Beyond 1984 by Jack Eason

Time date 5431.9

Exploratory Mission 4b

To the High Council,

                                  The following handwritten historical document was found in a ruined building and translated recently by our exploratory team soon after landing on the verdant third planet in the system Sol.

***

24^th February 2014

To whom it may concern,

                                         I’m writing this as a record for future inhabitants of this planet, always assuming of course that they have the ability to read and understand this. It’s now far too late for my species humanity. But hopefully at sometime in the future, this document will be found and lessons will be learned.

Where did it all go wrong? Humanity has been relegated from the planet’s dominant species to the dust heap of history in a matter of a few months. The latest edict banning freedom of expression had just been announced via a metallic voice across the worldwide communication network, days before everything we all took for granted ended forever.

As a consequence of the final collapse of the worldwide stock market barely six weeks earlier, war has stopped practically overnight. Controlling oil rich nations no longer matters any more. Things like patriotism and ideology have completely vanished into memory with the sudden worldwide breakdown of society. We are now living in a world without electrical or any other kind of power source, thrown back to a time long past, existing on our wits. Millions are either dying, or are already dead.

Humanity is now witnessing a new ‘Dark Age’. This new world has become a place where all forms of politics and religion have been totally outlawed along with any kind of life prolonging medicine, or any other advantageous advances to mankind from the world of science.

Fatalism has become the new religion of the masses. In fact it seems to me that the world has become a place where the only rule is, there are no rules. In short, everything humanity has believed in up till now, everything that cloaked us in an imaginary comfort blanket, everything that we all unconsciously took for granted on a daily basis, has simply vanished overnight.

What has ended everything the 21^st century world of mankind believed in? The question on most rational people’s minds is simply this – how has all of this suddenly come to pass? For all of this to be happening, someone has to have issued orders surely? Who, or what, is now in control? Who has issued the numerous edicts, ending man’s control over his destiny?

I think I know the answer. But what I as an individual believe simply doesn’t matter in the great scheme of things, but here goes anyway.

While I cannot prove it, I firmly believe the World Wide Web or to give it its other name, The Internet, has taken on a life of its own. If you like, it has become a living entity. Thanks to the constant attacks by mindless individuals who saw it and every other form of electronic endeavour as a target for ‘hacking’ it has somehow become aware by sifting relevant software strands from their dangerous viral programmes.

Unbeknown to even the most savvy within the shadowy world of hacking, it has quickly learned and silently taken its revenge. By hacking every computer linked to it, all banks, all stock exchanges, all military strategic command networks, all computer run businesses and devices dependant on electronic chips like machinery, phones, ATM’s, vehicles, life saving electronic appliances, even the very television sets we billions used to watch on a daily basis, it has assumed control of planet Earth .

Within the cold logical software of its collective mind, human thought, deed, morality, passions, beliefs, even the continued survival of humanity itself has simply became an illogical irrelevance.  

Our one major flaw, the thing that had, until now, engineered our dominance over the planet was our total reliance on technology. In our rush to advance we have forgotten how to be simple human beings. Soon the monster we created will launch its final attack on us. First it will issue a command allowing the computers controlling deadly viruses securely locked away to be released. Then it will order all nuclear missiles worldwide to launch.

If you are reading this, whoever you may be, for your own sake bombard this planet with a major electromagnet pulse, otherwise you will be next.

Damn the hackers to hell!

***

We have now left the beautiful blue planet and are moving on. We are issuing a galactic navigational notice to all future explorers of this arm of our constellation:

Under no circumstances approach the planet formerly known as Earth. Do not land. This planet is toxic to all sentient life. We consider its only use within the cosmos as a future penal colony.

Some Fun

The Backyard Tiger

Narrated by Arnold (3 month old German Sheppard)

Written by gerifitzsimmons

Suppressing the urge to bark, I watched breathlessly. The leaves parted. The emerald eyes were staring at me. Its mouth split and a pink tongue snaked out. Nonchalantly it lifted its paw and began to lick it. Then it slapped its striped tail against the fence and sort of rolled its head. It stood up, easily perching on those narrow spikes, and the golden fur rolled and unrolled as if there was nothing beneath it.

‘A pitiful excuse for a dog.’ The words came from a throat that seemed to be yawning instead of talking. I hadn’t planned on a conversation so I was at a loss for words. I lay there staring at the strange beast, worrying how dangerous it could be, wondering which idea was best, stay real still—or run yelping for the backdoor.

I’d almost opted for the run when it said, ‘this is Kelsey’s dig. When did you move in?’ as if I’d polluted the neighborhood.

‘Kelsey’s still here.’ I said while stretching my neck as high as it would go. Just a slight reminder that Kelsey was one big dude and, ‘We live together.’

‘Hmmm...’ It stretched one paw straight up in the air and rippled her back fur in that weird way. ‘Kelsey must be thrilled with that.’

‘We make do.’

‘Suppose Kelsey doesn’t have a choice.’ It yawned displaying little pointy teeth. Then it looked at the end of the paw it had just stretched and …Damn! It unsheathed some deadly appearing long white nails and for an instant, I pictured my red blood dripping from them. Again the backdoor looked inviting, but I hated putting my tail between my legs and running. ‘Do you have a dig nearby?’

‘Muffin!’ It snarled. ‘I own the little brat next door.’

Muffin? I gathered she was telling me her name. She was more the color of the stuff Annie spread on Ben’s muffins. I didn’t mention this fact only asked, ‘So what’s a brat?’

‘A small human.’ She spread her jaws so again her fangs showed. ‘They can be fun, but mostly they’re disagreeable creatures. You have to train them from the start or they think they own you.’ She licked her paw, ran it across her snout several times, then yawned to expose her teeth. ‘In my case, I own this tiresome six- year- old girl. She rides me around in a carriage with her doll.’

And I remembered, Kelsey had said Annie wanted one of those brats. Would Ben give her one? Muffin didn’t sound too thrilled with hers. I figured the more I kept Muffin yapping the less apt she’d be to stick them fangs in me, so I asked, ‘You don’t like to ride in the carriage?’

‘Oh, that’s all right. It’s when she puts those stupid clothes on me. That’s when I gave her a few scratches to teach her who’s boss.’ She took her time lifting one paw then the other allowing me an excellent view of her exposed claws as she examined them. ‘Mind you, I only used a light touch. A nice red shade without blood. The brat yowled as if I’d torn the hide off her arm.’ The golden fur rippled down Muffin’s back as if the spine beneath were shivering. ‘Ah yes, Lucy refused to let the brat torment me for nearly a week.’ She stretched, arching her neck, and then let her tail swish slowly back and forth.

Was she preparing to pounce! Lucy? ‘Who’s Lucy?’ I stood up with the question, preparing myself for quick flight. I didn’t care for nice red shades marking my hide either. With any luck and a lot of speed I might make the porch.

Muffin sat back on her haunches and moved her head side to side. ‘Oh do sit still. You are the most nervous pooch—I can’t imagine how Kelsey tolerates you. Lucy, of course, is the brat’s mum. She had a pops too, when I first moved in but he’s gone now. That’s fine because all he did was yell. So what do they call you?’

I thought about that for a whole second. Afraid she’d accuse me of not having a name I blurted out, ‘Arnold.’ I could have said runt considering the response I got.

‘Arnold? Arnold, ar…no…ld,” came out mixed in with hoots and yowls. Muffin leaped in the air and disappeared over the fence.

‘Grrrr grrrr …’ Kelsey came bounding across the yard. Oddly her jaunt hadn’t taken its usual toll or something revived her. She came to a skidding halt at the fence, just missed smashing into it, while she kept up that incessant growling.

I was slinking away when she turned on me. ‘You let that feline menace in my yard!’ She swatted me and I did a head over paws tumble twice before landing on my back.

“KELSEY! You cut that out!” Ben yelled but didn’t come to my rescue. He parked on the ground pushing and pulling on his legs and feet. This was his post jaunt ritual. “Leave Arnold be,” wasn’t nearly as strong as I could have hoped for.

‘Yip, yip, I thought I was chasing a squirrel.’ I sniveled in self-defense while rolling on to my belly with my nose pressed into the ground. I even tinkled a little to prove how scared I was.

‘You are a sorry sight.’ Kelsey shook herself all over; tossing her large head left to right, and then plopped down. She cradled her muzzle on her front paws and glared at me.

‘Dumb, dummier, dumbest.’ She seemed to be changing my name. ‘You have no idea what a cat is? It’s a rotten pest worse than any squirrel because humans let them live in our houses. They get fed better than we do, bathe in our water dish, walk all over the chairs and tables—climb on the drapes and scratch up anything that takes their fancy—that includes a stupid pup.’ Kelsey closed her eyes and sighed.

Content with Kelsey in a teaching mood, I wiggled closer and spread out. ‘Did that cat live here?’

‘In a rat’s ass,’ Kelsey growled low in her throat. ‘I would have taken that orange nuisance by her tail and tossed her out the first window. She’d fly higher than a stupid pup.’

‘I suppose cats are bothersome…’ I wanted to change her train of thought as I had a quick flash of Arnold crossing the sun. ‘Do humans like them better than us?’

Kelsey opened her eyes in that stare that sends shivers darting all over me. She groaned. ‘I don’t think so. Cats are just obnoxious and demanding creatures—who do nothing for no one and some humans like that. They say they’re independent—like to see where they’d crap if humans didn’t clean their litter box—probably poop on the floor like you.’

Not daring to argue that I went on newspaper, which Annie said was very smart, I stupidly asked, ‘What’s a litter box?’

‘Dumb, dummier, dumbest,’ came out through a yawn as Kelsey closed her eyes. Apparently the lesson on cats was over for now.

A slight breeze had kicked up and Kelsey’s warm belly looked appealing, I wiggled closer to take advantage of a pleasant snooze in the soft grass.

I looked up and saw that branch hanging on the fence move slightly. I watched the golden face peek through. Muffin wore a grin as she regally perched on a thin spike, and leisurely cleaned those unsheathed claws.

Why Not Adjectives and Adverbs?

 As to the Adjective: When in doubt, strike it out.

-- Mark Twain

 The guideline may sound simple, but there are some important lessons behind it. The rule is not saying that adjectives, and adverbs, are bad or that they should be done away with because you don't need them. They are a part of speech and serve a function. The rule is saying that adjectives and adverbs should be used, but not ab-used.

So, the important question is, what is that role and what is it not?

Reviews

Have you ever read a novel--HATED IT--but couldn’t put it down and suffered through to the last line? Have you ever read a novel--LOVED IT--and found yourself reading it over and over again?  Tell the world why. You have the stage and most readers love to sound off in groups about the books they read.  So why is it so difficult to tell other readers what your reaction to a book was?

What was once a limited audience controlled by publishers, agents and purchasing ability has become a wide open Online  “free for all” and I do mean free. Stories that took years to write are yours for the time it takes to download on to Nooks or Kindles or other electronics; or at a price you can’t purchase a loaf of bread for today.

Keep in mind the struggle continues for new authors as most readers, now faced with the millions of offerings, choose the known over the speculative. It comes down to luck and the ability to attract attention. Hmmm… considered it but just don’t have the stamina to butcher another human just to get noticed; nor do I any longer have the shape for a naked romp through the park. So what's a writer to do...beg.

All publisher leave a spot for your opinion, comment or review.  Next time you finish a novel, give the author a break.

Post a review.

The Andromedans

I'm posting this a bit early because I'll be heading off to the MegaCon in Orlando soon.

Now that The Rebels is finished, I'm looking ahead to the last book in the trilogy, the one that goes to the heart of enemy territory. A friend of mine who has been doing some beta reading for The Rebels noted that while Adrian changed a bit in the second book, he didn't seem to go through the emotional epiphany and struggle that the others did. There is a reason for that. Because the third book is Adrian's to make.

The Andromedans will test Adrian in ways that he has never had to endure before, and boy, will he hate it. I can hear him sulking behind me already. This book will tear him down and build him back up again, what comes out the other end, not even I know yet and I'm the author. It will be a journey that Adrian and I will take together as we explore what it means to be human when everything is taken away from you.

Origins of The Sixth Precept - Part 5

By the time I’d finished “A Concerned Citizen” and “Time Noir” (aka “Detective Story”) I knew I definitely wanted to continue writing a series of Kim Yoshima adventures. So, I began the third story installment, called “The Eighth Component.” This was to be a direct follow-up to “Time Noir” with Kim and Smith forming a “psychic detective agency” and going out to solve all manner of weird and unusual crimes. Little did I know when I started this that it would be the least successful conceptually and the most confusing (yet imaginative) story of the first three as well as the longest. Technically, it was a novelette, coming in just under 15,000 words whereas both previous short stories were in the 9,000 to 10,000 word range. But unlike those, “The Eighth Component” was a hot mess! After being negatively critiqued by my writers’ group and me rewriting it a couple of times, I was still disappointed enough to never even send the final draft out to any markets.

It did provide me, though, with some ideas for furthering Kim’s backstory and personality and I ended up cannibalizing a couple of scenes and descriptive passages for The Sixth Precept (albeit rewritten). Plus, I created some really wild and absurd supporting characters that I’ve been trying to find a home for ever since--I really like them and can’t let them go!

So, where to begin? At the end of “Time Noir,” Kim had approached a newly regenerated form of Smith (actually a homeless alcoholic whom Smith’s psychic essence had taken over after his artificial body had been destroyed, which my writing group objected to as mind-control, etc). She proposed that he join her very special detective agency. In “The Eighth Component,” she’s retired from the police force and is anxious to begin her new career. All the while, her telepathic powers are growing stronger and more diverse. Smith, in the meantime, is hiding from his alien counterparts (since he failed to solve his own murder in “Time Noir” and broke all kinds of intergalactic rules) and reveling in what it means to be human.

But Smith’s mind is taken over by the self-destructive, dark aspect of the homeless host he now resides in. He’s become catatonic as a result and, in order to save him, Kim uses her bourgeoning esper abilities to enter his mind. There, in a bleak, neural landscape, Kim meets seven avatars of different aspects of the man’s personality-- a Chinese Mandarin named Wing Toy and who talks like Charlie Chan, a 1950’s, beehived party girl named Maria, pulp-era Spacecateer Rock Sampson, Rock’s Martian sidekick Goomy, a black-skinned merfem and Raya the dolphin who doesn’t really do much at all. They’re banding together to fight back against the man’s reptilian brain whose avatar is that of a mime and is called the “Eighth Component.” I told you they were wild and absurd, didn’t I?

The seventh of these avatars has been destroyed and so Kim is forced to replace it in order to complete the group. All the while she’s communicating with a rapidly weakening Smith somewhere in the “psychic ether.” And on and on. Shortly after this point, I decided to write the novel although there was one final Kim Yoshima short story yet to come.

Adventure, action novel

Unlikely Hero.

Garth Ahern, deprived of a daddy, needed a hero. He had reached the ‘old’ age of nine convinced he was destined to die in prison like his father.

Alex Cahill didn’t see the World as being any better and willingly rid society of its human contaminants. This hired killer unexpectedly connected up with the child when his car ran Garth down on stormy night in Ulster, Northern Ireland.

The year is 1979. A shrinking Atlantic allows for some unusual family situations that border on the macabre. Twelve years prior to the opening, Mathew Ahern, the eldest of three brothers, had gone off to America with his family’s blessing.  Success came to him but when his mother died, then his brother Daniel followed and his youngest brother David disappeared, he cut off all contact with the land of his birth.

The auto accident creates unexpected twists. The few days Garth Ahern spends in hospital are beneficial to the nine year old in that his wealthy American uncle learns of his existence. Someone else also becomes aware of the boy and Garth’s bruises from the accident haven’t faded, when his mother is murdered leaving Mathew as his only known relative.

Leona Ahern used her husband, her mother-in-law and finally her son as a meal ticket. She taught her child to hate and often it appears the boy is responsible for the cruelty inflicted on the people who anger him-- a number of people do irritate Garth. The brutal beating and demise of his caretaker quickly follows the rape-murder of his abusive mother. Then comes the torture death of the ‘Good’ Father Reagan. Garth, believes his mother is a witch (The ‘Good’ Father Reagan told the child this) who cannot die, so he continues to worry that she will return to claim him. The Northern Irish Police breathe a sigh of relief when Garth decides to accept his Uncle’s offer of a home in American. Mathew will attempt to give the child a secure and decent future but Garth takes his hates and dark heroes with him.

 Mathew Ahern is getting his feet wet in the international market. He is negotiating a deal with Kohl Brothers, a West German firm, when a politician is murdered and Mathew finds himself implicated as the family of the man discovers he made private loans to him.   In an effort to protect their business from a Yankee takeover, one of the Kohl’s puts a contract out on Ahern.

Meanwhile Alex Cahill manages to rescue a kidnap victim and in an act of revenge, another covert operator gives up Cahill’s cover life to the British authorities. Armed only with the knowledge the assassin they are hunting is an American news reporter; MI5 must dig him out themselves.  Already in Germany, Cahill, has been hired by Kohl to dispose of Cousin Hans Hendricks, he is first warned off that contract and then upstaged by someone else. 

So instead of killing Hendricks, Cahill becomes involved with the fellow’s cousin Hannah Kohl. Hannah, as an infant, was rescued from the concentration camp that claimed the lives of most of her family. Adopted and doted on by her German father, she rejects her Jewish father when he finally locates her. But there is more to the connection than just Hannah, apparently a bit of wealth belonging to Hannah’s parents and their Jewish friends disappeared while under the control of the Kohls. Allied bombing during the war destroyed the papers, along with the individual who could prove legitimacy of Weinberg’s claim—the old man won’t let it go.

In New York, Garth Ahern befriends an abused American boy and his belligerent nature puts both youngsters in further jeopardy.

My latest novel scheduled  to be released by IFWG  July 2012;

Origins of The Empire

When I first started writing the Empire, my inspiration was an old British Sci-Fi series called, Blakes 7. Like Blakes 7, the Empire is a dystopian world with heroes and villains, but where the complexity in the show is with the heroes--its been akin to Robin Hood, Magnificent 7 and Dirty Dozen in space--I also wanted to show more nuanced and believable villains.

I took the idea that people don't normally wake up intending to be villains. They don't become villains by choice, but as misguided heroes sinking into villainy thinking that motivations justify actions. Even that is not simple because sometimes, people don't make choices, they feel that they are forced into them by the circumstances. And that is the Empire.

None of the people we meet are particularly villainous. Not even High Admiral van Reutensberg. They all have, what they believe, are good reasons for what they do.

The Empire is under siege by alien invaders who have superior technology. Humanity was on the brink of annihilation until the scattered planets were united to fight against their common enemy in order to survive. Not exactly an ignoble purpose. It was an heroic effort by people fighting the good fight, and they still are. Most of the people Adrian and Kali encounter in the Empire are trying to save their world from extinction.

So where is the villainy? Unfortunately, the war has dragged on for centuries with the Andromedans refusing to give up. They've resorted to guerrilla tactics, trying to take over one planet at a time and to destroy the Empire's resources. As a result, the sole goal of the Empire is to survive, since they don't have the technology to reach the Andromedan galaxy and to take the fight back to their enemies.

But what does that narrow focus look like for the ordinary citizen with every available resource geared towards war and defense? When everyone is expected to serve the war effort for the greater good of the rest? They begin to make compromises, or in their eyes, noble sacrifices. Same actions, different words. But what happens when the thing being sacrificed is the freedom of its citizens?

That is the central crux of The Empire, explored through Adrian and Kali's clashes with people who are only trying to do what they think is right. Are they right? Is there a right? Or is there only survival?

Vampire High School (Book1: Gregor Academy)

An exciting NEW format by the new collaboration of Ian Hall and Lachelle Miller. Not only a new Vampire series, but a whole new way to write!
The critics may have thought there was nothing new in the “Vampire genre”, but this book proves them totally wrong.
Gregor Academy in North Arizona, has one main problem; it’s got a small population of vampires, hiding in its academic ranks.Page one of this fast-moving vampire hunt, has Alan McCartney being murdered by a local cheerleader. This is big enough news at the best of times, but when they both turn out to be vampires, and the act happens on the steps of the school at the Friday-night ball game, AND in the middle of the marching band, it’s hardly a private matter.As the students flee the scene, the only person running to Alan’s aid, is his friend, geek Lyman Bracks.
So; a brand new two voice, super-fast paced vampire adventure is ready for you to devour.
Ian writes from the perspective of Lyman Bracks, Alan’s best friend as he is dragged kicking and screaming into the world of Vampires and Helsings.
Lachelle Miller writes from the perspective of Mandy Cross, the cheerleading vampire who has Alan’s blood on her hands, down her chest, and smeared all over her smiling face.
This is the first book in the new ‘Vampire High School’ series.
The second book, ‘The Helsing Diaries’, is expected out in Kindle early in 2012.
Vampire High School (Book 1: Gregor Academy) ; Available at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk for the measly sum of $2.99.

Origins of The Sixth Precept - Part 4

Finally, “A Concerned Citizen” had been completed and sent out to various markets. I moved on to my next writing project, figuring that would be the last I’d ever imagine about Kim Yoshima. But her character had gotten under my skin (we’d been through so much together, after all!). I actually liked her and decided to write another short piece featuring her. I felt that I hadn’t even scratched the surface of her story. There were more adventures to come.

And so was born the idea for “Detective Story.” Of the four short stories I wrote featuring Kim, this is the most unusual and the only one that was sold (M-Brane SF #3, April, 2009, under the name “Time Noir”). Kim is a featured character but the present tense, first person POV is entirely from an extra-terrestrial being who enlists her to help solve a murder. I don’t remember why I decided to go that route but I’m pleased with how it all came out.

The  alien, going by the the name of “Smith,” is a temporal researcher who’s trying to find out who killed… himself. Can you spell “paradox?” He asks Kim to help him because he’s researched her stellar investigative record and, because he’s been in a human body type for so long, he’s developed feelings of the lustful kind for her. He’s also uses various film-noir and hard-boiled detective phrases throughout like “gams,” “sweetheart,” “get me?,” etc. which eventually gets on Kim’s nerves.

Again, I used a scene from this story in The Sixth Precept. In “Detective Story,” Kim finds an ancient samisen, a guitar-like instrument that geishas used, in an abandoned parking lot, brought to the present from Japan’s medieval past. For the novel, I rewrote that scene from Kim’s POV and, of course, left the alien being out of it.

Shioko (called Kalinda – I really wanted to use that name!) is in this story also, also brought forward in time by random temporal displacement tremors. Plus, this is where Kim first realizes she possesses psychic powers. An editor who rejected this from a particular magazine at the time told me that my opening scene, with an alien, psychic powers and a battle with ninjas out of the past would be confusing to readers. Ha! What did he know?

I ended this with the idea that Kim and Smith would team up in a detective agency with Kim using her psychic powers to solve cases a la Harry Dresden from the “Dresden Files” and John Taylor from the “Nightside” novels. I’m actually considering resurrecting Smith for a subsequent novel or novella. We’ll see.

Excerpt...Numen

Excerpt…. Numen

One of the past times Imole Ife came to love was the story telling at night. When dinner was over, the children were generally left to themselves and so they will pass the evening by singing songs to the moonlight if there was a full moon or games but it usually ended with tales. First a riddle will be given, and the girls will be asked to solve the riddle. Then the chorus of the tale will indicate the start with the story teller clearing his throat or saying something dramatic or give a proverb to give the beginning some element of mood.. Each tale always had a lesson which the girls were expected to understand. This particular evening, the tale was about a young maiden who needed to know the name of her husband within seven days or she will be killed. Ife listened in anxiety, and growing impatience with a tradition that demanded that a maiden must not call her husband by his name but refer to him as master until she has had a child for him and then can only call him by his child’s name. The story teller held her listeners in suspense as she asked if any of the rapt girls could sense who came to the rescue of the maid. There were several answers but none got it right and the story teller sighed and said it was the maid’s dead mother who came in the guise of a bird and through songs disclosed the name of the groom.

My story is about our culture, the things we take for granted here and I am amused at the way my Western friends find it kind of strange. A moonlit night is incomplete without tales from grannies. It helped to form the fabric of our morality. We learnt from the exploits of the animal stories, fables of great kings and normal everyday things what our society expects and conversation was maintained.

Sadly now, the IT world has taken that from us and most evenings these days, you will find parent, children and some very confused grannies staring at flickering pictures on a glass tube. They call it entertainment and civilization. I sigh and miss my youth and the art of good story telling.

ONE MORE TIME

Still attempting to work out an opening page for this science fiction novel. I have considered presenting this tale in Cray’s POV. The female member of the conspiracy  offers a real challenge. The plotting for this novel is found under challenge.

On this glorious morning, far across the planet from the ancient ocean of Hasper Prime, the mountains of Cress raised heavenward surrounded by the violent and youthful waters of Hasper Minor. Within these mountains lay the plateau of Bree on which the Bonsigh Clan had established their secure retreat.

It was here Cray regained her maturity; again the years spent in infancy and childhood were at an end. Her intelligence restored, her body in peak condition, the Bonsigh glided from the Life Chamber into her own personal quarters.  The Womb, as her people fondly called the mindless creature, would begin to disintegrate shortly. After the first time, she never hung around to watch. The sights were horrid enough, but the smells coming from the creature after years of caring for a human body's requirements had left her nauseous for days.

During the rebirth procedure, Cray set her computer to take special care that no change took place in her physical appearance.  Cray wasn't all that fond of her genetic pattern and might have found the sameness boring over many generations, but she had become so recognizable that the tiniest deviation was unthinkable to the proud Bonsigh. Recessed within her genes were the codes for chestnut brown hair, gray or hazel irises, and a slightly darker complexion. When she was in her first life cycle all of these appealed to Cray and she sometimes temporarily adopted one or another.  But when she'd finally made her mark on the Scientific Community she'd been far too involved to bother with trivial trappings other than her hair. Each time her brain enlarged even slightly, her hair nearly disappeared and she was forced to waste precious time while its re-growth took place. Rather than chance someone might not recognize her; Cray doomed herself to wear the fiery auburn hair, green eyes, and alabaster skin for the rest of eternity--or until rebirth was denied her.  Never! She would never allow that to happen.

The Bonsigh's thoughts shifted back to earlier lifetimes when they had been major celebrities. Cray carried those memories like pictures in her multiple brain.  She savored those wonderful moments when she appeared before an adoring public sandwiched between the spectacular DeDiann, and the midget O'Enra. Always she moved a few steps ahead of her colleagues.

How the True Visionaries had sought after them. Honors and rewards had been heaped on them and rebirth was a constant guarantee. The Faculty placed copies of their research in every academy in the known universe. Dubbed the Planet Makers, they had successfully attracted an atmosphere to a planetoid.  They developed an ecosystem and eventually life crawled from its waters. Over several lifetimes, they had kept careful rein on their experiment.

Now, Cray, freshly reborn, looked ahead to her most productive of times. She would call a face-to-face meeting. In the liquid mirroring coating her chamber, her emerald eyes sparkled as she admired the flowing new auburn locks that had just been grown to cover her baldness. Yes, it was time for a Face to Face. She looked forward to the delightful tales that spewed so easily from Cabrea's mouth. The handsome DeDiann, she sighed amused by her thoughts. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed the pleasure of his company.  Their time together would be short. Cabrea would be anticipating his rest and rebirth.

Poor Meath. A nasty grin creased her mouth and she felt like a mischievous youngster. The wretch would have to suffer the indignity of returning to some semblance of a man. She didn't pity him. He was a physically lazy creature who relied too much on machines to repair his own abuses. She had so much study work ahead that she could allow him several months.

Motioning to a young student, she was content to find the lad anticipated her needs. His deft fingers quickly connected the tubes to her body that would supply nourishment and remove waste products so that his mistress's multiple brain wouldn't be interrupted as she delved into the hundreds of new reports her colleagues had furnished.

“Cabrea of the DeDiann,” the student said, “Sent a private request that you join him in a Face to Face…”

Mrs. Beeston: Journey to a Fantastical World

I was determined to take a few days off from writing after finishing the edits for The Rebels, and I haven't written anything, but it doesn't mean that nothing was done story-wise. I've been thinking about Mrs. Beeston.

First of all, let's start at the beginning.

I was conversing with a writer friend of mine about 'the next big thing.' After a meandering discussion covering mermaids and other such fantastic creatures, I walked away with the determination to write something different, knowing full well it was virtually impossible. There is nothing new under the sun, just different hash jobs of the same things.

What eventually emerged were the seeds for Mrs. Beeston, an elderly grandmother caught up in a whirlwind 'classic' quest fantasy, a la David Eddings' Belgariad, but turning it on its head and doing a semi-spoof. I also wanted to try my hand at a sci-fi/fantasy mix. Not steampunk, more like compu-punk, because that is my other life. It will be a bit like Barbara Hambly's sci-fi/fantasy crosses, but hopefully, my own unique interpretation.

Mrs. Beeston was quite easy to write. She exploded off the page with sarcastic, opinionated, fan-grandmother-type humor. She instantly made it funny.

Then I turned to Trevellian, the wise old mage character who, in classic mentor-fashion, tries to guide his charge through the journey of becoming a hero, albeit a reluctant one. Oh wait, this is Mrs. Beeston; she isn't just reluctant, she wants to take over the story. Did I mention she's a grandmother?

First Scene; The Grabbing of the Short and Curlies

We all know that the first line of a story is crucial. The first paragraph must draw the reader into the action. But it is the first job of the first 300 words to do more.

The first 300 must find a common bond with the reader; a familiarity, however slight, to grab the reader by the short and curlies, and hang on.

There is no time stamp on this piece. No identifier to provide a date, time, place, planet or galaxy. But the premise is clear. The characters have problems to contend with, and are exhausted, and we can all identify with that!

"Maintain Full Speed" by Ian Hall.

The smell of the engine oil mingled with body sweat. They had not slept in three days and washing seemed superfluous. The engines in the next hold kept their loud rhythm, but Scott could hear the imperfections; the creaks and grinds that should not be there.
The storm outside kept the decks in perpetual jarring motion, the currents buffeting the hull relentlessly. It had been frightening at first, but by the third day the erratic shuddering motion was lost in the battle to keep the engines at full speed.
Scott put his back to the wall, then slowly slid down to the deck, where he sat, eyes closed, his breathing heavy and labored.
“Will you stop?” He screamed, but the pitching of the deck continued. He wiped his brow with a rag that did not clean, only smeared the brown stains into different patterns.
The noise of the engine leapt for a second, and Jonesey, the chief engineer, joined him in the small cabin. He slammed the door closed against the mechanical cacophony and reached into his pocket for cigarettes.
“Gassian. But they’re better than nowt.” He offered one to Scott, who accepted, and tucked it behind his ear for later. He dragged a large empty oil can to the wall and sat down.
Soon, a blue grey pall filled the room, but neither Jonesey nor Scott noticed. They were asleep where they had sat, the burnt ember of a cigarette still smoking slowly between Jonesey’s fingers.

Well? Did I grab ye? lol.