Jim

This morning started earlier than usual. I watched part of a movie called "somewhere" and nothing really happened, but I was taken by the character's lack of "being". He had virtually no place on earth. He wasn't really a person. No opinion. No person to defend as himself. So I thought a bit about this and decided to give Jim more of an existence in the story. You know - like a real person. He'd need some sort of rationale for life - some way. Today and before now, here in the west at least, there's been beingness by religious codes. Morals and customs. What about 300 years from now? Would that be the same? So I decided to try this with Jim. Give him a set of beliefs and a rationale. A person with a purpose. Something you could depend on for the person to do and be and say and feel. Not just a ball of putty - you know!? Jim follows the philosophy and basic thinking of Jan Weber, the New Depth Cosmology founder. New Depth holds that traditional values are placed here in life, in the physical universe, already - a long long time ago. The only things that are new are the fabrics woven by thinking persons, artists , dreamers, inventers, who play their ideas and emotions against the "always been" the state of the physical universe and life - let's say- and develop a new reality that fits what always has been - call it divine intention - or whatever you like - original creation - whatever - and succeeds according to its values and harmony with the needs of people, life, and the physical laws of the universe. Don't take this too seriously - I just made this up to try it on Jim to see what happens. If he comes alive here in the story.

Jim took a long look out the viewset and wondered why he was sitting where he was. The chicken was good. All seemed so still and yet here they were travelling at hundreds of miles a second toward their destination port, Vivi right next to him, parallel tracks through the heavens. He wondered what kind of effect they were weaving here. Did it really matter? "So how's life at home?", he looked at Vivi. She liked when Jim would turn his New Depth intentions on. It made her feel special and needed. She smiled. "Harry didn't want me to leave on this trip you know?" Jim knew and he didn't think she made the right decision either, leaving her family behind for a year of scientific research, but he wouldn't tell her that. " Yeah, I remember all that". Jim noted. "How's he feel now?"  "He still blames me", she answered. "Just do well here and everyone benefits - the good sticks and the bad's forgotten over time." This had become a cliche by 2310. Jim tried another piece of "Jumpin' Chickin" and wondered about the new depth they were creating on this venture. "Thanks for asking", Vivi smiled.

"Time for a Snack"

Today started out gray and wet and quickly turned sunny and warm - a bit humid, but good to be outside. Some computer problems today, but that too straightened out fairly quickly.

I'm going to try getting perceptions from Jim to the reader so that you can explore the future while participating in Jim's adventures. 

He took a walk down to the galley through the "spatially economic" narrow corridors. The "elastoplast" on his boot soles squeaked against the hard plastic flooring. He felt the cooling vents working hard against his cheek as  he passed close through the galley entrance. "Time for a snack", Vivi smiled at him. "Time for a Snack" was the company name for packaged snacks.
"Yeah", Jim smiled back. He punched in the two numbers of his crew code and selected his snack, pulling a metallic lever back fairly hard and waited for the two characteristic clicks that signaled the snack had been moved into place. "Jumpin' Chickin" in its red box slid out and Jim slid in next to Vivi. She flashed her broad smile again as she turned to look at him. "You don't look so good. What's the matter?"  "Nav III renewal notice," Jim replied. "I'll sit over it with you - don't worry about it. I know what those numbers do to you." Just like that, Vivi solved his problem. He looked out the port and noticed the star colors, blue and white light reflected through the "Resilo" the hard transparent plastic they used for ports. Pale green light passed through the layers of transparent plastic as well, producing effects common on space ships but nowhere else that Jim had been. The whir of the ventilator fans was again soft and special, a constant reminder of their course, their "place" in this galaxy.

 

Jim Wallace

It rained again today - but briefly.

I thought I'd start on some character for Captain Wallace.

Jim Wallace scanned quickly through his latest list of messages. "Uh Oh", he thought, "here's the notice about NAV III renewal."  NAV III was the current standard navigation system recommended usage guide. It was a key system for anyone working on the bridge of a ship and something that gave Captain Wallace more trouble than most people would believe possible. He was so bad at numbers and symbols that he would never have chosen astronautics as a career. His father practically forced him into it. "No James", he could still hear his father's comments about his interest in literature studies, "that's definitely not for you, the future is in astronautics. That's where the money is too, certainly for you." There went the future for Jim. The only thing he really liked was a good story. It released the energy of his imagination. He actually smiled when he read a book or watched a viddy. All the warmth he felt about his career disappeared at his father's words. So long ago and yet it still saddened him enormously to recall that particular disappointment. Now, he had to find someone to cram with. He hated that too. He hated being a burden.

Dance of the Deep

Well, Spring is just about here and so here goes the new story I promised you - at least it starts here.

 

 

 

Dance of the Deep

 

Captain Wallace stared at an array of indicators and wondered what he was doing on the bridge of this ship. He had these lapses often, usually during highly critical maneuvers.  "What's it look like captain?" Lieutenant Hereshoff was very anxious to get the captain's take on the operation. "I think we've got a winner here Heshy."  The captain spoke very quietly as he scanned reactor readings. "It's the pre-cooler. I know it. Look at these temperature gradients."  The captain used his finger to point to a piping detail on one of the screens. "See that? It's always about 50 degrees cooler here when it's about to go. It's the first thing that happens. Then it triggers an automatic alarm system. That's what they're hearing now."  Captain Wallace spoke clearly and calmly over the voice communication line. "Captain of the Explorer VI this is Captain Wallace of Deep Space Salvor Wind Rider".  "Go ahead Captain Wallace," came the quick reply. "We've got your problem on the screen. Your number one Pre-cooler is just about to quit. We've got to get you all out immediately. Have everyone on the quarterdeck in four minutes ready to evacuate. Repeat, every person on board ready to go. Please acknowledge." Understand captain, all persons on board ready to evacuate from the quarter deck in four minutes, over."  OK captain, see you in four minutes. My first mate will be there for pictures. No one else can go below. Please confirm." Roger that captain. Everyone up on the quarter deck in four minutes."  The captain of the Explorer VI sounded resigned to the plan. "One more thing captain, Wallace added, I need a verbal confirmation that you agree to this salvage now."  "Agreed," came the immediate reply. Hereshoff clenched his fist in success. Captain Wallace smiled up at him as he turned off the voice comm. "We got him. No laughing Heshy till we're done."

Heshy's job was now to replace the reactor pre-cooler with a new one and act like he was setting up a recorder. Rubir, the second mate would plug in the training videos of nuclear explosions while they were taking people on board. The captain would be the first to board the stricken ship. This wasn't the first time they pulled this trick. Not the first time at all.

Captain Wallace was greeted by half raised eyes and lazy half turns of the head by drunken crew sprawled across the tables and chairs of a damp and very bad smelling room dug out of a cave and hidden in the side of a steep hill. At the back, a door led into a more carefully designed chamber that was better lit, drier, and no longer smelled like rotting fish. He spotted "The Vulture" seated at a console. "I've got something for you Vulture," he said to the dark figure. " I heard Captain," Vulture replied and stood and turned toward him. "I saw you bring her down," Vulture became very serious as he spoke. "It costs a lot of money to break her up you know. I'll give you 800,000 Vernon clear." Captain Wallace felt suddenly sick in his stomach. Last time he got twice that. The Vulture could kill him and his men very easily and not have to pay them anything at all. The only stop on that was that there'd be no more business from him. Vulture continued. .."and another 800,000 when we sell the drive."  Captain Wallace started to feel better. Vulture looked at him hard. "I'll tell you something else Captain. You got about twenty million in ransoms there. Did you know that?"  Captain Wallace didn't want to even think in that direction. He could justify selling salvaged material, a ship that was thought to be lost, but he couldn't justify kidnapping. That would be out and out piracy. "That girl there - you could keep her. I want Magnusson and his crew."  Vulture smiled. This was the first time Captain Wallace saw Vulture smile.

The green glint in his eyes shown only when Vulture knew he had his prey. This and his wry smile pierced Wallace to the quick. He knew what blackmail felt like now. The rest of his life would be spent doing whatever Vulture needed done. The only choice he had was to come clean about his shady salvage operations, and this burned just about as deep as Vulture's evil gaze. "There must be a way out of this," Captain Wallace thought. "Ha, Ha...," Vulture leaned way back and let out a sick loud laugh. "She's a pretty one too she is, all those dark curls. I'll bet she can dance that one, Ha,Ha."

New Story

Well, it's early April already and some new snow has fallen up here. Winter refuses to leave go.
There are some advantages to this. I went skiing last week and I might still go this week or next!

I sent in a draft of "Alien Uploads" to a publisher about a month ago and haven't received a word about it yet. So I've decided to start another one. I've already sketched out some ideas that I feel are pretty good. "Dance of the Deep" will be another science fiction story about this renegade sailor who's actually turned many shades of pirate but considers himself in the "salvage" business. It's set in the future several centuries at least - but not too far to lose the flavor of today's interests and certainly not today's humor. It's intended to be a comedy. I think it's a first. I really like the idea. I'll do the first installment by tomorrow and work on it today. I hope you like it.

Stepping into the Future

                                                                It's in the Water

 

It was six night now in Santiago, six nights that included a continual series of deep hypnotic imaginings of some sort.  Where did they come from and what was the purpose?  Michael suspected some sort of drug. People just don't share dreams without some kind of prompt, some kind of mechanism. It was all so odd.  He'd hash it out with Laura and Schechter over dinner.

"Where's it coming from Sol?",  Michael wanted to know. Schechter saw this coming and didn't really want to talk about it. He had enough nightmares of his own. "I wish I knew Michael. I have no idea. It could be coming from you, or Laura, something in your past, a place you visited. It could be jet lag. I don't know."  Schechter looked troubled by the whole subject.  "Michael insists that someone's drugged us. He says you can't ordinarily hypnotize people otherwise".  Laura  prodded despite Schechter's reluctance to  discuss it. "Couldn't we get back to the research?", Schechter pleaded. "I assure you there's nothing in the water and the food's kosher" , he added with a smile.

Michael couldn't shrug it off so easily of course. Too much had happened. He  looked out the courtyard up at the sky. Lights on the fountain distracted his view somewhat. It felt  strange to be down here now.  He wondered if Schechter felt this way about Chile. He wondered about people and what comfort and security were. Where was home really, especially now?  Was it him or was it the world? Was it the research and how far it had stretched the imagination? Were they really standing at a crossroads in time, or was this all a dream brought on by some kind of extended  jet lag?

It would have been just a fleeting thought except for the facts of Exit 51. It was as real as his home back in Philly. He knew the place, the people, the times, the food, the news, the details. It was all that detail. Mark Green was just as much him as Michael Gornstein, possibly more.

He wrestled with the conflicting viewpoints. He wasn't being forced into the future against his will. This was important. He had a choice. Stay here and finish his research, or regroup across a quantum leap through time.

Michael looked at the photographs on the white translucent glass that Schechter had laid out in his study. He looked at the area where the anomaly appeared and wondered. His mind drifted to the problem of this month's thru-put at the exit. He smiled at the thought of Mohammad's grimace at the news of their upgrade. He smelled the red dust of Oklahoma blowing up from the ground after the rain had dried. He could see Lauren's pretty smile as she tilted her head toward him. "We belong at the exit", he said resolutely. Lauren liked his certainty when he made decisions. He watched the blue and green lights on the fountain fade with the night. He watched as the observation room became more and more solid around him with Lauren now there and by his side. It was like landing on a runway when the wheels touched down and you were there and no longer in the air. They both watched the data run by through the white glass of the observation trackers. They were 300 years into the future and they were there to stay.

Coming Home

                    

        

                                              Lost  in Time

 

"We're half in the future and half back here"  Michael said and looked deeply into Laura's eyes for any sign of recognition. "How do you know?" Laura looked right back at him. "I see it. I see it happening. I almost see why!"  Michael turned as he spoke  and continued in an angry voice, "and I don't like it. I don't like being someone's toy, pushed into a place and time I have no choice about, no understanding. It  makes me feel weak and helpless and I've decided to stop it.". "How", Laura asked as if they were planning an evening's observation schedule. "I can get us out. I've thought it out carefully. You know what happens in these dreams? He waited for her reply. "What?" "They take us forward in time and to a different place, but the transit is vulnerable. I noticed it last time and I remembered it and I remembered it because I made a large number of associations for when we were back here that would remind me, and I remembered. The orientation changes". Laura was listening intently. It was as if they were French underground conspiring against the Nazis. Michael went on. "Ordinarily, now, my whole life,  usually, I relate most of my experience to my youth, school, growing up, my first telescope, you know". Laura nodded. "When we're in transit, there's none of that, just Chile, just here at the observatory or at Schechter's, or on the road, or somewhere around here. The job." They called their current research "the job". "And I noticed it. Every time I notice it." Laura started to make coffee as Michael continued excitedly. "I know how we can break out. I'm sure of it. All we have to do is know when we're in transit and then talk about it and we'll wake up!" He just about smiled the way he did when he'd solved a math puzzle. He looked at her for her view of all this. She handed him a cup of coffee . "It makes me want to smoke a cigarette and I never smoke." She laughed and so did Michael. "I don't know. Break out? What do you mean?" "Just wake up out of it, force ourselves to wake up!" "How in heaven are we supposed to do that?" Michael smiled at the question. "Exactly" he answered. "All we do is rehearse a few lines until we recognize where we are and come to." He smiled like a contented cat.

Four hours and as many cups of coffee later they were still sitting at the kitchen table going over their lines. "Then I say, "are you ready Laura?" "And you say.." and Laura broke in. "I sure am." Michael smiled. "That's all there is to it". He saw how tired she looked. "It'll be alright". That was Michael, she thought. He gets a plan and follows it. She hoped he was right. He usually was, but who knew what to expect anymore.

That night Laura actually feared falling asleep. She tried to keep her mind occupied with their research and the next day's programs. In what seemed like the instant she dozed off, she woke suddenly in the windowless room, same bed, same ceiling, and the same strange feeling of being in a place that seemed like a solidified dream.  "Michael!" she called out. "I'm here" he answered. "Let's get out of here right now". He was awake already and aware of where they were. It was time to jump on this. "Change of plans?" Laura asked. "Yeah - we're actually home I think, but we can't see it" Michael was trying to understand what was going on and couldn't quite bracket the situation. "See if you can reach out and touch the lamp on your night table - you know - the guy on the horse." The silver toreador?" she asked. "Yeah, that guy  - it's just a hunch." Laura had no idea what to do. "You mean imagine it?" "No do it", he shouted. "Do it - I'm in the next room - I'm here in the next room", he insisted. She reached out and somehow managed to touch a lamp - a lamp that wasn't visibly in the room. She could almost hear a warning. "You'll get in trouble. You'll get lost!"...Suddenly, like a tornado touching down. it seemed like everything that existed was moving, spinning with hardly any pattern to focus on except a downward winding inner funnel that seemed darker than the gray and pale light of the confusion. The sound was deafening, as loud as close thunder and all the worse for loud, frozen, high pitched shrieking. Laura, herself, seemed to come apart in the twisting forces tearing at her body and all the spaces around her. "It's a total chaos",  she thought. "There's no ordered space or time between the present and the future. It's chaotic". She heard a familiar voice and the noise and confusion subsided. "Laura, we made it!" Michael looked down at her on the bed. She was breathing hard, sweating profusely, and clutching the lamp so tightly that her hand was shaking and her knuckles were white. "We're back home". She turned and looked up at his face. "Good grief, that was like a train wreck"!