Calypso.”
“Yes,” she replied coldly.
“Something’s been bothering me.”
Here it comes, Calypso thought. “You know we are not allowed to discuss our feelings around missions. It would cause unnecessary problems for not only you, but me as well.”
Loki turned to face the pilot’s chair. “I know, but I need to talk now.”
“You need to wait until you see your debriefing counselor.”
“I need to talk to someone I trust.”
Calypso turned in her chair to face him. The emotional anguish on her ex-lover’s face was evident. She couldn’t turn him down. “Okay, but it goes no farther than this room. Especially not to the debriefing counselor.”
A moment of gazing. All of the ship’s noises seemed far louder than normal in the silence.
“What’s wrong,” Calypso said finally letting out her compassion for him.
Loki buried his head in his hands. “I think we’re wrong. I think we just killed a whole lot of innocent people.”
“They’re pirates. Pirates aren’t innocent people.”
“Okay, maybe they’re not completely innocent.” He looked up at her, “But I don’t think they were the guilty of the raids we executed them for.”
Shock overcame Calypso. It was as if her greatest fear had just come true. “What are you talking about Loki? I was given the report of their guilt directly from the Chancellor herself. The Agency’s intelligence reports are high-quality information. According to the information, these pirates are guilty of the raids. There is no reason to believe that they would have made a mistake.”
“That’s the problem,” Loki’s voice began to raise, but he quickly calmed himself. “Look at this information that we stole from the pirate database.” Loki turned toward his virtual panel, loaded in his own password, and drew out information for the holo-screen. “I know. We are always supposed to destroy all pirate databases to prevent tripping universal info transferal links that would send their info to an undisclosed location. But, before I did so, I took the risk of making a copy. According to their own records, they were ‘on vacation’ at Asgaard Station. They weren't anywhere near the crime scene. See, it’s right here.”
Calypso looked at the information that Loki pointed to. He was right.
She shook her head. “This information could have been forged in case of capture…”
“No,” he interrupted. “They all know that all their data will be wiped. There would be no reason.”
Calypso’s legs lost their strength and she sat back down in the pilot’s seat. In a half-daze she murmured, “Why didn’t Intel pick that up?”
Loki reached over to take her hand. “Calypso, I think they did. There’s no reason they shouldn’t have. I think they lied to us.”
With those words, tears came to Calypso’s eyes. Loki leaned forward to take her head on his shoulder.
All those years in service to the Agency. How many times had they been lied to? How many people had they taken in who were not guilty. How many supposed “criminals against the state” had died needlessly? Was there any truth at all to be found in what they had been told? Was there anyone out there they trust now?
Another negative beep sounded from the console.
Loki rubbed his brow and leaned back in his seat. As he sighed in frustration, the hatch opened.
Calypso sensed his disturbed state and closed the hatch behind her. As she slid into the pilot’s seat, she did her best to pretend she had not noticed. “Are the astrogations ready?”
“No, sorry. I’m having difficulty focusing right now.” Loki returned to his virtual screen.
“There is no hurry right now. As long as we get the calculations in a timely matter.”
Loki flipped off all local monitoring devices, creating secure space. He sat silently for a moment before speaking. “Calypso.”
“Yes,” she replied coldly.
“Something’s been bothering me.”
Here it comes, Calypso thought. “You know we are not allowed to discuss our feelings around missions. It would cause unnecessary problems for not only you, but me as well.”
Loki turned to face the pilot’s chair. “I know, but I need to talk now.”
“You need to wait until you see your debriefing counselor.”
“I need to talk to someone I trust.”
Calypso turned in her chair to face him. The emotional anguish on her ex-lover’s face was evident. She couldn’t turn him down. “Okay, but it goes no farther than this room. Especially not to the debriefing counselor.”
A moment of gazing. All of the ship’s noises seemed far louder than normal in the silence.
“What’s wrong,” Calypso said finally letting out her compassion for him.
Loki buried his head in his hands. “I think we’re wrong. I think we just killed a whole lot of innocent people.”
“They’re pirates. Pirates aren’t innocent people.”
“Okay, maybe they’re not completely innocent.” He looked up at her, “But I don’t think they were the guilty of the raids we executed them for.”
Shock overcame Calypso. It was as if her greatest fear had just come true. “What are you talking about Loki? I was given the report of their guilt directly from the Chancellor herself. The Agency’s intelligence reports are high-quality information. According to the information, these pirates are guilty of the raids. There is no reason to believe that they would have made a mistake.”
“That’s the problem,” Loki’s voice began to raise, but he quickly calmed himself. “Look at this information that we stole from the pirate database.” Loki turned toward his virtual panel, loaded in his own password, and drew out information for the holo-screen. “I know. We are always supposed to destroy all pirate databases to prevent tripping universal info transferal links that would send their info to an undisclosed location. But, before I did so, I took the risk of making a copy. According to their own records, they were ‘on vacation’ at Asgaard Station. They weren't anywhere near the crime scene. See, it’s right here.”
Calypso looked at the information that Loki pointed to. He was right.
She shook her head. “This information could have been forged in case of capture…”
“No,” he interrupted. “They all know that all their data will be wiped. There would be no reason.”
Calypso’s legs lost their strength and she sat back down in the pilot’s seat. In a half-daze she murmured, “Why didn’t Intel pick that up?”
Loki reached over to take her hand. “Calypso, I think they did. There’s no reason they shouldn’t have. I think they lied to us.”
With those words, tears came to Calypso’s eyes. Loki leaned forward to take her head on his shoulder.
All those years in service to the Agency. How many times had they been lied to? How many people had they taken in who were not guilty. How many supposed “criminals against the state” had died needlessly? Was there any truth at all to be found in what they had been told? Was there anyone out there they trust now?
A Bit About the Setting
++All humans, no aliens.
++No laser beams; only ballistic-types.
++No personal teleportation equivalents.
++Some sort of warping-way is necessary, lest everybody die on long trips from age.
++AI and droids are a must.
++Unsure about cybernetic enhancements, but not sure why not.
++Psychic/spiritual stuff will be in there, but not sure how to do it yet.
++Citizenship is primarily non-local. One choses to become a citizen of an nation/organization/tribe and pays taxes to it based on the "Incentives Plan." These plans are full of various benefits and responsibilities, along with rules and regulations that must be followed. Somehow, there is "Universal Law" that supposedly governs the individual Nation Corporations.
++Local regions/colonies are governed by the Nation Corporations, with an acceptance of non-citizens as being tourist-like.
++Cloning is also up in the air.
++No laser beams; only ballistic-types.
++No personal teleportation equivalents.
++Some sort of warping-way is necessary, lest everybody die on long trips from age.
++AI and droids are a must.
++Unsure about cybernetic enhancements, but not sure why not.
++Psychic/spiritual stuff will be in there, but not sure how to do it yet.
++Citizenship is primarily non-local. One choses to become a citizen of an nation/organization/tribe and pays taxes to it based on the "Incentives Plan." These plans are full of various benefits and responsibilities, along with rules and regulations that must be followed. Somehow, there is "Universal Law" that supposedly governs the individual Nation Corporations.
++Local regions/colonies are governed by the Nation Corporations, with an acceptance of non-citizens as being tourist-like.
++Cloning is also up in the air.
Character Design
You may be thinking after this, "Hey, you have this neat idea for a story, so why are you so hung up on the visuals?" Well, because I think the visuals are not only important, but inspiring. As I start to throw out some pics, I can envision better what is going to happen and how it will happen.
I decided I needed some character sketches to get a sense of what the main characters will look like. Obviously, the focus is on attire here. The following have been created by using Hero Machine 2. Lot o' fun. It's a quick and easy way to start.
And in case you couldn't figure it out, I may name a character Loki.
Standard Look:
Exploring:
In Space:
Jumpsuit:
I decided I needed some character sketches to get a sense of what the main characters will look like. Obviously, the focus is on attire here. The following have been created by using Hero Machine 2. Lot o' fun. It's a quick and easy way to start.
And in case you couldn't figure it out, I may name a character Loki.
Standard Look:
Exploring:
In Space:
Jumpsuit:
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Gotta Have Gear
I believe that one of the keys to good sci-fi is slick gadgets and gear. So I started toying with the technical level of the setting. Of course, all the images posted here will be of a "conceptual" nature. Final revisions would have to be done to make them "original."
Playing with some pics has thusfar led to this:
* * * * * * * * * *
Name: Quill-Fire Mk VII Pistol
Description: The ammunition for this weapon is a needle-like shell typically loaded with phosphorous tips. Because of their size, they are capable of accelerated rapid fire. Their mini-warheads add a minor explosive element. The weapon has two modes: rapid- and single-shot. Rapid-fire mode sprays a stream of single “quills.” Single-shot mode shoots a small cluster at once. This is a prized weapon especially for combat inside starships because of the limited damage it does to structures. Alternative warheads include various poison-tipped quills. For “take down” procedures, Neural Incapacitation Poison (NIP shells) can be used. However, because of their frailty, only phosphorous tips are effective against even the lightest body armor. Electro-Magnetic Pulse warheads are available to combat AIs, droids, and drones.
* * * * * * * * * *
I like the way doing this sort of thing is helping me to "feel" out the universe I'm going to write about.
Playing with some pics has thusfar led to this:
* * * * * * * * * *
Name: Quill-Fire Mk VII Pistol
Description: The ammunition for this weapon is a needle-like shell typically loaded with phosphorous tips. Because of their size, they are capable of accelerated rapid fire. Their mini-warheads add a minor explosive element. The weapon has two modes: rapid- and single-shot. Rapid-fire mode sprays a stream of single “quills.” Single-shot mode shoots a small cluster at once. This is a prized weapon especially for combat inside starships because of the limited damage it does to structures. Alternative warheads include various poison-tipped quills. For “take down” procedures, Neural Incapacitation Poison (NIP shells) can be used. However, because of their frailty, only phosphorous tips are effective against even the lightest body armor. Electro-Magnetic Pulse warheads are available to combat AIs, droids, and drones.
* * * * * * * * * *
I like the way doing this sort of thing is helping me to "feel" out the universe I'm going to write about.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
My Writing Style: Drip of Consciousness
The last time I sat down to write something in the sci-fi genre, I was in high school. I know the manuscript is somewhere in my parents' house, but I think I would be afraid to see it. I would probably think, "what was I thinking?" What I am about to write will surely be quite different, and maybe even a bit better. But, what I wrote so long ago I wrote because I was passionate about the story that I saw unfold in my imagination. I wrote from where I was at in life. Hopefully, that won't change.
So here's the basic idea as it stands now:
The main characters in the story work for an "agency" (whatever that means). Their job is to hunt the terrible, nasty pirates that interfer with corporate and "deal" with them accordingly. In the midst of the story, they will discover that the story by which they have lived their lives in the employ of their agency has been thoroughly "filtered." They enter crisis. If they continue with the agency, they will never be able to live with integrity. But, if they leave the agency, they have to admit to themselves that the entire meaning of their live thusfar has been based on a lie.
So the theme of the story is that there are many perspectives into reality, and these various truths form the basis for our sense of purpose in life. But what happens when all of that unravels? How do we find meaning in life when life has proven itself to be meaningless? These are the questions that this story seeks to address. My current humble task.
Who knows how often I will get to update this. I may write in spurts. I may just start it up and work right through it pretty quickly (highly doubtful). I'm sure a lot of this will be more "thought" oriented than "story" oriented (much like this post). I might need to post some conceptual graphics as well. Visuals help to convey the feel.
Wish me luck!
So here's the basic idea as it stands now:
The main characters in the story work for an "agency" (whatever that means). Their job is to hunt the terrible, nasty pirates that interfer with corporate and "deal" with them accordingly. In the midst of the story, they will discover that the story by which they have lived their lives in the employ of their agency has been thoroughly "filtered." They enter crisis. If they continue with the agency, they will never be able to live with integrity. But, if they leave the agency, they have to admit to themselves that the entire meaning of their live thusfar has been based on a lie.
So the theme of the story is that there are many perspectives into reality, and these various truths form the basis for our sense of purpose in life. But what happens when all of that unravels? How do we find meaning in life when life has proven itself to be meaningless? These are the questions that this story seeks to address. My current humble task.
Who knows how often I will get to update this. I may write in spurts. I may just start it up and work right through it pretty quickly (highly doubtful). I'm sure a lot of this will be more "thought" oriented than "story" oriented (much like this post). I might need to post some conceptual graphics as well. Visuals help to convey the feel.
Wish me luck!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)