Learning stuff

I got myself into this. Now I have to look up how to say some things in sign language for my Work In Progress (WIP). In the present chapter a young girl has to figure out a way to communicate with a captive alien. Its languages sounds like screeching, so she decides that sign language would be better.

Basic stuff, of course.

The young girl appears in several Earth-bound chapters, and threatens to move from minor recurring character to secondary character. I am not exactly sure what will happen with her at the end of the book, but she might star in a future book. You never know.

Short Story: The Corruption

The Corruption

The town was surrounded, cut off by the enemy. They had laid siege for weeks. The wear and tear was showing up on beleaguered faces more everyday. A feeling of foreboding prevailed, it felt like a thick blanket over your senses, blurring the thoughts, feelings and vision.

It messed with everyone. Everyone reacted to it differently. Mostly with bad consequences. Being even on the same plane of existence with these creatures was enough to drive most humans insane. Now they were here in the flesh, even if we had no confirmed sightings.

On the first day people felt giddy, excited and didn't know why. Sometimes an individual's whole personality changed on a dime. Mr. Earl Erstweiler, 70, had been the type to yell “Get off my lawn!” to children, the mailman or even birds. On that day he skipped through town whistling and singing before happily traipsing into the woods that surrounded the town. He never came back.

He was not alone, either. Gordon Reilly, the town IT expert and sci-fi nut had announced he was finally going to go and meet aliens. He wore his old novelty Space Patrol uniform and entered the woods yelling “I come in peace!”

At least a dozen or more that I know of had walked or run to their doom in the woods that day, the rest of us had just looked at each other in horror or confusion. When darkness fell that first night, we gathered in churches and other places because we all felt it. We all needed to seek out other humans so that we knew we were not alone.

Maggie Foster didn't gather. She simply drowned her two small children and ate a bullet.

Little Ricardo cried and screamed and fought with his parents through midnight mass before being locked into his room. His parents prayed at his door for hours before falling asleep. When they woke up they rushed into the room to find the window open and the family cat on the small bed in pieces.

Their very presence in our community was driving people insane.

Marcus Spencer killed himself after raping and strangling his daughter. His wife couldn't stop him because she had removed the racks from the oven and baked herself.

They knew what they were doing. They knew what affect this was having on us. It affected our minds, dampening our reason and moral senses. Those of us who are left support each other, we talk reason and common sense, keep those parts of the brain working.

Samuel Watkins decided that maybe the aliens did not mean to harm us. Maybe they just did not understand, that it was all a mistake. He went to talk to the aliens and never returned.

It was no mistake. Even without a direct physical assault on our town they had managed to reduce our numbers by more than half in a matter of weeks. They were attacking us, no doubt, without even so much as letting us see them doing it.

Mary Steuben, schoolteacher, broke next. “Humans are always the problem. We're the bad ones. We've destroyed the environment, enslaved people with capitalism. There is no way that these aliens can be as bad as we are.”

She didn't return either.

Then one day, the pastors and priest for our town had gathered and discussed the situation with what was left of the town council. It was decided that we would gather as many survivors as we could in the field near the forest on the south side of town. We would loudly make our defiance known, we would tell these things, whatever they were, that they were not welcome here.

That was my first day at my new job as the town police officer. I wondered if there would be a second day. I replaced Doug Maguire who had gutted himself with a chainsaw. Sort of like the ritual suicide of old Japan without the sword.

“Okay, no matter what happens, stay together!” I told the crowd. There were only hundreds of us left out of the five thousand there had been. “Nobody strays from the pack! You hear me?”

The acting mayor gave a little speech before the First Baptist pastor led the group in the singing of a couple of hymns. Night was falling. I felt something dark and cold growing in the pit of my stomach. The feeling of being numbed to the senses came over me, again. I fought it. I took a step closer to the crowd because I felt invaded.

Suddenly there were blue and purple lights dancing among the trees. The crowd gasped and there was sobbing. Gray lights flashed here and then there, like truck headlights but veiled in deep fog.

There was no fog, of course.

“Stand firm!” The acting mayor ordered, “Show them our resolve!”

I looked to see the reaction of the townspeople, so I missed something. They all gave shouts and little screams. They started moving back away from the field, a few people in the back got trampled. I turned to see what had caused this and I see a small form exiting the woods.

The lights behind it kept its front in shadow. It was walking toward us. No, it was not walking, it was more like gliding. I pulled out my flashlight and shined it on the figure.

The crowd behind me gave shouts and screams.

It was a little boy. Suspended in the air with a long pole protruding from his back and into the forest. His dangling feet never touching the ground, simply skimming the tops of the grass. The child's eyes were open and he was looking at me as I moved forward a ways.

When I saw the child closer I had no doubt the boy was dead. The pallor of the skin, the darkness around the eyes were those of a cadaver. The aliens or whatever they were simply used the child as a puppet, an avatar.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Everything.” The boy said. “We feed.”

I cocked my head and thought for a moment.

“You feed on our fear?” I asked.

“Your souls.” Came the reply.

These were no aliens. They were demons, I no longer had any doubt of that.

“We will continue to fight you!” I shouted.

“You will continue to lose.” the voice from the dead boy told me. “But your numbers dwindle as ours expands. Soon we will seek larger sources of... energy.”

“What larger sources?” I asked.

“The world.”

“We will resist!” I said. The body started moving backward toward the forest, it was drooping and partially being dragged now that there was no pretense of life there. “We won't surrender to you.”

The body stopped moving at the edge of the forest. “Yes, you will. Humans are weak like that.”

Then it was gone. The lights stopped. I fell to the ground, sobbing. I don't know why, I felt totally exhausted. I crawled back toward the crowd to find them all sitting in the grass, sobbing. We had come too close to pure evil and it had more affect than we knew. The acting mayor was shaking like a leaf and unable to say anything.

“Pastor Myles, he collapsed and died.” Someone told me. “He said something before he died. He told us not to let the corruption have him.”

We all stayed like that until the sun came up. Somehow the veil had been lifted, we all felt our senses no longer dulled. For the first time in a month we all felt normal. The sounds of birds and crickets had returned, the siege of the town seemed to have been lifted. I knew, though, that the whole planet would be under siege.

Sure, it might be more subtle and less intense but it is there. The Corruption is only waiting for us to let down our guard as it feeds on all our souls.

end

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WIP passes 30k words

My work-in-progress (not counting the occasional short story) has now passed 30,000 words. I think I can wrap up the first draft in a couple of weeks and start the rewrite.

It will need some substantial changes because I have changed the story a bit recently.

A strange noise from the launch pad got their attention and they peeked over the protective rock to see something on the far side of the flames moving. It moved toward their position a little ways before it occurred to them. It was walking through the flames as if nothing could stop it.

“It's another one of those robots.” Lt Kim Lu-Hyun said, but they had all figured that out already.

“We need to make a run for that big boulder at the foot of that rise.” Lowery told them. All four of them were getting ready for that when a large explosion occurred. It knocked them all down. One of the rockets had exploded where it stood because of the flames, the robot was no longer any where to be seen.

“Forget that, go for the boulder!” Lowery told them. Run before the next rocket goes up, because that blast might be a lot closer. They all took off at a dead run for the next safe place but Sgt Frank Gore tripped over a large stone. He was getting right back up when he heard a noise behind him and heard his comrades yelling to him from behind the boulder.

The large robot was towering over him, there were still small patches on fire and most of the exterior looked burned, but it was still working. Some shots from his comrades bounced right off of it, and he heard Lowery curse, “We're just wasting ammo!”

Gore knew there was precious little ammunition left. After all, they came to set off a nuke and they had done that. Other than that this whole thing was a suicide mission. The robot reached out as Frank tried to scramble away by pushing his body back with his legs. It snatched him by the leg and lifted him mostly off of the ground.

I signed up for Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100011674357111

Funeral for a Redshirt

Funeral for a Redshirt

The Lt Commander of the Oriskany looks around at the sparse gathering and frowns. Hardly anyone is paying attention to the ceremony, they are all chatting and drinking the refreshments. Maybe they only came for a break from their duties?



"While I hardly knew Private Arlan Danielson, he did pass through the Security Course at the Starfleet Academy Annex in Jersey rather quickly." He said in a rather loud voice to catch the attention of those who bothered to attend. "He scored high in Soong Kwon-do, the highest of his graduating class at that. I am sure he would see some irony of being killed by getting hit in the face with an Elbonian elbow while trying to break up a fight during shore leave."



"While on-board this ship I have received no reports of misconduct or any news at all about him. He always did what was required and he did it promptly. Private Arlene Deckerhand will be missed, he was a credit to this crew."



"Arlan Danielson." someone corrected



"Right. The only other mission I was on with him was when he accidentally became a god to the Minesians. Fortunately we got away with no deaths, mostly because that species is a foot tall and are all amnesiacs." He saw that the attendees were looking back at the cake with anticipation and wanted to get this over with.



"Right, to end this. I ask you all to at least remember the name Andies Bickerstaff..."



"Arlan Danielson."



"Otherwise, nobody will. Thank you."

Dear Leader

Dear Leader

The air as calm and there was an eerie silence as I crossed the field, all I could hear was the snow and the grass below it crunching under my boots. I carried firewood on my back that caused me to bend forward slightly. I wasn't quite old enough to have that constant stooping that you could see in the elderly that had worked hard their whole lives.

The elderly are precious few now. We venerate them, even if they are senile and don't know. They are the only ones we exempt from the work that has to be done. Even the children are sent to glean the fields of the crops missed by the machines and farmers. Except the lucky children who are smart or beautiful and are sent to the cities.

We sit quietly in dark rooms each evening, listening to the radio for the sound of Dear Leader's voice as he tells us how we have failed him this day. We know we are not worthy, that we are not one of the “great people” of society. We feel shame that we are “losers” and kept outside of the cities.

We light the candle above the radio, it illuminates the likeness of Dear Leader that is on our wall with his loose orange skin. Similar images are on every wall across the whole nation. An abode without such an image is sacrilegious and must be condemned. We strive to for his approval as all must do.

Even though life is a daily struggle for everyone not worthy to enter the fabulous cities, we value time with our loved ones. We might not be great people, but we are not disloyal to kin. Sometimes families break up due to fighting and petty squabbles, most of us find this sad, but we understand that reality is hard for everyone.

Twice a year we are forced to pay tax to the state. It is a very expensive thing to operate such a vast and wonderful government. Dear Leader tells us that he brought forth bigger, better, gold-plated government. He says the government takes and grabs everything it can, but that the people must also pay their part.

Once upon a time we were a prosperous society. You can see this in the ruins and the rusting hulks of vehicles. Millions of them. Ordinary people could afford cars, homes with electricity and more kinds of food that we have ever seen. We aren't supposed to remember, we aren't supposed to see the hulks of homes that were far larger than ours but only one family lived in.

We aren't supposed to look at the old publications that get dug up from time to time. One of the ones I saw had advertising for a food store, so many foods. I do not understand how such a thing is possible, and even though I shouldn't talk about it, I envy it.

We must not speak of these things openly. The punishments are unspeakable. Dear Leader always warns that those who cross him are “going to have a problem.”

We are to look up to those who are wealthier than us, for wealth is good. There is a man in our village that owns a working electric toaster oven. There is almost never any electricity to use the device, but the device is more valuable than anything else villagers own.

Of course we all know the truth, though it must be denied. Once the poorest were wealthier than us, they owned countless devices we would never understand. I just do not understand how we have come to live like this.

We are told about the history and how Dear Leader saved us from foreign exploitation by carrying out trade wars and real wars. The war in the middle east, he explains, was a war for resources. It was necessary. A million of our people died trying to “make them pay”. Others say Dear Leader had sent armies to steal resources from other countries.

We must disbelieve these kinds of things. These are dangerous thoughts. There is no profit in trying to find out what the truth of this is. We must not question Dear Leader. After all, Dear Leader takes the smart and beautiful children to the cities where they live so well. Their parents will cry when they are taken away, but this is normal. They are taken to a better life.

My wife already had the cook pot prepared when I arrive. I drop my load next to this before going inside. I open the door. It falls inward. One of the cloths I used to tie it to the frame has worked loose. I'll have to tie it again.

“Miss Argyle is not doing so well.” My wife tells me as she tries to get a fire started. “She's lived on nothing but boiled grass for two months. She doesn't even take kind gifts, she gave it to others if someone gave her food.”

I nod, but my jaw tightens. I feel anger at the situation, I am powerless to help myself much less others but it grates on me. Wild cabbage, onions and turnips go into the stew for dinner. Why is the world this way? Why does everyone seem so helpless?

Dear Leader explained that his predecessors had messed everything up. He talked about a mortgage crisis and other things we couldn't understand. We know that Dear Leader is a good leader because he tells us that he is. He would never lie to us.

We must believe this. It is dangerous not to. People can disappear when they question his words.

The other day I was digging up roots and I came across some kind of paper from the old times. The letters looked different, but I was able to read what was legible. I knew I shouldn't read it, I shouldn't want to read it, for it is a crime and punishable.

Something about a trade conflict with a country called China breaking out into real battles as Dear Leader was said to berate the wife of China's leader as an “ugly bag-lady”. I'm not surprised to see this, or that his real name is used, but the date on the paper causes concern.

Why was Dear Leader older then than now? The papers said that he was over seventy years old then, older than poor Miss Argyle. He would be about a hundred and fifty years old now. This was just not possible. I know the cities have hospitals and great wealth, but money could not make you younger and healthier.

Could it?

Rumors spread in the dark. Lies, people make up insane lies to try to make sense of their world. If they are right then Dear Leader is wrong, then he tells lies. We must not believe that. We cannot afford to believe that Dear Leader is harvesting cells from healthy children to prolong his life. He calls them “the best children”, he wouldn't harm them, would be?

It is true that these children are never heard from again, but they have better things to do. They are in the cities, when we could never through the walls. They are in the cities where wealth and power are in control.

We must believe Dear Leader.

Anything else is too scary to contemplate.

---------------------

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Lumin Independence (working title) Chapter one

“The gentleman from Kobb's Rise is recognized.” Said the Presiding Officer of the meeting, sitting behind a table with a gavel in his hand. This bearded, gruff man had been chosen unanimously by those present for the position, such was the respect all had for him. The Presiding officer of the assembly was to be called President by the speakers.

“Thank you, Mister President.” The speaker began. The suit he wore fit him well, although he wore the clothes of a farmer or soldier most of his days. “I petition this assembly, this day and year of our lord the twelfth of June, Twenty-One hundred and twenty-nine, to pass a declaration of independence, severing ties to Earth and allowing the people of Lumin to govern ourselves.”

The murmur in the room became loud as all of the members began talking amongst themselves and a few shouted recriminations at the speaker.

“You are asking for war!”

“This is madness!”

Yet, the majority took the proposal seriously. They had all seen the adversity caused by being ruled from the distant Earth. They had all been mistreated by the representatives of that government which remained unseen by them. Even those expressing dismay and opposition knew it was for good reason, even if it scared them.

War with Earth was inevitable.

“If this means war, Mister President, then let it be of the time and place of our choosing, when we are strong and the enemy is unawares.” Another speaker had rose to say.

The gavel hit the table again. The Presiding member waited until there was complete silence before saying “I believe a formal motion must be written and read before we can hold a vote.”

These twenty-seven men had gathered from every part of Lumin, chosen by local assemblies kept secret from the authorities loyal to Earth. They had traveled with cover stories to fool the Earthly gendarme, which tried to restrict unnecessary travel. The laws against political activity was strictly enforced from the “star above”, as the Earth's orbital base was referred to.

One of the members named Thomas Howell had watched his father be beaten and his uncle hanged for starting an underground newspaper, Libertas. The soldiers had burned down the whole house after smashing the hand press which they had built themselves.

“Mister President. It is my belief that all men, if they are to be free, and all men ought to be free, that they must from time to time commit themselves to the downfall of those who enslave them or seek to enslave them. We are not a free people. We cannot speak freely, we cannot travel freely, we cannot do business freely. The tyrants from Earth, once our brothers, have become slave masters. They believe that all men must be ruled from Earth, where once they believed in government by consent. I believe the time has come for the course of history to flow in the direction of greater freedom and that this flow start from Lumin!”

The assembly began to draw up a document that spelled out the abuses of the Earth-installed bureaucracy and the reasons that Lumin should be a free and independent world. Pulling down heavy drapes to keep the candle-light from being visible outside, should agents of the tyranny be snooping about, the men continued to work into the night.

“We have petitioned to redress our grievances many times, only to be stamped down firmly by the viceroys of the star above. The time has come for us to recognize that we must stand ever more firmly against those who treat us as if we were their subjects.” Mister Miles Vernon of Lake Capaldi said. To this one of the doubters exhaled loudly, “What about war? Are you ready for that? Miles, you have four daughters and a Pub to attend to, war will affect them most dearly.”

“As does slavery.” He replied, “As does tyranny. As would my conscience should I not take this chance to fight. If there is war, I will welcome it should we fight it as if we want to win. No other war is worth fighting.”

It was the turn of the overweight doubter to speak. He used his cane to stand, then held an arm against the table, so that he had to bend over it a bit. He had a sour countenance and this position made him look even more grumpy than normal. Mister Malcolm Rutledge was a poultry farmer from Northern Canton, he had a wife and several children but also took care of an ailing sister.

“I completely understand the arguments put forward by everyone here. I completely agree with the assessment of Earthly rule. I am in complete agreement with the vast majority of everything that has been said here this night.” He told them, obviously straining to stay in his awkward position. “I also believe that it behooves all of us to understand the true position we hold.”

“What might that be?” someone asked anonymously.

“They have purposely kept us technologically backward. They have done this for generations in order to keep us under their control. We might build muskets but their armored suits are invulnerable to the lead ball projectiles.” Malcolm told them with a grimace, “We might even field cannon, but their shields will repel it as a window pane repels a fruit fly. Their armored vehicles are not going to flee at the site of a man on a horse. Their flying vehicles cannot be touched by us as we are. Furthermore, they are headquartered in the star above, where we cannot reach them any more than the living can reach heaven.” He told them through labored breath as his face turned brighter red. “War? War against that? It is a preposterous idea. We cannot win that kind of war. Another way must be found...”

He sat again, exhausted. The others were quiet for a long moment before the next speaker stood and proceeded as if Mister Malcolm Rutledge hadn't just pointed out the fantasy they were playing.

Finally the motion carried. A declaration of independence would be issued against the Earthly rulers, after a unanimous vote. The doubters knew they were few and yielded, for a unite front would help the effort, even if one considered it futile at best.

“I feel as if I have been cursed to live long enough to see what I have feared most come true. I have been powerless to stop it and must now throw my lot in with my fellow Luminmen.” Malcolm Rutledge wrote in his journal. “I am afraid that I am not young and healthy enough to take a direct part in the coming battles, but I am not so powerless as to just observe.”

The assembly was adjourned. Then members would leave singly or in pairs and make way to where they had roomed. Most were staying at the homes of supporters instead of an inn, because they did not wish to have the authorities know their whereabouts.

“Matthew.” Malcolm said, moving toward the other man with the use of his cane. The other man was just as old but he stood erect and with a strong bearing. His gray beard and hair slightly scraggy and his suit a bit worn. This was the gruff presiding officer of the completed assembly.

“Malcolm.” he called back and they shook hands, for they were old friends.

“I need to speak with you after the rest of us have departed.” The overweight man said, falling into a nearby couch. “It is supremely important that we win any war, as unlikely as that seems.”

Matthew Bellow tightened the smile on his face, sitting in the soft chair opposite the couch. “Malcolm, my friend, it is the utmost importance that the rulers know we are not simple supplicants. They must be made to understand that we demand to be treated as men and not beasts.”

“I might agree if the circumstance wasn't so dire, Matthew. You want to punch the bully in the nose to make it clear to him that you are equals.”

The presiding member sat up straight. “I don't care if he thinks we are equals, as long as he respects me.”

Malcolm nodded. “Yes, but this is not a schoolyard bully you are dealing with. Would you punch a serial murderer in the nose? Would you dare him to make you his next victim? I think not.”

It had grown quiet, the others had departed.

Matthew Bellow rubbed his bearded chin. “Malcolm, is there something I should know?”

Malcolm nodded and took some deep breaths. “I am afraid there is. But let me ask you something before I tell you.”

“Of course.”

A shaky finger was pointed at the closed door. “Do you remember landing day? We were both children back then, of course.”

“I'll never forget it.”

Malcolm nodded and cleared his throat loudly. “When we landed on Lumin, we came down in many shuttles, pods and ships over several years time.”

“That is true.” Matthew answered, walking to pour a mug of wine for his old friend. “We used to watch this together from the hilltop where we lived back then. What are you getting at?”

“What if I told you that some of those ships and pods still exist? Some of them were buried in the ground long ago.” The portly man said.

The possession or use of illegal technology was a death sentence. This had been true since the Earth forces arrived and taken over the colony. The original colonists had fled the tyranny but it had caught them again in only a few years.

“The moment it is activated they will have soldiers or even a missile on the way.” Matthew Bellows old his friend. “What will have been gained?”

His friend held up a small, red hand with flat palm out. “Let me explain.”

The presiding officer nodded and crossed his arms, then leaned back in the chair.

“I have listened to their communications over the years.” The man said, Matthew sat up with alarm but did not interrupt. “They are ruthless, Matthew. Giving them a bloody nose will not make them respect you, they will kill you and many more for less than their nose.”

“If this is true, we may have killed us all.”

The fat man nodded but also waved it off. “I believe there is something I can do to help. I can send a message to the Kritesh, ask them to join us and help us fight. They have managed to keep their independence for decades, I think they might help.”

The only real contact that Lumin had with Kritesh was in trade. The Kritesh occasionlly sold pottery, silks and satins, spices and jewelry on Lumin and purchased wheat, corn and beans that did not grow well on their own world. Earth controlled, taxed and monitored all trading. Most imported things had to be purchased from Earth or one of its colonies.

The Earthly authorities decided that allowing a small trade with Kritesh was showing humanity and kindness and expected to be praised highly by locals. It was infrequent enough that it made no real economic impact, but it might have given the Kritesh a good impression of Lumin.

“You'd risk your life. I was wrong. You would end your life to send a message?” Matthew asked, “How do you know they would receive it? Act on it? Maybe they would not want to get into a war for us?”

“Matthew, listen. I once broke a Kritesh vase, by accident. Inside the thickest part of the pottery was a chamber and I found a parchment tucked into it. I found a letter, signed by a Lee Myung-Jun. The letter expressed hope that Lumin could be free, it gave me coordinates and frequencies if I wanted to send them a message.”

Matthew Bellows waved his hand. “That could have been written a decade ago.”

“At least that long ago.” Malcolm agreed.

“Still, you will give up your life to send that message?”

Malcolm nodded. “There is a way to send a compressed data file in such a small signal that the star above might not find it.”

Matthew shook his head. “They will find it instantly. We both know that, do not delude yourself. You are going to martyr yourself, you might as well know it in advance.”

That morning while it was still dark Malcolm Rutledge and his personal secretary Leon set out in a carriage. It was a bit foggy and the streetlights extinguished all of the stars in the sky except the one that held the world in thrall.

He tightened his coat in the slight morning chill, cursed his age, and listened to sound of the horse hooves on the cobblestone street. Malcolm had known about the buried capsule since he was a child. As an adult he had spent many hours inside listening to radio chatter from across space.

The star above had never seemed to take notice. He had no doubt that the Earthly authorities would take immediate action when he sent the message. If they sent troops in their aerial vehicles he might even get far enough away before they arrived. If they send one of their missiles or light beams, he would probably be killed before getting out of the capsule.

It had to be done. Lumina would never be free without outside help. The technological imbalance was far too pronounced. The Kritesh hadn't promised they would go to war for Lumina, but Malcolm Rutledge thought they might. Their broadcasts highlighted the struggles for liberty through human history, they seemed to worship liberty as some worshiped God. It was a thin shred, but even a shred of hope for Lumina was better than nothing.

There were many hours of travel, it would be dark before they arrived in North Canton. At each rest stop Malcolm Rutledge wrote letters to his wife and children. These would be delivered by Leon, hi personal secretary, in the morning. Malcolm was certain he would be dead by then.

-------

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 Tara wants to find out what it means to be "The Fourth" and to bring Earth back from the dead. Greyson wants to go home and clear his name. Their paths are destined to cross.

apprx 44,000 words

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39 pages

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World Builder: 31 Short Stories

A lot of these stories are familiar to you if you have read the ones I have posted. Still, it is more convenient this way.

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