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....
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