September 1, 2012
Angular Trifecta (33): Bottoming Up

And if beggars could not be choosers, Janette certainly could not win for losing. There was a distinct sect of people throughout the universe who absolutely refused to use elevators when a secondary option of stairs presented itself.

For some, the healthy power walk beat a lazy ride. For others of the leery, this exercise happened to be more rooted in safety than fitness. Though rare, they had heard the horror stories about the elevator getting stuck during power outages and plummeting from fluke accidents or poor maintenance, and avoiding it allowed them to mitigate some of that risk by taking destiny out of fate’s hands and placing it squarely back into their own. Only for the botanist, and the droves of workers that labored daily beneath the surface of Dio Qze, there was no alternate method of travel available for reaching topside. The distance between the ground level and inner corridor happened to be much longer than a skyscraper’s height and featured twice more stop-and-go security to boot. She had no feasible choice in the form of transport and now was left begging for safe passage.

At first, the elevator stalled abruptly. Janette was thrown from her feet and the canister with the Deew sample went flying through the air to coincide with her own propelled body. Thinking nothing of personal safety, she searched around frantically for Galaxy Bloc’s salvation in the dimness and eventual darkness of flickering lights that unfortunately decided to remain off. There was not a lot of surface area to be combed through inside an elevator car, so the botanist was able to safely corral her lost belonging plus check it over with the analyzation of touch to determine the item’s intactness. But just like any presumptuous sighs of momentary relief during the madness of these past few hours, the comfort was short-lived. And she was hoping that the rest of her life would not be as shortened by these next terrifying moments which included the transport plunging like the initial drop of a roller coaster - except without any vision concerning a potential recovery and only an extreme powerlessness in assumption regarding its cause.

Tightness and closeness, the compactness of the elevator seemed to squeeze the very thoughts from an otherwise brilliant mind as easily as the panic induced the shortness of breath from petrification during a claustrophobic nightmare and its suffocating encasement. Trying to recover some form of composure, Janette sat on the floor of the transport - holding her knees with her face pressed in between them and the Deew sample lodged between her legs and belly. She had even found herself rocking back and forth uncontrollably while the letters to the various levels of the Power Authority which lit up the floor selector console went backward at an accelerated pace to coincide with the miles of distance that were being lost. From Level B to Level D - potential escape had been mere minutes away. After passing Level O, the botanist was now moments away from a smashing defeat.

It so was easy to just give in to this. The simplest thing would have been to just give up.

Level P lit up on the console.

Then Level Q.

Short breaths became an audible metronome through which Janette could calculate her inevitable impact. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

Level R.

Ten seconds per level. Twenty-four levels of frictionless free fall equaled four minutes of opportunity. Well warranted, but sitting around like a coward left Janette with a little over a minute to think this through.

And, she just passed Level S….

Her thoughts quickly shifted from the superfluous ‘why’ variety on over to the ‘how’ kind. Its assortment of answers led the botanist to question the biological weapon’s beta phase strength based upon a number of different facets.

For one thing, Janette made an assumption that the Deew was still not powerful enough to break out the other seven sectors of Inner Corridor. Regarding its push for satiation, the biological weapon must have thrown all its weight against the springboard of containment so that it could free itself during one explosive upward incursion through the compromised eighth sector. This was the second thing that she considered. Lastly, a certain edge on nimbleness needed to be conceded to the gigantic plant on account of her having augmented…

Levels T, U, and V whizzed by during the contemplation.

…the Deew with nanites. Outside of an energy field, even the tiniest little bit space was sizable enough or more than suitable for the biological weapon to be able to fit through with ease. This included the supposed airtight smugness between the elevator and its adjoining shaft system. And air molecules were much larger than subatomic nanites - presenting, from their tiny perspective, an almost ten-lane super highway for the purposes of traversing.

Cables and pulleys were no longer used because the distance between Dio Qze’s surface and Inner Corridor was much too steep, so electromagnetic risers were instituted wherein the transport would latch onto the nearest attraction point and ride it toward the eventual destination - up or down. But again, this was not one, successive continual field, and if anybody ever had the chance to play with toy magnets, they would recognize that those objects could be separated as well as split by threaded matter like paper and still perform their attraction and repulsion duties. That field was otherwise weak - even when its power was amped up in basic applications such as this.

As easily as the biological weapon had made its way through a microscopic crack in the containment field to escape Inner Corridor was it going to be able to make use of that nanotechnological finesse (rather than the previous alpha phase brutish form of muscling its horticultural overgrowth up through, all around, and out the wide open spaces) to escape the Power Authority. Architecture could not stand in the way of such hunger, and the once fortified barriers called walls merely needed to be circumvented under the clever yet desperate auspices of this famishment. The Deew must have made its way in between the elevator and the electromagnetic risers - throwing the precision system completely off kilter and preventing the emergency brakes from properly engaging because of their inability to latch onto the foreign botanical material!

W, X, and Y were the next passing levels.

The scientific play was on manipulating polarization! Janette might not have been an engineer, but she was desperate, so the botanist pushed off the ground, rammed her codekey into the console slot and screamed out:

“Recalibrate stopping protocol,” as the elevator console lit up with its own heart-stopping letter ‘Z’ as the fateful announcement of her arrival at the end of this journey, “using nanite transfusion graft parameters!”

When the momentum devices kicked in and smashing into the ground floor at Inner Corridor did not occur, Janette stopped breathing. If it were to be her last breath and this last ditch effort had not worked, she simply refused to utter it.

At the risk of suffocation, a lightheaded Janette ordered, “Galaxy..Bloc..General..override..authorization…open…doors,” to which the elevator complied and instanced just how close she had come…. Having come this far in acquiring a stabilized Deew sample, the glum preview was close to unthinkable.

The elevator sat between the Level Z and Inner Corridor floors - meaning that Janette was seconds away from a horribly uneventful splat, and the future of the unincorporated planets inside that container would have joined along with her. There was the potential, after hopping up to reach the floor where the transport had partially passed, that she would have just enough room - about three feet, to pull her body through the space which was capped off by the car’s roof.

“Hey,” somebody from above (actually on Level Z) called out, “I think that there’s somebody in here!”

“Let me take a look,” oh no….

That voice.

Why could it have not been the intruder instead: “Janette,” Burdlit cooed before reaching his arm down into the crevice, “give me your hand.”

She backed away from the ill-boding offer and finally exhaled, almost preferring that the faulty elevator be reafforded the chance to do the deed instead.

Original Article

7:37am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvSYnm9a
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize Science Fiction Serial story 
August 23, 2012
Angular Trifecta (32): Preludial Hors d’Oeuvre

The Power Authority - When the urgency of being late for work met the insistence of a family emergency, any mode of transportation made for an uncomfortable ride.

That urgent need stemmed from a responsibility to complete the job and get the Deew sample to safety (on another unincorporated planet). This compulsion to be there for the inhabitants of Dio Qze - referred to as family during this tumultuous stretch, created such the anxiety. To Janette, this elevator could not move fast enough. She was obviously hands-on and constantly in the know, so these attributes translated to an imposed measure of empathy where her intricate understanding of the stakes held a direct correlation to a burgeoning concern for the stakeholders.

There was no use in agonizing over what would be, but then again, what was the use of trying not to worry? These people were Janette’s heart. They were in her soul as a result of becoming consumed by her long hours of advanced social work which had obviously been done on behalf of them. One could not receive enough pay for the tediousness of performing this job. There was not a person alive who would get enough credit to make up for the immense pressures from trying to net its accomplishment. The risks were high with an accompanying amount of stress to match - yes, but the task offered no guarantees that a high reward could also be realized. The position made no promises that she would even wind up surviving it, in order to see her efforts either have a positive impact or have been done all for not.

Some things were not carried out in accordance of obligation. Above the low, rumbling simmer of a Deew in stage two, Janette happened to be well past the stage of caring (as things suddenly became real) because duty was being overridden by a dire need for self-preservation at this point. Other things had nothing to do with pay. The money was nice for her stature, but there was not enough soap available to wash its grime off and scrub the botanist’s permanently scarred memory of these treacherous events and those that led up to them in order for her to even be able to enjoy the salary. The only certainty was that things had come so far and needed to be seen through upon principle alone. Everything else really was nonsense.

Belly crawls through a maze of piping had the contingent almost on path of an attached, lesser known duct which served the purpose of a pressure release valve. For such a high-intensity stream of the dispersant to be sent across so many miles of conduit, the possibility of buildup could occur but could also be mitigated by the computer system using the dynamic, intuitive venting overlay that sat compartmentalized into portions of its own - over the length of the sprinkler system. If a garden hose could generate enough pressure to where it was a capable of exploding, the result of the safety measure to prevent that would probably look like this.

The segmentation of these apportionments was necessary because the potential for the biological weapon to breach the array always existed and a successive cycling of the valves was more capable of being able to lob off any threat of capriciousness at the source rather than having one entire unit that could be compromised all at once by the brunt of a single hearty attack by the Deew. Now, bodies were not supposed to be making their way through these various recesses of the sprinkler system either because the generated stream would pack way more pressure than the Carriveaua or Human body could withstand and would make for a generally impossible swim against its extreme current that only aquatic races could survive, but the ducts had been designed to this particular specification of size so that people could traverse them for the purpose of performing maintenance.

From an acoustic perspective, the roar of the biological weapon became magnified and deafening within the hollowed tunnels of the sprinkler system which happened to have been prime for creating echoes while extending the resonance. If not for the Ear-To-Mouth Coms, communication between the contingent would have been impossible and disorientation would have surely resulted.

“Ten more meters and then turn right!” Barking out orders kept the soldier with the slate computer as calm as hearing something (other than the Deew’s frightening vulgarity) kept the rest of the contingent. She had morphed into Burdlit’s unofficial second in command during this strife, and the other soldiers followed in silent (albeit boisterous by its unanimous) agreement.
By contrast, Burdlit led the procession from being out in front of the rest but seemed to shrink away from the responsibility of leading the contingent outright. He had been mighty quiet since contemplating Janette’s alleged treachery as his thoughts had since turned to premeditation regarding what could possibly be done about it. To rectify the situation called for the simple confrontation from a spirited conversation among adults. Although, things would probably not stop there - spiraling downward as retribution might arise from out the prideful need of arguing parties to behave like children.

Burdlit remained undecided on the proximate tact. At some level, he knew why Janette was doing this. A person could not work so closely with another for so long and not at least feel something toward the other person’s plight - even if the circumstances were fabricated via the personal deception which caused them to even come in contact with each other in the first place. These were not attachment issues which caused him to become conflicted about how to possibly move forward, but they did contribute. The disappointment that arose from a potential master watching a prospective slave rise above the serfdom was fraught with taboo familial colloquialisms and twisted emotional sentiment which left the oppressor feeling like the victim in all this!

Luckily, Burdlit had friends in higher places who were likely making their presence known in the absence of his scheduled check-in and could keep him focused on the task at hand. These Humans were the vile, self-deprecating creation of a cruel Ethereal who probably sought to provide the universe with the biological fodder for generations of jokes, but the Carriveaua were not laughing. There was nothing funny about a class clown turning aimless antics into class warfare. And how was that even possible that this race of miscreants and degenerates could become so dangerous and vicious? If ever he had felt any inkling that there might have been some good in them, the idea washed away - right down these pipes with Janette’s disloyalty.
Upon turning that right corner, Burdlit arrived at a stubby halt. The abruptness not only caught him by surprise but the soldier who had been crawling directly behind and managed to accidentally trample over his tail in the process of following too closely and rear-ending the operational general as a result.

On the outside, which happened to be Level Z, an already rattled sprinkler system technician became (understandably) even more startled the moment the front-facing grate along with a chunk of its conduit was blasted out of the piping by a laser rifle and Burdlit emerged shortly thereafter. Followed by the rest of the ten-person contingent, the find sent the person off in elation to alert the nearest counterparts who all returned to greet a weary bunch with warmth surrounding the feat and conjecture concerning the means.
When those counterparts ushered Burdlit and the contingent away with a series of pats on the back, offers for nourishment, and reports of the turmoil occurring topside, the Deew felt this was as good a time as any to get in on that (nutrition part) as well. With a gaping hole, but any hole would have sufficed since the cumbersome size and shape of physicality was no longer a problem, the biological weapon sprouted a beautiful, new bud from out the officially unsealed Inner Corridor.

Terrifying from the perspective of nobody ever really seeing a plant grow but noticing its resultant growth, the technician was frozen by the suddenness of the flowery appearance. In some respects, maybe the Deew appreciated the offer of a sacrifice from not having to hunt that first meal down. In others - perhaps, it was just famished when lashing out like a Venus flytrap enveloping a catch within its flowery plume. Either way, somebody’s whim became satiated by the presented situation.
The technician braced with upheld arms of passive-aggressive resistance during the ensnaring. But braced for what?

The stripping away of the technician’s carbon component in order for the cannibalization of the atoms’ valence bonds to occur, for one. But what could that even conceivably feel like?
To the Deew, this felt like a tease, and it would have probably much rather preferred the taste of a more massive, silicon-based buffet. But then again, beggars could not necessarily be choosers. Yet.

Original Article

3:16am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvRzWoFJ
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize Angular Trifecta Science Fiction Serial 
August 6, 2012
Florida Politicians Gone Wild in Tortoise Stew

Tortoise Stew depicts small town Florida politics and the development of Florida at any cost. Kelly Sands is a reporter covering some of the more controversial and contentious issues in the north Florida town of Calloway.

Dead armadillos and gopher tortoise carcasses are left as calling cards to those opposing the development as commission meetings erupt into all-out warfare. With the murder of one commissioner, Kelly begins an investigation that threatens to topple the carefully laid plans of the developers and politicians to bring a movie studio and landing strip within the city limits of the small town. When a young girl is killed by a semi-truck from Monster Mart, the environmentalists become even more vocal against the developers’ plans.

CHAPTER ONE

The bomb sat in a bag on Kelly Sands’ desk for an hour before she noticed it.

She didn’t see the white shopping bag because she had a deadline to meet, and tunnel vision ruled when the clock ticked toward the newspaper’s witching hour.

The rest of the debris on her desk also prevented her from noticing anything new. Two stained cups still holding cold coffee from the morning sat next to a pile of files on long-term stories she kept meaning to investigate. A box that once contained donuts lay on top of the papers.

Even if she had noticed the shopping bag, it wouldn’t have registered as anything unusual. Her colleagues were always depositing things on each other’s desks, either from absentmindedness or from the numbing blindness of a daily paper’s deadline focus.

The Braidwood Tribune went to press at eleven most nights. Kelly glanced at the clock on the wall ticking away the minutes as she put the finishing touches on the story she had begun on her laptop at the meeting.

She sped from the Commission meeting before it was even over. More than one hundred residents from around Zion County came to Calloway, a town ten miles from Braidwood. Braidwood was the largest city in north central Florida, standing in the middle of some of Florida’s last remaining natural landscapes.

Five commissioners representing 6,000 residents had decided to annex 2,000 acres of land into Calloway. The land represented one of only few tracts of farmland left in the county. The annexation bothered some of the residents who believed the increased acreage into Calloway would stress already limited city services such as sewer and water.

Buddy Tills owned most of the 2,000 acres for several decades, but he’d been selling off small parcels over the past several months. The names on the annexation requests were not local. The rumor mill kept mentioning Industrial Pines as the developer of the property.

Just the name Industrial Pines evoked fear in some residents because they were a company that developed in Florida with little regard to anything but its own profits. B.J. Winters, president of the giant company, attended all the public hearings, but Kelly’s calls to him remained unreturned. She planned to corner him after the annexation meeting, but when it ran over her deadline, she was forced to leave without accosting him in the parking lot.

Now Kelly had to write a fair, impartial article on a controversial annexation in Calloway in less than an hour. She knew if she didn’t get it down to bare bones reporting, the night editor would hack away at the piece until it fit into a twelve-inch space on the first page of the local section.

Kelly would be thirty-five in a few months, but she still looked like she was in her twenties. Her long black hair contrasted with her light blue eyes, unusual in their intensity and translucence. She was a tall 5’4” only because she held her head high and kept her shoulders back.

Thirty-five seemed like a milestone birthday to her. She had worked hard and earned a decent position with The Tribune yet she hadn’t accomplished much else in her life, except a divorce from Jerry, a college sweetheart. The marriage lasted only two years. Her parents, who lived in Palm Beach, could not understand why she hadn’t finished law school. It disappointed them she settled for the job of a reporter.

“I don’t understand why you would work so hard for so little return,” her father, a pediatrician, often said.

But her father did not understand what happened to her when she first caught the newspaper bug. She’d never gotten it out of her system after she worked onthe University of Braidwood’s student newspaper throughout her undergraduate years.

After she received her bachelors’ degree, she struggled through one year of law school, hating every minute of it, even more so because she no longer had time to write for the paper.

When she finished the article, five minutes before deadline, she rubbed her eyes and then rested them on the bag for the first time. Carl Handler, a fellow reporter and friend, came by her desk and looked over her shoulder.

“What are you doing here so late?” Kelly asked.

“I had that forum for the school board election tonight,” Carl said. “What did you buy? A new set of knives to slice the fat off the developer’s plans out in Calloway?”

“Must be a secret admirer,” Kelly said as she pulled out the tissue paper tucked in the top of the bag.

“What is it?” Carl asked as Kelly stared at the contents of the package.

Kelly motioned for him to take a look. “It can’t be what I think it is.”

Carl and Kelly stood with the shopping bag between them. Kelly held the handles wide enough apart for them to get a good look at the contents. Neither of them had ever seen a real bomb, but both knew enough to recognize that the plastic pipe with the small digital timer and battery attached with duct tape could not be anything else.

***

I originally published Tortoise Stew in 2006 under my former name, Patricia Camburn Behnke. In 2012, I ventured into the world of ebooks with the publication of Live from the Road. With a new cover and fresh edits, Tortoise Stew is now available on Kindle for .99 cents.

Original Article

10:12am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvQsmYfg
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize book ebook environmental Fiction Florida murder novel politics Publishing Science Fiction Second Wind Publishing writing 
August 5, 2012
Excerpt: Restore - Bring ‘em Back Alive!

It was his misfortune that he drank too much cheap wine that night; that he stumbled down the street, coming quickly onto the radar of the Collection Team.

They followed him, and using the checklist, they confirmed him as a target. So when he turned down an alley in his trek to find a secluded cardboard box to sleep it off, they closed in.

Exiting their vehicle with precision, they entered the alleyway. They worked well together, being chosen by company’s exceptionally high standards, excellent training, and true enjoyment in their jobs. Overpowering the victim, which was never too much of a struggle, they injected him with a sedative. Care was given not to damage the merchandise; they caught him as he slumped down, and then threw him over a shoulder, and carried him to the vehicle. The procedure only took a few moments, and they were gone, no one the wiser.

###

Laura Cromwell bounded up the flight of stairs to her office, not because she was late, but because she liked being there early. That way she would have time to obtain coffee for herself and her boss. It was part of her job as far as she was concerned; she liked pleasing him. She was so much more than just a receptionist; she was an important part of Dr. Moore’s day. From the first day she started at Restore International, at nineteen years of age, she had a thing for her boss, Clayton Moore, who was older, somewhere in his forties. She would do anything for him, and she did. Now in her late twenties, the highlight of her day was waiting for him to call her into his office. They were comfortable with their arrangement, both having separate lives outside the office.

Coffee in hand Laura opened the door to Clayton’s office. Surprised to see him already seated, she exclaimed, “Oh! You’re early today.”

Dr. Moore looked up from his computer screen to see her shapely form walking toward him. A look of lust crossed his face, which Laura noticed, and it made her smile.

She wiggled her way around his desk and bent over in an exaggerated manner, making sure her ass was accessible. “Your morning coffee, Sir.”

His hand slid over the roundness of her ass, he smiled as he gave it a good sound slap. “Morning, beautiful.”

She smiled back and turned to go back to her desk. Before she closed the door behind her, she stopped and looked at him, giving him another seductive smile.

Sitting down at her desk, she tied back her long chestnut hair. The calendar was full until this afternoon so she sighed heavily when she saw the first clients outside the glass door, about to enter the office. They gingerly entered, looking unsure, shy, definitely uncomfortable.

The man stepped forward, “We have an eight thirty appointment with Dr. Moore.”
Laura smiled sweetly, “Yes, how are you today Mr. and Mrs. Ford?” She extended her hand, not actually expecting an answer she went on, “Please fill out these forms and the doctor will be with you shortly. She handed them a stack of papers, which they looked at dauntingly, then they sat in the comfortable seats with tables attached. Laura pressed a button on the phone, “Mr. and Mrs. Ford are here.”

A clear voice came over the speaker, “Please show them in when they have finished.” Dr. Moore knew he would have at least fifteen to twenty minutes before they would walk through his doorway. He took this time to analyze some reports. The ratios had to remain constant for the business to survive. Apparently the last evening’s activities had been lucrative, they were ahead of the game. Still, no time to relax, it could change quickly.

Dr. Moore had started the bones of this business in his college dorm, back in 2103. Now over twenty years later, it had made him one of the wealthiest men on the planet. He had worked hard for it. Time travel had been in its infancy, but he saw its potential. He still needed science to catch up on other issues he needed worked out. He poured himself into his work, married for money, and kept his eye on the prize.

Laura knocked softly on the door to alert him, then opened the door showing the couple to seats in front of Clayton’s desk. After shaking hands and welcoming them, Dr. Moore took the stack of paperwork from them and took a few moments to go over them. Laura sat quietly waiting to take notes. Most of these meetings were the same; the distraught clients stutter and cry through a gut wrenching story of why they want to take advantage of the services of Restore. It used to affect her, but all the stories were pretty much the same, and she was jaded by the repetition.

***

Restore - Bring ‘em Back Alive! by Yezall Strongheart,
to be released early Fall 2012

Original Article

2:46am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvQnnw1R
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize book Restore Science Fiction Thriller writing 
August 3, 2012
Story Quest Short Story Contest

We are pleased to announce that the Story Quest Short Story Contest for speculative fiction has opened for submissions for 2012, and will close on 31 October 2012. This is our fourth contest, and the second in collaboration with SQ Mag.

The format is pretty much the same as last year - a finalist list will be compiled and announced in mid-November 2012 (usually from 6 to 8 stories) and the winner, second place and third place will be determined. These three winners will be given cash prizes, and the entire finalist list of stories will be published in SQ Mag issues 1 January 2013 and 1 March 2013. This also means that the stories will be eligible for the ‘best of’ anthology for 2013, published in 2014.

This year we have added a little spice, which is something we always anticipated we would eventually include - a theme. The following is taken straight from the contest web page:

“This year’s theme is ‘disaster’- a natural or man-made disaster that is integral to the story. It could have happened in the past, happening ‘now’, or is unambiguously going to happen. It can be the backdrop to a story, or indelibly connected to a character’s actions or the plot - but it must be integral to the story. As per usual, this story can be written in any speculative fiction genre or sub-genre, and must also comply with all other contest rules.”

We have been fortunate indeed to have excellent guest judges on our judging panels. This year we have Daniel I Russell, horror and dark fiction writer, based in Western Australia, originally from the UK. He has published a number of novels and shorter fiction, and is the vice-president of the Australian Horror Writers’ Association. In other words, he is skilled and well respected in the dark fiction community, and the wider speculative fiction domain.

We invite you, writers, to visit our web page and consider entering the contest. It is free and provides you with the chance of a cash prize, and certainly a great deal of exposure. If you do wish to submit, read our rules carefully.

Gerry Huntman
Chief Editor, IFWG Publishing
Convener, Story Quest Short Story Contest

Original Article

11:21am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvQgY4T9
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize Contest dark fantasy Fantasy horror Science Fiction speculative fiction Story Contest writing 
July 30, 2012
Angular Trifecta (30): Understated, Accurate

That was a good penthouse apartment as well as a decent link and interesting way to try to trace Boyd’s movements. In the long run, things could become quite suspicious if he chose to never return (or ludicrous if he did return and showed his face), but there were also decisions that needed to be made which would affect Dio Qze’s short-term future.

Being an Enforcer was not just about black ops but networking as well, so options existed for dealing with tying up loose ends.

Not many ships were out in this space, so the flight became somewhat hypnotic with the absence of landmarks and only sparse starlight to light the way. It reminded Boyd of long drives down cultivatable, barren highways at night. Thanks to the Class V Fighter’s autopilot, he (again) did not have to worry about smashing into anything or flying off course while removing his hands from the twin yokes in order to type away with ten fingers on the keyboard to the console controls. This flight was taking a little bit longer than the Enforcer had expected because SpaceStation Konxerus had relocated positions on path to the Galaxy Bloc world of Venimus 3, so his arrival was going to be unavoidably delayed as he flew to catch up with a spacestation which was heading away from him at a significantly faster pace. And that was not exactly a bad thing.

Enforcer On the monitor which sat between Boyd’s legs, a different type of whereabouts were pulled up. More of a personnel tracker, he had locatable visual of the assistance that could help him. The slender left column (which took up only about a quarter) of the screen featured the exact coordinates while the remaining three quarters displayed a live feed of some startling hot tub festivities.

“Put the shirt back on, Mexico,” Boyd teased - speaking through his Ear-To-Mouth Com. “You aren’t all that.”

“Señor Boyd,” Mexico greeted disappointedly, “we’ve got to stop meeting like this - literally.” His first instinct was to cease sloshing around the bubbling waters in order to look around nervously for candid cameras. He would never find any though because Solstice Satellite was the culprit, and the Space Force’s largest base plus most powerful weapon happened to be all-intrusive from a prying standpoint. Thanks to advanced facial recognition software and virtually unlimited camera angles as a result of the communication beacon network throughout much or the majority of known space, the position that the satellite found him in did not even matter because Boyd’s vantage point would soon zone in on the appropriate face-to-face video which would allow them to hold a serious conversation across parsecs of distance.

Not sure what to make of Mexico’s frolicking around with his scantily clad intendants, Boyd’s mind once again turned to the inquisitiveness of a specialist when wondering where in the universe Corinna and Jocelin concealed their weaponry. He just knew that they were armed, but somehow, never being able to quite answer this question of ‘how’ seemed to only add to their deadly mystique. Keeping things on topic however, the Enforcer ordered, “Can you please head over to Dio Qze, and make arrangements for my apartment to be cleaned out,” even though it sounded like a request.

Clearly not in the mood for Boyd’s demands as all the oxygen had been sucked out the room when Corinna and Jocelin began exiting the hot tub area in a biting display of lost opportunity, Mexico pretended like he had a say in the matter, “My night is ruined. What’s in it for me,” and clearly that was not the case.

“The rest of your life,” Boyd responded in keeping with the fact that he was not asking for anybody’s help but commanding Mexico to do the job.

“Hmm,” Mexico sighed before sitting back down in the hot tub with his arms spread wide across its circular rim, “I guess I can live with that.”

Boyd added a slight chuckle, “You’ll have to, old friend.”

And Mexico did not like that designation in the slightest, “¡Nunca se dice eso! No estamos amigos.”

“Besides,” Boyd looked on the bright side, “I’ve happened upon an angle which you might like. I still need to flesh out a few things though.

When you get there, keep your ears open. The unincorporated planets are planning something big on the trade front which’ll make Indra Pallavan look like a championship game office pool.”

“Do I get any details?” Mexico wondered.

Shaking his head in the negative, Boyd stated, “Not yet. Play this naturally. You’ve got the perfect cover plus an unlikely ‘in’ with your current standing and business dealings. Keep me posted on anything that you learn. Have fun. But be careful.”

Mexico replied honestly, “I don’t like that last part.”

“Yeah - well, I’m starting to find that I can’t please everybody,” Boyd said before discontinuing the feed. Mexico would handle his part admirably. Money was involved, so he could flourish in a natural element.

Nasteña Resort, Pasma Tam

The good life. Everybody craved it, but even those who had achieved it rarely had any time to enjoy it. Being at the root of Galaxy Bloc commerce by being in the heart of the Indra Pallavan Trade Routes, a select few who ‘made it’ could often be found at this lavish open-air resort, kicking back and kicking some sort of tall libation back as they did so. Palm trees formed much of the exterior enclosure while village-inspired huts created a wonderful jungle design for the interior compound. The ritzy colony might not have been from the nudist variety, but there was no shortage of skin being shown by the guests. With a pleasant climate of about seventy to eighty degrees and no threat of skin irritation issues because the lighting was artificial (being that most of the synthetic planets throughout the Quadron System resided in areas that featured no centralized sun), there was no shortage of flesh and only a delectable visual feast to be had by the discerning connoisseur who could appreciate such hedonism.

“Pinche,” Mexico called Boyd as his own Ear-To-Mouth Com went silent. He happened to be one of the ones who was trying to appreciate such sights but wound up plucking himself carefully out the hot tub and heading over to a carved-out log table where a plush resort robe lay across the top. It was warm hopping in but a little chilly when getting out, so the cotton fabric served to equalize the temperature of his body until he became capable of readjusting to the mild climate on his own - at which point, the robe would start to feel a bit too hot.

Corinna and Jocelin were off by their respective sides of the table toweling off. Calls from Boyd often signified that a side mission was about to commence, so they silently awaited direction from Mexico.

He stepped into some sandals while tying the belt to his robe and said, “Get dressed. Señor Boyd wants us to check out Dio Qze. That’s not normally one of the unincorporated planets which happens to be on my radar, but he seems to believe that it’ll be worth our while. I’d settle for it just being worth our time.”

Original Article

1:22pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvQPVfzb
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize Angular Trifecta book Enforcer Science Fiction Serial 
July 20, 2012
Angular Trifecta (29): Key to the Wrong Lock

Level X - Chattering was the sound that the container with the Deew fragment made while it danced and trembled to the roaring response of the resurgent biological weapon parent entity.

Janette’s eyes followed the path of the dormant sample across the table, but her right arm wound up following the insistence caused by her trembling heart to reach out and grab Galaxy Bloc’s salvation before the canister rumbled off and smashed itself into the ground. She uncrossed her legs and stood up to the sight of nurses scurrying around frantically.

“What’s going on?” One asked for some sort of guidance or direction. “It can’t be the Deew.”

“Make sure that Mister Uchbinder gets to topside safely!” Janette ordered with a pointing finger of urgency.

Nothing else was required other than, “Yes, Ma’am,” and hurried yet proper execution of those commands, so the nurse rushed beyond the curtained area of Walten’s recovery room to see to that.

Janette happened to be a very important person in her own rite and rushed from the waiting area into the outside corridor with her equilibrium being tested by both the walls and ceiling which either no longer felt the need to remain stabilized or could not help themselves in bending to the Deew’s furor. She found herself wondering or perhaps worrying if the Power Authority could stand against this type of shock but chose to concentrate on how to stay upright while running to reach the nearest transport.

Inner Corridor
The biological weapon’s bark was powerful enough to kill, so nobody wanted to wait around in order to witness its beta phase bite. Having survived the chaos of the alpha phase was enough of an accomplishment that it made the people still trapped within the lowest recesses of Dio Qze at least curious about what happened to be next in store. But sticking around to find out did not appear to be in their collective deck of cards as the boots from Burdlit’s contingent navigated this fluctuating obstacle course with a locomotive efficiency. Laser rifles served in place of hatchets when using pulses to chop down the swaying floral growth in front of them. Heavy and previously jumpy, the Deew’s appendages had caused it to garner a reputation which preceded itself because of the violent nature of those lash- and thrust-based attacks, so nobody threw caution to the wind when adhering strictly to a five-point partner rotation.

Two soldiers had the responsibility of driving forward. Trailing the wedge-inspired laser fire were four soldiers - two on either side of the contingent who needed to deal with any threats that might pop into the peripheral vision. A couple more troops watched everybody’s backs by bringing up the rear, and the soldier with the slate computer was tasked with navigating them through the chaos from the nucleus of their formation while the final troop kept tabs on her safety since her eyes were currently being occupied.

“Keep moving,” Burdlit urged while dropping slightly back into a visual phase in order to alert the contingent of his accompanying presence before dropping back out of visibility in order to prevent the biological weapon from possibly zoning in on his ever changing positions. Perhaps, the Deew could feel the additional presence traipsing across the floor, but there was no sense in him making it any easier on the dangerous parasitical host by doing so all out in the open.

“Thirty more meters and then dive to the left on my mark!” The soldier with the slate computer called out. Much of the furniture was either still intact or at least present in some form if not just crushed or displaced outright by the spread of the biological weapon’s greening efforts, so they needed to maneuver as much around those objects as through the Deew’s lush walls of verdure.

In keeping with the locomotion analogy, the contingent stayed tight in their formation by traveling along what could be considered a virtual string. When the front reacted, the middle and the rear responded with similar timing to their steps.

The soldier with the slate computer would shout, “Now,” the front would set the pace while dodging to the left - weaving between some tight yet clumpy spaces of tree trunks and vinery which could crush them all easily, and then the rest of the contingent would follow from their flow - both mechanically and accordingly. This was preparation and trust at work, but desperation also played a large part in causing everybody to fall in line.

Like the densest forest had managed to propagate within Inner Corridor, the terrain became unsettled and somewhat treacherous to traverse. Humidity was not an issue, but the heat was on, and if any of the soldiers mentioned that they were not sweating, they were lying. All in all - outside of the Deew’s roar which had jarred an entire planet into nervousness and action, nothing else really came about from it. What might have seemed like a strong possibility of the entire Power Authority structure being wrecked under the strain did not come to pass, but time was passing in a flurry, so nobody had a chance to stop and consider any implications other than the ones provided by the franticness of their desire to survive.

Nobody except for Burdlit - that was. He knew far better than to take the biological weapon’s raring and perceived rage as anything other than strategic posturing. It wanted them to behave in this knee-jerk and scattered manner, plus the Deew’s vibrations were becoming that much more pronounced the closer that they got to the duct system. The intelligence which was being shown through its creating a leveraged sense of urgency was not at all surprising to him. What might have seemed like incredible instinct was merely the normal behavior of a Carriveaua invention performing to technical specification.

Why take out ten people and remain trapped when an entire planet worth of nourishment existed topside and it would have been because of this contingent that the biological weapon could even escape on the heels of their retreat in the first place? The logic appeared simple, and its calculated behavior might have only seemed like cunning to a person who did not appear to be as familiar with the Deew’s behavioral patterns as Burdlit was, but those regular habits were tied to capability. Something was different here. He could catch back up with the rest without much effort and in due time once they stopped off after having reached the destination of the nearest overhead opening to the duct system conduit, so the operational general chose to hang back a bit for the sake of observation.

The contingent was understandably rattled because of their expected lack of experience on the matter, but Burdlit, himself, stood dumbfounded - unable to figure out how the biological weapon’s original escape could have occurred in the first place. It would not have been powerful enough to bust out of its containment until the later gamma phase, but the Deew managed this feat during the early alpha phase and with such finesse as to not have even caused a stir when having done so. With all the commotion from the chaos of a shaking periphery, he still was able to keep to his train of thought when wondering if the Humans had maybe instituted some sort of augmentation unbeknownst to him. They had deferred to the operational general so much during his stint as their adviser that he never would have imagined them capable of trying anything independently of his mentoring gaze. But something had been done, and deciphering what that something was now became of the utmost importance to him.

Uncanny behavior (even for the biological weapon) and Janette’s reluctance to use the dispersant - these instances screamed out for further investigation. Burdlit had been assigned to Dio Qze for the purposes of overseeing the Humans’ dependence on the Carriveaua, so their deviation from being led down the needy path of the self-insufficient was worrisome but not unexpected. These were the very same unincorporated planets that had seceded away from their Space Force brethren whom they had known for generations without so much as even any waver in their conviction, so he could not have seriously expected undying loyalty at any time during this present relationship.

A growing concern for Burdlit’s own safety made him question the integrity of this assignment moving forward. The answer lied in gathering information on the extent and type of modifications which had been performed on the Deew. But to do so, he would have to allow the contingent to set the biological weapon free and risk the destruction of the planet and perhaps himself in the process. To do nothing meant preventing his team from escaping, remaining trapped down there in Inner Corridor, and failing to alert his beloved Carriveaua about Galaxy Bloc’s impending malice.

By Janette’s silent manipulations, Burdlit’s hand had been forced. However, a forced hand was a hand to play nonetheless. They would meet again, and he would be sure to ask her what an endgame which could see all of Dio Qze consumed intendedly entailed.

The operational general doubled back toward the contingent’s position.

“So, how do we get up there?” One of the soldiers asked from the stump of a towering tree which represented a means of reaching the sizable grate which covered a duct vent opening. Once removed, it would be large enough to fit a body through there with ease and room to spare. The challenge was getting up there without having to interact with the Deew.

They had come prepared with a grappling gun but not an idea of how to latch it onto anything that would be stable through the leafy encumbrance which also happened to be blocking off any clear view of the duct system. The idea of being strangled and/or stabbed by twitching vines that happened to be full of potent life also added a high level of difficulty to the hardly attemptable feat.

With a soft hand on the curious soldier’s shoulder, Burdlit said, “Stand aside,” while allowing his coloration to return. Then with the prowess of a much more nimble tree-dweller, he stunned the rest of the contingent by leaping almost twice his bipedal size onto a trunk before bouncing off of that in order to scale some of the neighboring woods. The operational general utilized powerful hand and toe claw grips like climbing spikes in crawling vertically up his destiny.

Yes, his and everybody else’s. Burdlit pushed off backward from his perch into an astounding, aerial somersault with his banded laser rifle flailing along for the ride which placed him squarely into a miraculously adept and acrobatic crouch atop a jutted out branch - directly beneath the grate. The biological weapon offered no resistance other than the occasional aftershock the entire time.

Why would it?

“Look out,” Burdlit reached up and yanked the heavy, metal covering out of its snug place with emphasis on the grate’s being dropped, “below!”

The impact was muffled by what seemed like the low rumbling of the Deew’s wanton anticipation for release. Or maybe that was just its famished stomach.

The soldier reared back and fired the grapple upward. Gauging the trajectory, Burdlit leaned away from its ascent and snatched the harpooned projectile out of the air, expertly catching the long part of the iron beneath the spikes. Having made his decision, he reached it into the newly opened area of the duct system, snagged it against the lip of the vent, and tugged on it to make sure that the connection was sturdy enough for the contingent to ascend.

Original Article

1:56pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvPlM1t0
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize Angular Trifecta Science Fiction Serial 
July 15, 2012
Angular Trifecta (28): Thrice-Cooked Beans

Record: ”Dominar Verasco, distinguished members of the Galaxy Bloc council, my mentor - Doctor Bigwood, assorted colleagues, and various individuals from my surviving family; I’m making this report in earnest, so should the black box recording from my Ear-To-Mouth Com be recovered, you’ll understand the reason…”

 Emphasis.

 ”…’why’.

The game has changed by the mere fact that the unincorporated planets are now seen as players. It’s too early to be calling ourselves contenders, but I do feel responsible for having let the cat out of the bag. Or perhaps, the plant out of the pot.

They know. They both know.

The Space Force was the first to catch on. Now, we’ve known for a while that they’ve had us under surveillance because of their behemoth Solstice Satellite which pretty much keeps watch over four entire systems, but this invasion of privacy is also being taken to the level of boots being on the ground. They walk among us. There’s no telling who could be one of them or who could’ve been influenced by them. I don’t even want to think about who’s been replaced, but these are all things that are beyond our control.

It sounds like an excuse, but I was personally made to be the target of a surveillance effort. My movements, my patterns, my life - they were all dissected and scrutinized until they became nothing more than data points in a scheme which would see to their exploitation. A Space Force agent got his hands on my codekey and infiltrated the Power Authority. Before I knew it, he was already on his way down to Inner Corridor….”

 Pause recording.

Speak to me. General, how did things go topside? Not good, huh? It’s to be expected. No - I know. He’s a spry one.

Okay. That’s a lot of damage for one person, but he was just posturing. Yeah.

I truly believe that he’ll come around. For any of us to survive this, we’ll need his help. The peril came upon us too quickly, and though I’d never admit it to him or anybody else, for that matter, the Space Force may be our only way out of this.

Oh, his loyalty lies with himself. My having taken subsequent breaths after our formal introduction proves it. He’s not stupid enough to betray the Space Force outright, but he’s also smart enough to realize that they’re not his friends either. I can’t quite place my finger on the reasoning behind the behavior. I’ll admit that its prospects are intriguing though - if not worrisome for their very same random part that they’ll wind up playing in our fate.

Calm down. This is not the time for you to go after him. It’s something that we can address…later, and you’d obviously be my first choice to handle the hunt. If he’s as resilient as he seems, you’ll get your shot at him, but maybe you’ll not crave it so when the chance is upon you in actuality.

Right. Yes. True. Believe me, I’m not debating your abilities. I just doubt that he’ll acknowledge them because we’re not his enemy at this present time, and he’s going to treat that lack of concern for our threat with a dismissive viciousness which will free him back up to be able to deal with whatever…is a threat. Just be careful with that. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want to lose you over anything but certainly not to something as meaningless as the need for petty vengeance (gone wrong). Oh, absolutely. We’ll pick our spots on that.

But right now, we should be mindful of our priorities. The Deew situation has become problematic. And we’ll need to move quickly. So, begin the planetary evacuations immediately. I hate the fact that our own displaced citizens need to be divvied up among the planets in order for their respective arrivals to be accepted without taxing the locale, but our food and resources are in dismal short supply. Do your best with the situation. Try to keep families together when possible, but get them all off this planet.

I’ve got a few more things that need to be taken care of down here. I’ll be along shortly after that.

Don’t worry about me. …I-I know, I know you will.

I love you too. Talk to you soon.

Now, where was I? Resume recording:

 ”…Something happened down there between the intruder and Operational General Giz. Somehow, the Deew’s containment was breached. Someway, their battle created enough of a fissure within the ecosystem that we’d installed to keep the biological weapon in stasis that it was able to escape. Somewhere along the line, the nanite transfusion graft made all this possible. Sometimes, we’re almost too smart for our own good - never stopping, although many on your side of the view-screen probably wished that we had…”

 Scratch that - all the way back to the word ‘although’. Resume:

 ”…and I’m hoping that a silent majority of you from your side of the view-screen will understand that we ultimately meant know harm. Somehow, when our day of salvation arrives, these sacrifices will hold meaning: The lives that were lost here, the home that’s also about to be lost during this, and the one soldier whose sacrifice may leave him maimed with the loss of an arm.

On that subject, I move that Walten Uchbinder be commended for exemplary service above and beyond the call of duty. It’s not much in terms of decoration, but I’d like his valor to at least be recognized…”

 Save. Upload. We’ve found ourselves inside an interesting predicament, and the Carriveaua will not be happy about our response. Hmm, that’s an angle which has yet to be explored. It still behooves us to play nicely with them for the continued supply of these Deews. If my findings aren’t successful, or the science of everything that we’ve done doesn’t even make it off this planet, somebody else can at least keep the search going. Resume:

 ”…The biological weapon is perhaps the closest thing to an energy vampire that we’ll ever know. When Dio Qze was originally populated, we pulled the majority of our power from the core like most planets that don’t exist in systems with centralized suns do. Like a good number of Galaxy Bloc worlds - cheap properties which allowed us to secede at bottom basement prices, by the time that we realized that we’d been swindled, the Deew was starting to become much less dormant. Its stomach was rumbling, and we needed to try to find a way to satiate that hunger.

Energy transfusions did the trick for a while until we realized how this thing really worked. In times of weakness, the biological weapon finds its strength. Except, when the Deew finds its strength, it tends to want to maintain, so the requirement for power started to become staggering (if that were a metric) and exponential as the time went on.

We’d put off our demise by feeding the biological weapon and making it stronger, but in doing so, the Deew became strong enough to destroy us anyway and continued to inch its way closer toward the alpha phase. That surely would’ve been reached much more quickly had we done nothing, so I devised the nanite transfusion graft.

A blessing - a curse, I don’t know yet. The process of grafting nanites onto the Deew through the very same energy transfusions that we were using to feed it presented us an irresistible opportunity to try and rewrite its inexhaustible maturation processes at a cellular level by redirecting the previously unchecked growth to something that we could use: A harvest yield.

What we didn’t see coming was the biological weapon’s instinctive command over the nanites. Whereas ours was more overt, its was subjective in every other way as it pertained to the Deew’s own survival.

I believe that the biological weapon utilized our nanites to reformulate the properties of its own self. In more simplified terms, everything is porous to the microscopic. When the containment field was severed with a subtle tear that not even an aided eye could decipher, the Deew was given a chance to seek out the energies that it desired at its own digestive pace.

How to defeat this thing? I’m not sure, but I don’t plan on leaving this planet until I figure it out. The rest of the unincorporated planets have enough issues. This one just happens to be my problem and my responsibility to fix. Should I not succeed, please know that I gave it everything that I had. I’m sorry….”

Save. Upload. Stop.

Original Article

12:55pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvPPBmWi
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize Angular Trifecta Science Fiction Serial space force 
June 30, 2012
Angular Trifecta (27): A.T. al Fine

Inner Corridor - Operatic soundtracks were built for times like this. As if the composer had posted up a spot along the very same backdrop which was set to be provided via musical accompaniment, the eerie overtone of airy voices simply fit.

Burdlit and his contingent were about to venture into the unknown for the purposes of preventing the unthinkable (from happening). In name only, his impact of leadership waned as he silently sulked off by himself a little ways out from the rest. Nobody betrayed the betrayer.

Least of all the softening sounds of the decrescendo which delicately played to the highs of violins while a semi-aggressive viola staccato kept up the pace of the movement. Burdlit’s overture featured the long strokes of cello bows as the foreboding undertone and a stubborn bass pizzicato which answered the sharp call of deviousness with a flat, pointed resiliency.

Half listening and half focusing on the impressive Deew growth which formed beds of carpeted foliage, walls of sturdy trunks, and waves of overhead forested drapery, Burdlit took a mental note of how quickly Inner Corridor had been transformed into a cave of greenery as the once woody attacker began to sprout - having long since taken root. The fact that this occurrence happened to be holding onto his attention span was not a coincidence made of scientific fascination because he already knew the deal, but the operational general also knew the time. And that was about the only thing which was capable of running out right now. He wished that he had more of it for the purposes of thinking things through fully rather than contemplating his next move under a concealed yet seething fit of wrath that Dio Qze could not afford.

If Janette had just pacified the Deew earlier, the fate of the planet would not have even been an issue. Burdlit’s attention could have been turned more completely to catching up to and eliminating the Space Force spy. He doubted that the botanist and the intruder were in league, but her priorities did not seem to be aligned with the main purpose of stopping the biological weapon - as per the original job posting. Could Galaxy Bloc actually have been capable of pulling a fast one on the slick talker? The possibilities of its prospects were most intriguing, but this development was also quite disappointing.

The Carriveaua had always been the dominant in this partnership with the unincorporated planets, guiding them down an endless path of dead ends and confusion as they sought to try and solve the Deew dilemma while keeping everything a secret from the overprotective Space Force. Even with what felt like the scientists only spinning their wheels, the biological weapons’ threat had remained conveniently contained, so the business relationship continued to move forward. Each operational general’s status was confirmed as legitimate, and Burdlit honestly liked to be looked up to as a leader or looked upon as a godsend by the Human filth. Harbingers always preferred to pose as saviors.

“Inner Corridor is a hub-like overlay unit which features eight directionally situated (for each corner of the globe), spherical wedges that help to reinforce the extended containment array around Dio Qze’s core,” the soldier with the slate computer refreshed the military-minded contingent’s scientific knowledge. She pointed at the schematics on the device’s screen when pointing out, “We’re stuck here. There’s no way of knowing if any of the other seven sectors have been compromised, but we’ve gotta assume that they haven’t been and worry about containing the Deew within this one.”

“Isn’t there some sort of fail-safe that our topside units can engage while the biological weapon sits in this dormant state?” One of the others asked.

The soldier with the slate computer nodded, “Yeah, very perceptive. Piped into the sprinkler system is an emollient mixture that we were given courtesy of the Carriveaua which can damage the Deew on contact. There’s enough of the stuff stored up that it could create a pretty good stream across all eight sectors, but the programmed protocols are savvy and flexible enough to send more of the dispersant the way of the affected areas.”

This revelation was met with a concerned and frustrated chorus of, “Then, why aren’t we doing that? We’re losing time. This is a serious situation, and to be honest, we’ve been lucky to last this long. Yeah, the Deew was shredding our counterparts like - like nothing.”

“It either means that nobody made it out of this communicative dead zone to be able to warn the outside…,” the soldier with the slate computer played the voice of reason.

Or the outside did not care - Burdlit thought.

She continued, “…, or they’ve tried to activate the dispersant but the biological weapon might’ve damaged the systems during its rampage.”

Yeah right - Burdlit also thought. He was starting to think that Humans really were not all that bright at the end of the day. The soldiers had signed on to become disposable pawns as a part of Galaxy Bloc’s armed forces and now could not even fathom the idea that they were actually being disposed of. There was no denying his feelings for those of this contingent as the operational general had grown quite fond of them during his time on the planet - a pseudo home away from home, but being gullible was going to get them all killed.

And yet, some of the Humans on the unincorporated planets were trying to be smart. Their smart-as-ed antics, at Burdlit’s expense, were going to net them destruction at the leafy hands of the Deew and subjugation at the webbed feet of the Carriveaua…as hostages. Yes, the Space Force was absolutely right about a predatory force swooping in and trying to undercut the megapower by exploiting the weak unincorporated planet link in their chain. Interestingly, it was not the New Alliance who had decided to make that first move.

The conductor would have pinched the fingers of the baton-less hand together at this point to indicate that not even a pin drop was warranted here. So quiet, the low rumble of the timpani seemed to ignite the faithful oboe to a super exposed portion of the concert. Coming to its aid was the warmth of french horns which surrounded the wantonly aggressive bells from various forms of percussion. The anxiousness of melody for the contingent’s planning created a feeling of fluffiness and hope against Burdlit’s brooding harmony.

“The biological weapon has three different phases,” the soldier with the slate computer explained. “The alpha phase, which just got finished kicking our as-es, takes a great toll on the Deew’s energy reserves - thus this break in the action seems like its nap time. We’ve got about how long until it reaches the beta phase, Operational General?”

“Probably about an hour,” Burdlit turned his head only slightly as far as it could go to side when speaking over his right shoulder.

“That leaves us an hour to do what though?” An anxious soldier tried to cut to the chase.

Not to be rushed although cognizant of the urgency, the soldier with the slate computer chose to offer direction over admonishment, “Well, there’s two things, and they both happen to be related. We’ve gotta try to activate the dispersant from this side.”

Another soldier questioned, “Is that shi- even safe?”

“I’d rather take my chances with it than the biological weapon,” the soldier with the slate computer made a very good point.

“True. Yeah. Hmm,” led a secondary chorus which consisted of sighs and other forms of nonverbal agreement like affirmative hand gestures and head nods.

In controlling the conversation, the soldier with the slate computer added, “Now pay attention here. If the dispersant isn’t an option or we’re too late to take advantage of its defoliating properties, the duct system will wind up being our one and only way out.”

The conductor’s hand turned palm-side up here as it requested a subtle crescendo from the focused orchestra. The Deew had a part in the eloquent composition as well.

A question was raised, “What if we’re too late and the biological weapon wakes up?”

“You want to think of the Deew in terms of the stages that a Human goes through,” the soldier with the slate computer described. “Infancy: Flailing about aimlessly, unaware of its true strength and capabilities.

Puberty: Coming into its own, belligerent in what our scientists believe is its most dangerous phase. After a good sleep and low on energy, the Deew will seek to feed like any other organism, and we’re the low species on the totem pole as far as it’ll be concerned - which it won’t be.

Even if we fail, topside will be afforded one more chance to stop this thing as it rests one last time before reaching the final phase. Adulthood: Believed to be unstoppable, what to expect…nobody knows.”

With even more aggressive motions from the flailing baton hand of the conductor’s gyrating body, this exaggerated dance atop the podium was meant to pull the entire symphony out of its lull from a series of dainty measures which were supposed to keep the audience off guard until the cymbal crash and the choir could once again shout with a certain grace which would send shivers up and down a listener’s spine. But this was far from the celestial variety. The skies did not open up, and only darkness rang out from the bottom which seemed to somehow fall out from below.

Plants had ears too, whether via the functional growing kind or their auditory version which provided an intriguing response when listening to music. And this shrewd plant managed to overhear the plans of the contingent - the same contingent that it had allowed to survive its introductory onslaught in hopes that they would divulge a potential hint for escaping Inner Corridor. Sleeping with one eye open in order to retain awareness among the surroundings during slumber, the Deew awoke to its own thunderous fortissimo.

The vocalists belted out a haunting sonata of long, billowy tones that matched the desperation in the biological weapon’s quest for survival to its newfound hunger for seeking out an alternate carbon-based component to subsidize its advanced photosynthesis. Shrill strings and harsh percussion teamed with blaring woodwind instruments to balance out a majestic clash of brass. As heart-pounding as the first time that a child heard an older sibling performing in an orchestra and imagined the grand possibilities from the enormous fires of interpersonal creativity that the experience lit, a powerful climax was finally reached.

So how would the audience respond to the inspiration: Seek to spend eternity expanding their creative horizons or sulk within the powerlessness from a moment of ephemerality? Ultimately, was it the moment that mattered or the response?

“You said that we had an hour! Not good…. Da—it, where’s it gonna come from?” Were some of the various, concerned replies from the contingent which sought desperately to power up their laser rifles to rapid, maximum blast under the strain of basically standing in between a pair of tectonic plates while they rumbled off a Dio Qze-quake which shook the entire planet.

The soldier with the slate computer put the device away in favor of her own laser rifle and yelled, “Move out!”

With a shrug of ambivalence, “Whoops,” Burdlit used his nano-chamo skin to fade away to invisibility in hopes that the Deew would not be able to locate him once completely blended into the surroundings.

These were the types of things that a composer envisioned when arranging a jarring piece for an original score. But the potential masterpiece was only halfway completed. How would it end? Upbeat? Or downtrodden? Whose tune would wind up shining through the brightest? The Enforcer’s chamber music theme? The botanist’s driving piano solo? The operational general’s forceful yet hidden part from this segment?

Or would the biological weapon’s dissonance claim the suite? That was enough for the night though, so the composer made sure to save the work, upload it to the backup FTP space, and email it to a personal email for the redundancy purposes of the paranoid. This project would surely be picked up again sometime next week.

Original Article

12:43pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvOQe_hI
Filed under: Angie's DIARY | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize Angular Trifecta Science Fiction Serial 
September 7, 2010
Has Science Fiction Fallen By The Roadside?

I recently read Paul Goat Allen’s latest article concerning the demise of Science Fiction in Literature on the “Explorations” web page, part of Barnes & Noble. Paul argued that fantasy had taken over in the reading world. The following is my comment to his article:

“Science Fiction like all other genre’s falls in and out of fashion. What was popular in the 1950’s and 60’s gets rediscovered and reinvented by later generations. Book genre’s fall in and out of fashion like everything else. Nothing is new. Everything gets rediscovered over time. It is completely understandable that the current generation read fantasy, using the genre as a literary head in the sand approach to the problems of the day.

But subjects like global warming, population explosion, modern day warfare, famine and exploitation in the third world are all subjects for future science fiction novels, not fantasy, which to my mind is why the current reading fashion decrees that fantasy is, for the moment, king.

Is science fiction dead? No, merely taking a snooze, waiting for fashion and fads to change once more, putting science fiction back where it belongs at the forefront of literary exploration Paul.”

To read the rest of my post, go to my blog at :
http://akhen1khan2.blogspot.com/

Original Article

2:24am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZfWBmvQTgftb
Filed under: Angie's Diary | Online Writing Magazine tumblrize demise generations literary exploration Publishing Science Fiction science fiction novels story 
Liked posts on Tumblr: More liked posts »