From Turner Classic Movies. It's a great documentary with some great names speaking about science fiction.
Showing posts with label Science Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Science Fiction. Show all posts
Friday, February 20, 2009
Friday, December 5, 2008
Chapter 3 of SOAR
I've had a pretty good year, a pretty productive year. Not only did I publish four issues of my webzine and an accompanying Fan Guide, I wrote my second novel and I've started on a third. The first thing I posted on my blog this year was Act 1 and 2 of "At the Peony Teahouse" which was later incorporated into the novel I wrote this year, The Theft of Heaven. That first post was on January 4th of this year.
I wanted to end the year just as strong. With all this in mind, I decided the last four Fridays of the year for throughout December I would post samples of my fiction as blogs. First up is Chapter Three of Soar, my first completed novel. Next Friday I will be posting Act One from my fantasy wuxia novella "Escape from the Cottonwood Chamber" (Formerly known as "The Children of Gods"). On Friday, December 19th (my birthday!) I will be posting an act from my second novel, The Theft of Heaven. Lastly, on December 26 I will post chapter seven of Silent Nights - the novel I'm currently working on. It should be noted that this final blog post will be the first time in 8 years that any portion of Silent Nights has been made available to the public.
But that's all for later. For now we should discuss Soar.
Soar is the story of Led, a cyborg living in a future world where technology has been outlawed. He is recruited by Aerol Standish, the second most powerful corporate figurehead in the city of New Haven. Aerol has his doctors implanted faux wings into Led, making him a veritable angel. With the hopes of using the universal human dream of flight as a marketing campaign, Aerol hopes to use Led in order to bring science and technology back into the realms of trust and worship it once enjoyed.
Chapter Three shows Led and Aerol discussing matters of their world and the plans they have to renew humanity's love for technology and science.
Enjoy.
******************************
SOAR (c) 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER 3
Led crouched atop a giant stone bust at the corner of the roof. The gargoyle protruded from the building without wings or deformity, but in the likeness of some ancient philosopher he did not know.
His torso naked, back straining with new muscles wrapped around the frame of wings. His black and tan sacho covered his nose and mouth.
He had always wanted to fly. It was a wild and youthful dream. Six months ago the dream had been realized. With sixteen hours of groundbreaking surgery and two months of constant pain the dream was born into reality. First there had been the pain of new hardware invading his flesh, then the pain of new muscles strengthening themselves under the weight of wings.
He had already flown, but only within the confines of labs and odd chambers with a dozen or more men in white coats watching. This would be his first time in the real world, over the streets of New Haven.
Led looked down. The streets were alive with the activity of Meaters, purists that followed the law and refused enhancements. People afraid of technology, a fear born in the War Against Machines. It hadn’t been much of a war. It had been more of a crusade.
If the wings refused to work this day, he faced a fifty-story plummet.
He stretched the wings at the sunset made gold by pollution. He couldn’t see the sun, only its golden glowing effects.
He felt the air currents rippling through the feathers, judged the unseen and knew what to do to leave gravity behind. He felt the importance of the moment. He was about to realize humanity’s greatest, most universal dream.
His leg muscles contracted and he jumped.
He soared.
The wings flapped once, twice, arcing to cup the winds. He was glad for the solitude granted to him on this occasion.
Led soared.
The embers of the sun fizzled to the west over the blackened waters of Lake Wakshasa. The city streets below filled with long, drawn-out chants from unseen chanters. Stars largely unseen hinted at life high above. What few could be seen were somehow closer, though Led knew they weren’t. Not by much. Quickly they faded out, drowned by the city’s gas lamps sparking to life, forming a great galaxy of golden stars dancing below.
Led soared.
He felt like a god spying the outer edges of a galaxy.
He soared.
Streaks of lights grew brighter as the heavens grew darker. The city swirled like illumined lily pads in the night. Each light became an outpost of hope, of life, chasing away primal fears and dancing as candles at the witching hour. Led had never seen the city more beautiful.
He soared.
He twisted, spying on the city below. Each light represented a life to him, a cell within a greater organism. It was wondrous. He smiled.
Led smiled.
*****
A fat Aerol Standish sat in his massive office at an equally massive desk topped with white Italian marble. His chair was leather, cool and plush. He sat like mighty Caesar in a soft, white gown. The room dwarfed even this, the most important of men. Decoration within the office was sparse. Only an imported hand-woven rug lay in the center of the room and atop it another chair matching the one Standish sat in. An odd wooden arm descending from the ceiling near the desk held a large televisor. Potted trees and framed pictures of jungles and wild men filled the spaces of two walls. A third had a hand-painted fresco of Julius Caesar, though many people visiting the office in the past had mistaken the likeness for a younger, leaner Standish. The fourth and final wall, the wall behind him looking over the city, was nothing but a line of windows from corner to corner and from marble floor to vaulted ceiling, stretching out behind him like great wings.
He flipped through some book with disinterest. He knew Led would take his time flying about the city, which he was perfectly happy to allow.
A knock at the door.
“Come,” his voice echoed through the office.
Twin golden oak doors opened and Led walked in.
Standish looked up and noticed first the smile of his winged man. “Now there’s a sight I like to see. How was it?”
“Unbelievable!” Led said.
Standish waved him to the open chair in front of the desk. Led passed on the offer. “It’s difficult to sit in chairs now,” he explained.
Standish nodded with understanding.
Led approached to lean on the desk and stared at the book.
“Don’t worry,” Standish said. “No one will see it lying there.”
Led picked up the book and flipped through it. Standish was amazed by Led’s bold acceptance of the book.
Led was not surprised a man of Standish’s position and wealth knew how to read. He skimmed a few of the pages.
Standish recognized the act. “What’s this? Does our brute have a brain? Can he do more than wield the knife?” Standish smiled emphatically.
Led hesitated with answer.
“Come, come, my boy. We are free to speak here. No Guard will swoop down from the mountain to purge the world of our ilk. Here I am king and master and shall forever be. The arms of the Lord High Mayor cannot reach here unless first I grant permission. Tell me, dear boy, and tell me true: Can you read?”
Led nodded slowly and only once.
Standish stood, laughing. “What a find you are! A brute, a beauty and a thing of intellect! How could I ever hope to be so lucky?” He came to stand near Led and peered at him with something akin to greed. “Now tell me what you have read.”
Led lowered his head and shrugged.
“Don’t make me work for this. Tell me and tell me outright. You cannot be afraid. Here we are in a time of regressive technology and I’ve made you into a man with wings, how could your simple confession of reading be any worse?”
Led looked up, “The last thing I read was The Prince.”
“Machiavelli? By the gods, you do have a brain! It should be no surprise it’s one of my favorite texts. What think you of it?”
“It was an old thing. I got it from-” Led quickly looked at Standish. Books and reading were illegal and Led was afraid he almost inadvertently gave away the source of many of the books he had read. He continued, “Well, its pages were fallin’ out and the edges were torn. It smelled of dust and wet paper that had dried. I kinda liked the smell.”
Standish shared Led’s smile.
“But the text itself I didn’t like,” Led added.
“Why? For what reason?”
“It was good until the end. The last part revealed it all to be a shallow ploy, a pitchman’s call, a scam. It was another sale tailored for a mark. It was just another advertisement.”
Standish leaned back on the desk and considered Led curiously. “Maybe so, but that should not abolish its worth. There are some strikingly good things elsewhere within the text.”
Led shrugged and stretched his wings. “Maybe. It always seemed to me the schemes of today are our own. Only our actions will see tomorrow. That book was nothin’ but schemes. Schemes for position, power and money.”
“Not all the pursuits of money are unholy, my dear boy. And not all the advertisements are pursuits of money. Machiavelli, while unhappy in his new life, had nothing but luxurious time to pursue anything he wanted. All his cares were tended to. He may not have been rich nor in a position of power as he had once been when wrote The Prince, but he was no street urchin either. He was a gentleman of the country.”
Led nodded. “I know.”
“Then why your disapproval?”
Led was slow to answer. Finally he said, “I’m no mark.”
Standish thought on Led’s wounded pride the book must have brought to him. “Making a sale is truly a delicate thing. Do it too forcefully and you risk offending the customer. Do it with a passionate plea to some universal truth and you shall be hailed practically religiously. Again, it’s not always about money. Some pursue pride and immortality. Some strive for better things for themselves or their community. It is what you and I do now with those wings and the coming Expo. What make you of us?”
Led shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”
“Please enlighten me, dear boy.”
Led thought a moment before he spoke. “It’s about validation. You’re right, money isn’t always the purpose of a sale. Most times ideas are being sold and, I think, the most passionate salesman sells his own ideas, validates his own perception by spreading his ideas. Who am I to argue with you? Who am I to argue with one of the master salesmen of New Haven? You want to sell the idea of technology back to our world. I want these wings, hoping that, maybe, some will be envious of me. Some may even accept me.”
Standish thought on this, began to speak and stopped short. The two sat in silent shared contemplation.
“Now what?” Led asked.
Standish drew nearer Led. His squat frame made Led look down at him. “We take on the world, my dear boy! We make a good pair. I’m all show and your handsome as hell. It will be easy to show you off.”
“I don’t wanna hang out in any more labs.”
Standish shook his head. “You’re through with the labs. I’ve set up more appropriate and, hopefully, more comfortable quarters for you.”
“In this building?”
“We need to keep you close. And in two weeks we’ll unveil you to the world at the New Haven Business Exposition.” Standish’s smile was wide.
Led’s smile ran away. “Am I to be a prancin’ pony?”
“Not exactly, dear boy. Tell me, what am I best known for?”
Led hated Standish’s way occasionally of answering questions with questions, feeling as though he were being baited, much like the purpose of The Prince. What scared him more was he felt he was growing used to it. “You’re the second richest man in New Haven?” Led guessed.
“And quite powerful, but I mean what business am I known for?”
Led shrugged. “It’s well known you dabble in everything. My guess would be most of your money comes from landholdings, but your biggest news-getters are your pursuits of technology. It’s your most controversial work, at least.”
Standish smiled again. “Correct! And who would be my greatest rival in that respect?”
Again Led shrugged, guessing, “Merricksen Consolidated?”
“You pay attention.”
“To my enhancements, yes.”
“Merricksen Consolidated is owned by Rollus Merricksen. One of our agents planted deep in his company recently relayed to us that Merricksen will be personally unveiling the VK-111 at the Expo.”
“What’s that?”
“An amazing piece of machinery. An automaton.” Standish grimaced. His forehead furrowed with thought. “It means my worst fears are coming true. The future of any society is its present technology.” Standish paced before Led. “These idiot politicians and religious men, these leaders do more to suppress technology. All because of the War Against Machines. Idiots! Uneducated, unenlightened, backwards idiots! Yet we call them our leaders!”
Standish grew feverish in pace and tone.
Led remained quiet.
Standish looked to his winged man. “This means Merricksen is years ahead of everybody I’m involved with. Only Savini seems to have some foothold on the future.”
“Doc Savini’s good.”
“The best! But he’s only one man. Merricksen has surrounded himself with an army of architects and designers. And now he’s got an automaton. Most companies are afraid to even dabble in robotics for fear of the law and social repercussions. But not Merricksen. He has charged ahead. He’s a devilish plan in the works if I know him.”
“Robots would be a hard sell in New Haven,” Led put forth. “He’s shooting himself in the foot if that’s his great secret for the Expo.”
“One would think, my boy, but Merricksen is a sly bastard. He has a gimmick somewhere an idea, something to make people put aside generations of technological fear and accept a new kind of automaton.” Standish continued his pacing. His bare feet slapped against the marble floors. His breathing became erratic, heavy.
Led let Standish pace for a while.
“It’s bound to be the single most advanced piece of machinery the world has ever seen!” Standish reasoned. “We don’t have much in way of detail, but it’s fully automated. I worry it may be a policing machine. With such an automaton, people would no longer be needed to guard city streets. There’s bound to be some backlash, but the argument in support of the automaton would go something like ‘Better to lose a machine in the line of duty than a life.’ The City Guard! Private security! You name it! And the cold shadow of burning clouds you have made may lend themselves to the argument. Thirty-two! Thirty-two dead by your hands alone atop my Empire Arms!”
At this Led winced.
Standish rubbed his head nervously, ruffling his matted hair.
“But the War Against Machines…” Led reminded.
“Has left us suspicious of automatons. We’ve destroyed them before. We’ve slaughtered them, insomuch as one can slaughter lifeless machines. We’ve thrown ourselves into another age of darkness and terror. I am a student of history, my dear boy. Our fellow man, however, designs against the past in some ideal for the future. Bacchus plots against Clio. What wounds he digs are deep. The mutilated muse suffers his scarring and is piecemealed together as something more Promethean.”
Led leaned on the desk. He had learned the fat man was prone to soliloquy. He eyed Standish. Led found him to be simple, though adorned outwardly in odd elaborate trappings, and self-educated. Though Led often did not understand the ramblings, he listened to the words, the tones and pace. When he felt prompted, he would reply.
“The science of the Shanist Temple is all the people answer to now and turn to for answers. To risk reintroducing robots is bold. Merricksen could be setting forth his own undoing, but influence through litigation can push past social response to achieve any end.”
“It sounds like something you would do,” Led said.
A wry smile was planted, blossoming upon the face of Standish. “Indeed,” he answered. “Rollus is gambling on the need to save, to cut costs. It’s a bet well hedged.”
“He wouldn’t risk losing everything with a line of automatons when I can’t even walk the streets,” Led said. “The backlash would be immense. He’d swing from the gallows.”
“Times change, my dear boy. Attitudes shift. It is the ebb and flow of humanity’s will that dictates technology’s progress, not science itself. Everything within society must first be justified within the popular consciousness. It’s all in the marketing and alteration of common perceptions. It’s in the ideas, just as you said. With the right image you can sell a murder. Everything can be justified if lighted properly and photographed from the best angle. This city is a ship adrift in the great stream of human consciousness. Push and pull at the rudder, steer the ship, change the course of history and attitudes and belief and reality is recorded anew.”
Led thought he could feel the tides flowing, unseen, around him. How fragile the perceptions of society now appeared to him, more fragile than human life. He felt lost, floating, a prisoner at the fingering whims of another.
“Where do I come in?” Led asked.
Standish gave another wry smile. “The VK-111 will be big news, something most everyone will be speaking of.”
Standish slowly, dramatically, approached the towering plane of windows overlooking the gas-lighted city sparkling in the night. The dancing lights were the color of aged papyrus: bright, twinkling and yellowed. Led walked up behind him, unconsciously spreading his wings to match the expanse of glass and sprawl of the city. Wings upon wings upon stars upon heavens.
“How was it… to fly?” Standish asked softly.
The smile returned to Led. He shook his head, opened his mouth to form words but was met by a drought. Led was far from a wordsmith. He was at best a street thug, a goon, the city’s cheapest muscle for hire. At least, he had been before Standish rescued him from atop the Empire Arms.
He didn’t have an answer.
He didn’t need one.
“Imagine, dear boy,” Standish said, “Imagine the Expo. Merricksen shows up with the VK-111 and gets all kinds of attention, both good and bad. Now imagine as we let loose onto the world a man that can fly! And under his own power! The VK-111 would be a giant, indeed, but a giant standing in the shadows of a god. You are the dream of Man, dear boy. Of every man of every age.”
The two men stood in silence together watching the city as two men staring at an aquarium. Standish was reveling in his self-made elation, his pre-conceived victory. Led’s mood melted into brooding. He wasn’t one to do things to please others. He was solely interested in fulfilling his own pleasures. But Standish had made his wings possible, among other things. Perhaps, Led thought, I can put on the song-and-dance routine for Standish. I’ve made my deal with the devil, now it’s time to dance. But a bitter taste remained and Led couldn’t help himself from saying, “A prancing pony.”
Standish turned his attention to Led. “Just for two weeks, my dear boy. After that you’ll be as a folk hero, accepted and loved everywhere.”
“What do we do until then?” Led asked.
“You fly, dear boy! You fly!” With a swoop of the hand Standish indicated the city far below. “Let them see you down there, flying high above their architects! Let them scream and yell and talk about you. Let them call you The Gargoyle, show them Mercury, let their eyes touch Gabriel in flight! Let them talk and wonder and toy with the ticklish fringe of panic! But don’t let them get hold of you or those wings. Simply fly!”
Over the next two weeks Led would fly at night and in broad daylight. He would promote himself freely and wildly. He would drum up business in the form of media frenzy. He would play the billboard, the poster, the advertisement. Led cared little for this, but he wanted to fly. He wanted to fly.
*****
The next morning, without breakfast and very little sleep, Led made his way to the top of the building. The city lay sprawling before him, a giant painting splattered golden with morning sunglow. Van Gogh had been resurrected and put to work landscaping the early horizon. Windows twinkled like gas lamps at night. Stars amongst steel. Tiny shines between streets.
All was quiet.
Led soaked in the silence.
He jumped.
He soared.
He smiled.
******************************
Thanks for reading. Look for Act One of The Theft of Heaven next Friday.
I wanted to end the year just as strong. With all this in mind, I decided the last four Fridays of the year for throughout December I would post samples of my fiction as blogs. First up is Chapter Three of Soar, my first completed novel. Next Friday I will be posting Act One from my fantasy wuxia novella "Escape from the Cottonwood Chamber" (Formerly known as "The Children of Gods"). On Friday, December 19th (my birthday!) I will be posting an act from my second novel, The Theft of Heaven. Lastly, on December 26 I will post chapter seven of Silent Nights - the novel I'm currently working on. It should be noted that this final blog post will be the first time in 8 years that any portion of Silent Nights has been made available to the public.
But that's all for later. For now we should discuss Soar.
Soar is the story of Led, a cyborg living in a future world where technology has been outlawed. He is recruited by Aerol Standish, the second most powerful corporate figurehead in the city of New Haven. Aerol has his doctors implanted faux wings into Led, making him a veritable angel. With the hopes of using the universal human dream of flight as a marketing campaign, Aerol hopes to use Led in order to bring science and technology back into the realms of trust and worship it once enjoyed.
Chapter Three shows Led and Aerol discussing matters of their world and the plans they have to renew humanity's love for technology and science.
Enjoy.
******************************
SOAR (c) 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER 3
Led crouched atop a giant stone bust at the corner of the roof. The gargoyle protruded from the building without wings or deformity, but in the likeness of some ancient philosopher he did not know.
His torso naked, back straining with new muscles wrapped around the frame of wings. His black and tan sacho covered his nose and mouth.
He had always wanted to fly. It was a wild and youthful dream. Six months ago the dream had been realized. With sixteen hours of groundbreaking surgery and two months of constant pain the dream was born into reality. First there had been the pain of new hardware invading his flesh, then the pain of new muscles strengthening themselves under the weight of wings.
He had already flown, but only within the confines of labs and odd chambers with a dozen or more men in white coats watching. This would be his first time in the real world, over the streets of New Haven.
Led looked down. The streets were alive with the activity of Meaters, purists that followed the law and refused enhancements. People afraid of technology, a fear born in the War Against Machines. It hadn’t been much of a war. It had been more of a crusade.
If the wings refused to work this day, he faced a fifty-story plummet.
He stretched the wings at the sunset made gold by pollution. He couldn’t see the sun, only its golden glowing effects.
He felt the air currents rippling through the feathers, judged the unseen and knew what to do to leave gravity behind. He felt the importance of the moment. He was about to realize humanity’s greatest, most universal dream.
His leg muscles contracted and he jumped.
He soared.
The wings flapped once, twice, arcing to cup the winds. He was glad for the solitude granted to him on this occasion.
Led soared.
The embers of the sun fizzled to the west over the blackened waters of Lake Wakshasa. The city streets below filled with long, drawn-out chants from unseen chanters. Stars largely unseen hinted at life high above. What few could be seen were somehow closer, though Led knew they weren’t. Not by much. Quickly they faded out, drowned by the city’s gas lamps sparking to life, forming a great galaxy of golden stars dancing below.
Led soared.
He felt like a god spying the outer edges of a galaxy.
He soared.
Streaks of lights grew brighter as the heavens grew darker. The city swirled like illumined lily pads in the night. Each light became an outpost of hope, of life, chasing away primal fears and dancing as candles at the witching hour. Led had never seen the city more beautiful.
He soared.
He twisted, spying on the city below. Each light represented a life to him, a cell within a greater organism. It was wondrous. He smiled.
Led smiled.
*****
A fat Aerol Standish sat in his massive office at an equally massive desk topped with white Italian marble. His chair was leather, cool and plush. He sat like mighty Caesar in a soft, white gown. The room dwarfed even this, the most important of men. Decoration within the office was sparse. Only an imported hand-woven rug lay in the center of the room and atop it another chair matching the one Standish sat in. An odd wooden arm descending from the ceiling near the desk held a large televisor. Potted trees and framed pictures of jungles and wild men filled the spaces of two walls. A third had a hand-painted fresco of Julius Caesar, though many people visiting the office in the past had mistaken the likeness for a younger, leaner Standish. The fourth and final wall, the wall behind him looking over the city, was nothing but a line of windows from corner to corner and from marble floor to vaulted ceiling, stretching out behind him like great wings.
He flipped through some book with disinterest. He knew Led would take his time flying about the city, which he was perfectly happy to allow.
A knock at the door.
“Come,” his voice echoed through the office.
Twin golden oak doors opened and Led walked in.
Standish looked up and noticed first the smile of his winged man. “Now there’s a sight I like to see. How was it?”
“Unbelievable!” Led said.
Standish waved him to the open chair in front of the desk. Led passed on the offer. “It’s difficult to sit in chairs now,” he explained.
Standish nodded with understanding.
Led approached to lean on the desk and stared at the book.
“Don’t worry,” Standish said. “No one will see it lying there.”
Led picked up the book and flipped through it. Standish was amazed by Led’s bold acceptance of the book.
Led was not surprised a man of Standish’s position and wealth knew how to read. He skimmed a few of the pages.
Standish recognized the act. “What’s this? Does our brute have a brain? Can he do more than wield the knife?” Standish smiled emphatically.
Led hesitated with answer.
“Come, come, my boy. We are free to speak here. No Guard will swoop down from the mountain to purge the world of our ilk. Here I am king and master and shall forever be. The arms of the Lord High Mayor cannot reach here unless first I grant permission. Tell me, dear boy, and tell me true: Can you read?”
Led nodded slowly and only once.
Standish stood, laughing. “What a find you are! A brute, a beauty and a thing of intellect! How could I ever hope to be so lucky?” He came to stand near Led and peered at him with something akin to greed. “Now tell me what you have read.”
Led lowered his head and shrugged.
“Don’t make me work for this. Tell me and tell me outright. You cannot be afraid. Here we are in a time of regressive technology and I’ve made you into a man with wings, how could your simple confession of reading be any worse?”
Led looked up, “The last thing I read was The Prince.”
“Machiavelli? By the gods, you do have a brain! It should be no surprise it’s one of my favorite texts. What think you of it?”
“It was an old thing. I got it from-” Led quickly looked at Standish. Books and reading were illegal and Led was afraid he almost inadvertently gave away the source of many of the books he had read. He continued, “Well, its pages were fallin’ out and the edges were torn. It smelled of dust and wet paper that had dried. I kinda liked the smell.”
Standish shared Led’s smile.
“But the text itself I didn’t like,” Led added.
“Why? For what reason?”
“It was good until the end. The last part revealed it all to be a shallow ploy, a pitchman’s call, a scam. It was another sale tailored for a mark. It was just another advertisement.”
Standish leaned back on the desk and considered Led curiously. “Maybe so, but that should not abolish its worth. There are some strikingly good things elsewhere within the text.”
Led shrugged and stretched his wings. “Maybe. It always seemed to me the schemes of today are our own. Only our actions will see tomorrow. That book was nothin’ but schemes. Schemes for position, power and money.”
“Not all the pursuits of money are unholy, my dear boy. And not all the advertisements are pursuits of money. Machiavelli, while unhappy in his new life, had nothing but luxurious time to pursue anything he wanted. All his cares were tended to. He may not have been rich nor in a position of power as he had once been when wrote The Prince, but he was no street urchin either. He was a gentleman of the country.”
Led nodded. “I know.”
“Then why your disapproval?”
Led was slow to answer. Finally he said, “I’m no mark.”
Standish thought on Led’s wounded pride the book must have brought to him. “Making a sale is truly a delicate thing. Do it too forcefully and you risk offending the customer. Do it with a passionate plea to some universal truth and you shall be hailed practically religiously. Again, it’s not always about money. Some pursue pride and immortality. Some strive for better things for themselves or their community. It is what you and I do now with those wings and the coming Expo. What make you of us?”
Led shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”
“Please enlighten me, dear boy.”
Led thought a moment before he spoke. “It’s about validation. You’re right, money isn’t always the purpose of a sale. Most times ideas are being sold and, I think, the most passionate salesman sells his own ideas, validates his own perception by spreading his ideas. Who am I to argue with you? Who am I to argue with one of the master salesmen of New Haven? You want to sell the idea of technology back to our world. I want these wings, hoping that, maybe, some will be envious of me. Some may even accept me.”
Standish thought on this, began to speak and stopped short. The two sat in silent shared contemplation.
“Now what?” Led asked.
Standish drew nearer Led. His squat frame made Led look down at him. “We take on the world, my dear boy! We make a good pair. I’m all show and your handsome as hell. It will be easy to show you off.”
“I don’t wanna hang out in any more labs.”
Standish shook his head. “You’re through with the labs. I’ve set up more appropriate and, hopefully, more comfortable quarters for you.”
“In this building?”
“We need to keep you close. And in two weeks we’ll unveil you to the world at the New Haven Business Exposition.” Standish’s smile was wide.
Led’s smile ran away. “Am I to be a prancin’ pony?”
“Not exactly, dear boy. Tell me, what am I best known for?”
Led hated Standish’s way occasionally of answering questions with questions, feeling as though he were being baited, much like the purpose of The Prince. What scared him more was he felt he was growing used to it. “You’re the second richest man in New Haven?” Led guessed.
“And quite powerful, but I mean what business am I known for?”
Led shrugged. “It’s well known you dabble in everything. My guess would be most of your money comes from landholdings, but your biggest news-getters are your pursuits of technology. It’s your most controversial work, at least.”
Standish smiled again. “Correct! And who would be my greatest rival in that respect?”
Again Led shrugged, guessing, “Merricksen Consolidated?”
“You pay attention.”
“To my enhancements, yes.”
“Merricksen Consolidated is owned by Rollus Merricksen. One of our agents planted deep in his company recently relayed to us that Merricksen will be personally unveiling the VK-111 at the Expo.”
“What’s that?”
“An amazing piece of machinery. An automaton.” Standish grimaced. His forehead furrowed with thought. “It means my worst fears are coming true. The future of any society is its present technology.” Standish paced before Led. “These idiot politicians and religious men, these leaders do more to suppress technology. All because of the War Against Machines. Idiots! Uneducated, unenlightened, backwards idiots! Yet we call them our leaders!”
Standish grew feverish in pace and tone.
Led remained quiet.
Standish looked to his winged man. “This means Merricksen is years ahead of everybody I’m involved with. Only Savini seems to have some foothold on the future.”
“Doc Savini’s good.”
“The best! But he’s only one man. Merricksen has surrounded himself with an army of architects and designers. And now he’s got an automaton. Most companies are afraid to even dabble in robotics for fear of the law and social repercussions. But not Merricksen. He has charged ahead. He’s a devilish plan in the works if I know him.”
“Robots would be a hard sell in New Haven,” Led put forth. “He’s shooting himself in the foot if that’s his great secret for the Expo.”
“One would think, my boy, but Merricksen is a sly bastard. He has a gimmick somewhere an idea, something to make people put aside generations of technological fear and accept a new kind of automaton.” Standish continued his pacing. His bare feet slapped against the marble floors. His breathing became erratic, heavy.
Led let Standish pace for a while.
“It’s bound to be the single most advanced piece of machinery the world has ever seen!” Standish reasoned. “We don’t have much in way of detail, but it’s fully automated. I worry it may be a policing machine. With such an automaton, people would no longer be needed to guard city streets. There’s bound to be some backlash, but the argument in support of the automaton would go something like ‘Better to lose a machine in the line of duty than a life.’ The City Guard! Private security! You name it! And the cold shadow of burning clouds you have made may lend themselves to the argument. Thirty-two! Thirty-two dead by your hands alone atop my Empire Arms!”
At this Led winced.
Standish rubbed his head nervously, ruffling his matted hair.
“But the War Against Machines…” Led reminded.
“Has left us suspicious of automatons. We’ve destroyed them before. We’ve slaughtered them, insomuch as one can slaughter lifeless machines. We’ve thrown ourselves into another age of darkness and terror. I am a student of history, my dear boy. Our fellow man, however, designs against the past in some ideal for the future. Bacchus plots against Clio. What wounds he digs are deep. The mutilated muse suffers his scarring and is piecemealed together as something more Promethean.”
Led leaned on the desk. He had learned the fat man was prone to soliloquy. He eyed Standish. Led found him to be simple, though adorned outwardly in odd elaborate trappings, and self-educated. Though Led often did not understand the ramblings, he listened to the words, the tones and pace. When he felt prompted, he would reply.
“The science of the Shanist Temple is all the people answer to now and turn to for answers. To risk reintroducing robots is bold. Merricksen could be setting forth his own undoing, but influence through litigation can push past social response to achieve any end.”
“It sounds like something you would do,” Led said.
A wry smile was planted, blossoming upon the face of Standish. “Indeed,” he answered. “Rollus is gambling on the need to save, to cut costs. It’s a bet well hedged.”
“He wouldn’t risk losing everything with a line of automatons when I can’t even walk the streets,” Led said. “The backlash would be immense. He’d swing from the gallows.”
“Times change, my dear boy. Attitudes shift. It is the ebb and flow of humanity’s will that dictates technology’s progress, not science itself. Everything within society must first be justified within the popular consciousness. It’s all in the marketing and alteration of common perceptions. It’s in the ideas, just as you said. With the right image you can sell a murder. Everything can be justified if lighted properly and photographed from the best angle. This city is a ship adrift in the great stream of human consciousness. Push and pull at the rudder, steer the ship, change the course of history and attitudes and belief and reality is recorded anew.”
Led thought he could feel the tides flowing, unseen, around him. How fragile the perceptions of society now appeared to him, more fragile than human life. He felt lost, floating, a prisoner at the fingering whims of another.
“Where do I come in?” Led asked.
Standish gave another wry smile. “The VK-111 will be big news, something most everyone will be speaking of.”
Standish slowly, dramatically, approached the towering plane of windows overlooking the gas-lighted city sparkling in the night. The dancing lights were the color of aged papyrus: bright, twinkling and yellowed. Led walked up behind him, unconsciously spreading his wings to match the expanse of glass and sprawl of the city. Wings upon wings upon stars upon heavens.
“How was it… to fly?” Standish asked softly.
The smile returned to Led. He shook his head, opened his mouth to form words but was met by a drought. Led was far from a wordsmith. He was at best a street thug, a goon, the city’s cheapest muscle for hire. At least, he had been before Standish rescued him from atop the Empire Arms.
He didn’t have an answer.
He didn’t need one.
“Imagine, dear boy,” Standish said, “Imagine the Expo. Merricksen shows up with the VK-111 and gets all kinds of attention, both good and bad. Now imagine as we let loose onto the world a man that can fly! And under his own power! The VK-111 would be a giant, indeed, but a giant standing in the shadows of a god. You are the dream of Man, dear boy. Of every man of every age.”
The two men stood in silence together watching the city as two men staring at an aquarium. Standish was reveling in his self-made elation, his pre-conceived victory. Led’s mood melted into brooding. He wasn’t one to do things to please others. He was solely interested in fulfilling his own pleasures. But Standish had made his wings possible, among other things. Perhaps, Led thought, I can put on the song-and-dance routine for Standish. I’ve made my deal with the devil, now it’s time to dance. But a bitter taste remained and Led couldn’t help himself from saying, “A prancing pony.”
Standish turned his attention to Led. “Just for two weeks, my dear boy. After that you’ll be as a folk hero, accepted and loved everywhere.”
“What do we do until then?” Led asked.
“You fly, dear boy! You fly!” With a swoop of the hand Standish indicated the city far below. “Let them see you down there, flying high above their architects! Let them scream and yell and talk about you. Let them call you The Gargoyle, show them Mercury, let their eyes touch Gabriel in flight! Let them talk and wonder and toy with the ticklish fringe of panic! But don’t let them get hold of you or those wings. Simply fly!”
Over the next two weeks Led would fly at night and in broad daylight. He would promote himself freely and wildly. He would drum up business in the form of media frenzy. He would play the billboard, the poster, the advertisement. Led cared little for this, but he wanted to fly. He wanted to fly.
*****
The next morning, without breakfast and very little sleep, Led made his way to the top of the building. The city lay sprawling before him, a giant painting splattered golden with morning sunglow. Van Gogh had been resurrected and put to work landscaping the early horizon. Windows twinkled like gas lamps at night. Stars amongst steel. Tiny shines between streets.
All was quiet.
Led soaked in the silence.
He jumped.
He soared.
He smiled.
******************************
Thanks for reading. Look for Act One of The Theft of Heaven next Friday.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Issue 13 has been published!
This year's Special Halloween Edition of If - E - Zine has been posted on my site TheLordShen.com.
Within this issue Iffy the Ifreet, the ezine's new mascot, hosts all the wonderful Halloween- and horror-themed stories!
Be sure to check it out!
Iffy the Ifreet
Within this issue Iffy the Ifreet, the ezine's new mascot, hosts all the wonderful Halloween- and horror-themed stories!
Be sure to check it out!
Iffy the Ifreet
Friday, August 15, 2008
"A Child of Wonder"
“A Child of Wonder” - A Preview of the Editorial from Issue #12 of If - E - Zine(tm)
It is difficult for me to believe I’ve been publishing If – E – Zine™ for five years now. In those five years I’ve moved three times (including once across the country), watched two Olympics (just witnessed Michael Phelps win his seventh gold and heard he had already won his eighth), watched nearly every game of a World Cup, been best man in two weddings, congratulated three friends on becoming fathers, watched my country re-elect an idiot, went from paying $2 to nearly $5 for a gallon of gas, read more books and watched more movies than I care to admit, got glasses, caught the biggest bass of my life (17-½”; 6.5 lbs.), written a novel, been to two Wrestlemanias, tasted alcohol for the first time, enjoyed several fine cigars, went through treatment for Hepatitis C, hunted for the first time in my life, grew my first tomatoes, attended every event of a local Golden Gloves championship, mowed my first lawn, watched with the world as New Orleans was flooded, went to New Orleans, went to Disneyworld, reconnected with old friends I’ve not seen in a decade or more, watched Sri Lanka nearly get washed away into the sea, said farewell to Arthur C. Clark and Kurt Vonnegut, watched the Giants upset the Pats (and cheered!), watched my Angels win the World Series without me, been rejected by countless publishers and magazines, went from lower-middle class to steeped in poverty and surrounded by neighborhood violence, made new friends, been scared to say what I really thought lest my country invade my home, rowed a boat, practiced yoga, watched Los Angeles burn (some more), learned to crochet, blogged, and ate and slept and done horribly boring domestic things since I published that first issue in August, 2003.
It sounds like I’ve done a lot in five years. I guess I have. But in many ways my life has been quite pedestrian. Through it all has been my little ezine.
If – E – Zine was started so I could practice my writing, to cut my teeth in hopes of making jagged edges into finely pointed fangs.
If – E – Zine was started so I could promote myself without the aide of an agent or PR specialist.
If – E – Zine was started so I could have fun working on it between larger projects, to break up the heaviness elsewhere in life. I think the idea of having fun, of fulfilling my inner geek, of celebrating the things I love speaks to any success the ezine has had these first five years. At the core of If – E – Zine is a fan of science fiction, of horror and of Halloween. A fan that loves the material and history of zines as well as all things speculative, all things filling the world outside human boundaries and the science that pushes at those boundaries; a fan of all things creepy and brimming with wonder.
Wait a minute… creepy? Science fiction? Indeed! For what greater horror-maker is there but science? Perhaps religion? Exorcists and mad scientists abound in horror stories because they bring with them the authority of their respective fields, fields that fill our lives to give us purpose and reason… and a horrifying tale backed by purpose and reason is far more plausible, far more horrifying.
No matter where I go, no matter what I do with my life I will always be that boy growing up in Long Beach, California; watching classic movies on the Family Film Festival hosted by Tom Hatten on KTLA; venturing into books with Gumby; entering the Land of Frooze; enjoying a slice of chocolate cream pie at Millie’s on Redondo; playing in the schoolyard of Horace Mann Elementary.
As I sit here writing this on a yellow legal pad while watching some horror movie on TV just the way I wrote my first story on a yellow legal pad at age eight while watching the annual Twilight Zone marathon, I know I am still that little boy.
If – E – Zine and I are children of wonder.
Thank you for five wonder-filled years.
I’ll get to work on the next five years as soon as I can.
It is difficult for me to believe I’ve been publishing If – E – Zine™ for five years now. In those five years I’ve moved three times (including once across the country), watched two Olympics (just witnessed Michael Phelps win his seventh gold and heard he had already won his eighth), watched nearly every game of a World Cup, been best man in two weddings, congratulated three friends on becoming fathers, watched my country re-elect an idiot, went from paying $2 to nearly $5 for a gallon of gas, read more books and watched more movies than I care to admit, got glasses, caught the biggest bass of my life (17-½”; 6.5 lbs.), written a novel, been to two Wrestlemanias, tasted alcohol for the first time, enjoyed several fine cigars, went through treatment for Hepatitis C, hunted for the first time in my life, grew my first tomatoes, attended every event of a local Golden Gloves championship, mowed my first lawn, watched with the world as New Orleans was flooded, went to New Orleans, went to Disneyworld, reconnected with old friends I’ve not seen in a decade or more, watched Sri Lanka nearly get washed away into the sea, said farewell to Arthur C. Clark and Kurt Vonnegut, watched the Giants upset the Pats (and cheered!), watched my Angels win the World Series without me, been rejected by countless publishers and magazines, went from lower-middle class to steeped in poverty and surrounded by neighborhood violence, made new friends, been scared to say what I really thought lest my country invade my home, rowed a boat, practiced yoga, watched Los Angeles burn (some more), learned to crochet, blogged, and ate and slept and done horribly boring domestic things since I published that first issue in August, 2003.
It sounds like I’ve done a lot in five years. I guess I have. But in many ways my life has been quite pedestrian. Through it all has been my little ezine.
If – E – Zine was started so I could practice my writing, to cut my teeth in hopes of making jagged edges into finely pointed fangs.
If – E – Zine was started so I could promote myself without the aide of an agent or PR specialist.
If – E – Zine was started so I could have fun working on it between larger projects, to break up the heaviness elsewhere in life. I think the idea of having fun, of fulfilling my inner geek, of celebrating the things I love speaks to any success the ezine has had these first five years. At the core of If – E – Zine is a fan of science fiction, of horror and of Halloween. A fan that loves the material and history of zines as well as all things speculative, all things filling the world outside human boundaries and the science that pushes at those boundaries; a fan of all things creepy and brimming with wonder.
Wait a minute… creepy? Science fiction? Indeed! For what greater horror-maker is there but science? Perhaps religion? Exorcists and mad scientists abound in horror stories because they bring with them the authority of their respective fields, fields that fill our lives to give us purpose and reason… and a horrifying tale backed by purpose and reason is far more plausible, far more horrifying.
No matter where I go, no matter what I do with my life I will always be that boy growing up in Long Beach, California; watching classic movies on the Family Film Festival hosted by Tom Hatten on KTLA; venturing into books with Gumby; entering the Land of Frooze; enjoying a slice of chocolate cream pie at Millie’s on Redondo; playing in the schoolyard of Horace Mann Elementary.
As I sit here writing this on a yellow legal pad while watching some horror movie on TV just the way I wrote my first story on a yellow legal pad at age eight while watching the annual Twilight Zone marathon, I know I am still that little boy.
If – E – Zine and I are children of wonder.
Thank you for five wonder-filled years.
I’ll get to work on the next five years as soon as I can.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Gettin' Iffy
Contrary to what I had promised last Friday, I will not be posting notes on "The Elephant Crusade" this week. I have steadily working on issue 12 of If - E - Zine: The Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction! This August If - E - Zine celebrates its fifth birthday. It amazes me I've been working on the ezine for five full years. If you like science fiction, speculative fiction, slipstream fiction, horror, sword & sorcery and all that good, nerdy stuff, you'll probably like If - E - Zine.
So this week, in lieu of notes about "The Elephant Crusade", I instead present to you a video celebrating the first five years of If - E - Zine and some new pictures of Iffy the Ifreet, the new mascot for If - E - Zine.
Fear not dear reader! I will return next with with an all new story continuing the saga where "The Elephant Crusade" left off! Check back next week for Act 1 of "Song of Momoki"!
LINKS:
TheLordShen.com (home to If - E - Zine)
If - E - Zine on MySpace
So this week, in lieu of notes about "The Elephant Crusade", I instead present to you a video celebrating the first five years of If - E - Zine and some new pictures of Iffy the Ifreet, the new mascot for If - E - Zine.
Fear not dear reader! I will return next with with an all new story continuing the saga where "The Elephant Crusade" left off! Check back next week for Act 1 of "Song of Momoki"!
LINKS:
TheLordShen.com (home to If - E - Zine)
If - E - Zine on MySpace
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Things are getting a bit iffy around here
On Friday, June 13th, I debuted a mascot for my ezine If - E - Zine: The Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction!
His name is Iffy the IFreet, the Intergalactic Gin-Soaked Gypsy.
I've been wanting to create a mascot for the ezine for quite some time, something in the vein of The Crypt-Keeper from the TV series Tales from the Crypt and originally from the EC horror comics of the same name published in the 1940s and '50s. Every EC comic had a host or mascot of some sort and being that I claim EC as a source of inspiration for If - E - Zine, it seemed only natural that I should have a mascot or host, as well.
I'll have a more thorough write-up about Iffy in the August issue of If - E - Zine, which will be the fifth anniversary issue. I hope you'll click on over to my site and check out all the issues.
And, as always, enjoy!
For further Iffy enjoyment, you can add If - E - Zine as a friend on MySpace from the official If - E - Zine MySpace Profile.
And add the ezine as a friend on FaceBook on the official If - E - Zine FaceBook Profile.
His name is Iffy the IFreet, the Intergalactic Gin-Soaked Gypsy.
I've been wanting to create a mascot for the ezine for quite some time, something in the vein of The Crypt-Keeper from the TV series Tales from the Crypt and originally from the EC horror comics of the same name published in the 1940s and '50s. Every EC comic had a host or mascot of some sort and being that I claim EC as a source of inspiration for If - E - Zine, it seemed only natural that I should have a mascot or host, as well.
I'll have a more thorough write-up about Iffy in the August issue of If - E - Zine, which will be the fifth anniversary issue. I hope you'll click on over to my site and check out all the issues.
And, as always, enjoy!
For further Iffy enjoyment, you can add If - E - Zine as a friend on MySpace from the official If - E - Zine MySpace Profile.
And add the ezine as a friend on FaceBook on the official If - E - Zine FaceBook Profile.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Orlando Slideshow Geekiness
Here's a slide show video I made with photos I took while on vacation in Orlando last week. Enjoy!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Phobot!
"Phobot is a phobic robot, who's very scared of certain objects, and robots in particular. Phobot is meant as a concept exploring possible support tools for kids with object or location-related phobias. Phobot and the phobic child will help each other overcome fears by following exposure program steps. If you help Phobot out, gradually exposing the little robot to bigger and bigger robots, Phobot will overcome its fears."
~ from http://staff.science.uva.nl/~hcramer/phobot/index.html
And please remember that the latest issue of If - E - Zine(tm) is now available at TheLordShen.com
~ from http://staff.science.uva.nl/~hcramer/phobot/index.html
And please remember that the latest issue of If - E - Zine(tm) is now available at TheLordShen.com
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Issue Number 10 Is Here!
Hey folks,
I just published issue 10 of If - E - Zine(tm). It's filled with FREE science fiction and fantasy stories. Here's just a sampling:
In "From Here to the Stars!" we meet Tad Manly, a luchador catapulted into worlds beyond known space!
"Rescuing the Dead" sees the return of Sgt. Drake, an ultra-futuristic space marine in hot pursuit of psychics.
"Zalam in the Lost City of Adul-Ra" is a sword & sorcery tale with a giant alien protagonist in a world of might, magic and mechano-men!
Finally, in "Captain Destiny & the Creature from Atrius-99" we read of the exploits of Cpt. Destiny... the first human to discover a planet populated entirely by kaiju!
Feel free to check it out at:
http://www.thelordshen.com/
I just published issue 10 of If - E - Zine(tm). It's filled with FREE science fiction and fantasy stories. Here's just a sampling:
In "From Here to the Stars!" we meet Tad Manly, a luchador catapulted into worlds beyond known space!
"Rescuing the Dead" sees the return of Sgt. Drake, an ultra-futuristic space marine in hot pursuit of psychics.
"Zalam in the Lost City of Adul-Ra" is a sword & sorcery tale with a giant alien protagonist in a world of might, magic and mechano-men!
Finally, in "Captain Destiny & the Creature from Atrius-99" we read of the exploits of Cpt. Destiny... the first human to discover a planet populated entirely by kaiju!
Feel free to check it out at:
http://www.thelordshen.com/
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Sunday, March 9, 2008
If - E - Zine(tm) Issue #10
Hey folks,
As you may know, I publish an ezine of science fiction and slipstream fantasy on my website. Issue #10 of If - E - Zine(tm) is slated to be published on my site Wednesday, March 19th. It's an exciting time for my ezine. This August it will be FIVE YEARS OLD! Be sure to look for it. And, as always, If - E - Zine(tm) is the Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction!
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As you may know, I publish an ezine of science fiction and slipstream fantasy on my website. Issue #10 of If - E - Zine(tm) is slated to be published on my site Wednesday, March 19th. It's an exciting time for my ezine. This August it will be FIVE YEARS OLD! Be sure to look for it. And, as always, If - E - Zine(tm) is the Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction!
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Friday, November 30, 2007
In the Far Future... There Can Be Only War!
I'm featuring two different games today. Both are sci-fi strategy games. The first is the new Warhammer 40K video game due out for the Nintendo DS and Sony PSP called Squad Command.
The other is a rival offering to 40K by the French game company Rackham. It's called AT-43.
WARHAMMER 40,000: SQUAD COMMAND:
AT-43 ACCORDING TO WIKI:
"AT-43: No one Escapes War! is a science fiction tabletop wargame using 28mm miniature figures and terrain to scale developed and published by the French company Rackham.
Released in December 2006, the game features pre-painted plastic miniatures of mechs and infantry units with corresponding cards showing the stats and gameplay options for each unit type."
Here's the newest expansion army. They're called Karmans:
U.N.A. FORCES:
THERIAN FORCES:
RED BLOK ARMY:
The other is a rival offering to 40K by the French game company Rackham. It's called AT-43.
WARHAMMER 40,000: SQUAD COMMAND:
AT-43 ACCORDING TO WIKI:
"AT-43: No one Escapes War! is a science fiction tabletop wargame using 28mm miniature figures and terrain to scale developed and published by the French company Rackham.
Released in December 2006, the game features pre-painted plastic miniatures of mechs and infantry units with corresponding cards showing the stats and gameplay options for each unit type."
Here's the newest expansion army. They're called Karmans:
U.N.A. FORCES:
THERIAN FORCES:
RED BLOK ARMY:
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Ghosts, Zombies, Vikings, Bradbury, Kaiju... It's Halloween!
Halloween will soon be here. Does anyone have any idea what they're dressing up as? If you want to share, please do so in the comments! I'll be posting pics of me and my Halloween sometime soon after the holiday.
Please remember to stop by www.TheLordShen.com to check out If - E - Zine(tm): The Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction! Issue Number 9 was published earlier this month and is this year's Special Halloween Edition. Within it's printable and completely FREE pages are three short stories and a kaiju rpg fighting game called Kaiju Katana: Monster Maker(tm).
Please check it out if you can. It's most appreciated.
And remember, this Friday I will be posting Part 2 of "Hunter of the Dead" -- a short story from the pages of If - E - Zine(tm) about Vikings in a zombie-filled apocalyptic world!
Now, enjoy the opening sequence of Ray Bradbury's animated Halloween classic: The Halloween Tree!
ADDITIONAL NOTES AND LINKS:
On a side-note, I recently finished the major work on my first novel. It's a science fiction piece set in the future where technology is virtually outlawed. I suppose I'm bragging a bit here, but I also know some of you good people may actually be interested by this little tid-bit. I'll be shipping it off to publishers and trying to get it sold soon.
Also please be sure to check out If - E - Zine's MySpace if you should happen to have a MySpace account yourself.
Please remember to stop by www.TheLordShen.com to check out If - E - Zine(tm): The Free Online Magazine of Thrilling Speculative Fiction! Issue Number 9 was published earlier this month and is this year's Special Halloween Edition. Within it's printable and completely FREE pages are three short stories and a kaiju rpg fighting game called Kaiju Katana: Monster Maker(tm).
Please check it out if you can. It's most appreciated.
And remember, this Friday I will be posting Part 2 of "Hunter of the Dead" -- a short story from the pages of If - E - Zine(tm) about Vikings in a zombie-filled apocalyptic world!
Now, enjoy the opening sequence of Ray Bradbury's animated Halloween classic: The Halloween Tree!
ADDITIONAL NOTES AND LINKS:
On a side-note, I recently finished the major work on my first novel. It's a science fiction piece set in the future where technology is virtually outlawed. I suppose I'm bragging a bit here, but I also know some of you good people may actually be interested by this little tid-bit. I'll be shipping it off to publishers and trying to get it sold soon.
Also please be sure to check out If - E - Zine's MySpace if you should happen to have a MySpace account yourself.
Friday, October 19, 2007
"A Bit of Chocolate" - Complete Full Short Story!
Today's post is once more from If - E - Zine(tm) Issue Number 9, this year's Special Halloween Edition. This is the full short story. Enjoy!
“A Bit of Chocolate”
© 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved.
The small bit of chocolate was a perfect sphere wrapped in foil. Donal held it lightly between his finger and thumb, rolling it so as not to apply too much of his body’s heat to any one point and melt the contents.
The chocolate became a star became a world drifting in darkness. Donal sat at the port of a spacecraft, watching.
“Donal,” the voice was mechanically filtered. “Donal. Stop daydreaming. Get to work.”
Donal heard nothing.
In another part of the ship Captain Barris and his first mate, Evelyn Trudeau, watched Donal through security monitors.
“He’s gone again,” said Trudeau.
“For crying out loud,” Captain Barris exhaled in defeat.
“It’s not Donal’s fault. The space sensitive are subject to Space Fever.”
“I know, I know.” Captain Barris depressed a button and spoke through the comlink again. “Donal. Donal. Stop daydreaming, Donal. Donal? Are you with us?”
* * * * *
Captain Barris and Trudeau were floating in a meeting room of a space station with Dr. Iizuka.
“It’s not Donal’s fault,” said Dr. Iizuka. “Some level of stress is bound to affect everyone that comes into space. Even you, Barris. Your levels of excitement and enthusiasm, though typically not viewed as traditional stress, releases chemicals into your body that elevates your heart rate, your blood pressure, your breathing rate, a lot of things. Prolonged exposure to such elevated levels of stress will cause a certain level of wear. Endurance and metal adaptability is key to space existence.
“We try to get people who basically view space travel as a job. There’s no excitement to that which is viewed as routine, no stress. The people we look for are those that see space travel as just another day. The problem is that still relatively few people have actually ventured into space.”
“If I’ve such high levels of excitement and stress, then why keep me around?” Captain Barris asked.
“Because you’re good as a leader and perform consistently in high-stress situations. You have a good deal of endurance and adaptability.”
“What about Donal?” Trudeau asked.
“He’s just another one that couldn’t take deep space.”
“But he did well enough getting to the station.”
“Yes, but here at the station though we may be floating about in weightlessness we are still under the influence of the earth’s gravity, we are still subject in small, subtle ways to our home planet. Here we are in orbit and still attached by an unseen umbilical cord.
“But out there, in deep space, the connection diminishes. We’re all as children taking its first steps: shaky and nervous and capable of falling flat on our faces.
“Again, it’s not Donal’s fault.”
“But he’s the third mathematician that’s gone off on us like this,” Captain Barris said. “And the seventh crew member in total. There has to be a fault somewhere and I’m beginning to think it’s not all physiological.”
“How do you mean?” asked Dr. Iizuka.
“If more than one person is experiencing problems, than its cause is likely to be some common aspect of our humanity. We may each have different backgrounds but we all go through the same rigorous training which means our training is in some way deficient in that its not catching and filtering out whatever is causing us problems once we get into deep space. Our training is not screening for something.”
“But what?” asked Trudeau. “We go through some of the toughest training on earth and in space.”
“It has to be something we don’t yet know about,” Captain Barris answered.
“From what Donal told me he was having trouble identifying an object he was looking at. I think he might have been hallucinating. He says he doesn’t remember you calling to him. He was essentially catatonic which leads me to believe he may be suffering from some sort of schizoaffective disorder. In fact, all of the people that have suffered from ‘Space Fever’ have displayed similar symptoms.”
“Why doesn’t our training screen for such a thing?” asked Trudeau.
“It’s not that easy. While all the elements may be preset within a person, there must be a triggering event for the disorder to manifest itself.”
“The triggering event is then somewhere within the deep space screening,” suggested Trudeau.
“It would seem,” confirmed Dr. Iizuka.
“So it could be physiological, after all?” asked Captain Barris.
“It could be a lot of things,” Dr. Iizuka said.
“What I was getting at earlier,” said Captain Barris, “is that it could be something within our society. Something so obvious that we’ve not thought about it.
“It’s been nearly a century since the first manned space flight. And just now we’re gathering a team for Mars. Why would it take so long for us to be reaching out to our neighbor? Technology doesn’t develop that slowly unless it’s stifled with a lack of interest or funding. The private sector didn’t get involved until cash prizes were involved, then the private sector even spent more money than the prizes were worth.
“That only suggests money wasn’t a motivator. That leaves a lack of interest. Humanity simply isn’t interested in space exploration or advancing itself.
“Dr. Iizuka, you mentioned an ‘unseen umbilical’. Maybe you weren’t far off. Maybe when we feel gravity slip from us we snap, pardon the expression. We’re all birds leaving the nest. Some fly, others fall and die.”
“That’s quite a bit of speculation,” said Trudeau.
“Maybe,’ said Dr. Iizuka, “but we have to entertain every idea until we come up with solid evidence.”
Captain Barris shook his head. “They’re so damned concerned about the politics of the day. I’m glad we’re up here and away from it all.”
“Is that why you became an astronaut, Captain?” Dr. Iizuka asked.
“Actually,” Captain Barris stammered a bit before he decided to be honest, “Yeah.”
* * * * *
Captain Barris rolled his eyes in boredom.
“Seems we’ve lost another one,” Trudeau said.
He watched as another prospective astronaut lolled his head about, unresponsive. Captain Barris closed his eyes. His eyelids exploded with a field of colors before his pupils. Blues and greens and reds swirled themselves into tiny spots before his eyes. For a moment he thought they looked like small foil-wrapped chocolates.
“A Bit of Chocolate”
© 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved.
The small bit of chocolate was a perfect sphere wrapped in foil. Donal held it lightly between his finger and thumb, rolling it so as not to apply too much of his body’s heat to any one point and melt the contents.
The chocolate became a star became a world drifting in darkness. Donal sat at the port of a spacecraft, watching.
“Donal,” the voice was mechanically filtered. “Donal. Stop daydreaming. Get to work.”
Donal heard nothing.
In another part of the ship Captain Barris and his first mate, Evelyn Trudeau, watched Donal through security monitors.
“He’s gone again,” said Trudeau.
“For crying out loud,” Captain Barris exhaled in defeat.
“It’s not Donal’s fault. The space sensitive are subject to Space Fever.”
“I know, I know.” Captain Barris depressed a button and spoke through the comlink again. “Donal. Donal. Stop daydreaming, Donal. Donal? Are you with us?”
* * * * *
Captain Barris and Trudeau were floating in a meeting room of a space station with Dr. Iizuka.
“It’s not Donal’s fault,” said Dr. Iizuka. “Some level of stress is bound to affect everyone that comes into space. Even you, Barris. Your levels of excitement and enthusiasm, though typically not viewed as traditional stress, releases chemicals into your body that elevates your heart rate, your blood pressure, your breathing rate, a lot of things. Prolonged exposure to such elevated levels of stress will cause a certain level of wear. Endurance and metal adaptability is key to space existence.
“We try to get people who basically view space travel as a job. There’s no excitement to that which is viewed as routine, no stress. The people we look for are those that see space travel as just another day. The problem is that still relatively few people have actually ventured into space.”
“If I’ve such high levels of excitement and stress, then why keep me around?” Captain Barris asked.
“Because you’re good as a leader and perform consistently in high-stress situations. You have a good deal of endurance and adaptability.”
“What about Donal?” Trudeau asked.
“He’s just another one that couldn’t take deep space.”
“But he did well enough getting to the station.”
“Yes, but here at the station though we may be floating about in weightlessness we are still under the influence of the earth’s gravity, we are still subject in small, subtle ways to our home planet. Here we are in orbit and still attached by an unseen umbilical cord.
“But out there, in deep space, the connection diminishes. We’re all as children taking its first steps: shaky and nervous and capable of falling flat on our faces.
“Again, it’s not Donal’s fault.”
“But he’s the third mathematician that’s gone off on us like this,” Captain Barris said. “And the seventh crew member in total. There has to be a fault somewhere and I’m beginning to think it’s not all physiological.”
“How do you mean?” asked Dr. Iizuka.
“If more than one person is experiencing problems, than its cause is likely to be some common aspect of our humanity. We may each have different backgrounds but we all go through the same rigorous training which means our training is in some way deficient in that its not catching and filtering out whatever is causing us problems once we get into deep space. Our training is not screening for something.”
“But what?” asked Trudeau. “We go through some of the toughest training on earth and in space.”
“It has to be something we don’t yet know about,” Captain Barris answered.
“From what Donal told me he was having trouble identifying an object he was looking at. I think he might have been hallucinating. He says he doesn’t remember you calling to him. He was essentially catatonic which leads me to believe he may be suffering from some sort of schizoaffective disorder. In fact, all of the people that have suffered from ‘Space Fever’ have displayed similar symptoms.”
“Why doesn’t our training screen for such a thing?” asked Trudeau.
“It’s not that easy. While all the elements may be preset within a person, there must be a triggering event for the disorder to manifest itself.”
“The triggering event is then somewhere within the deep space screening,” suggested Trudeau.
“It would seem,” confirmed Dr. Iizuka.
“So it could be physiological, after all?” asked Captain Barris.
“It could be a lot of things,” Dr. Iizuka said.
“What I was getting at earlier,” said Captain Barris, “is that it could be something within our society. Something so obvious that we’ve not thought about it.
“It’s been nearly a century since the first manned space flight. And just now we’re gathering a team for Mars. Why would it take so long for us to be reaching out to our neighbor? Technology doesn’t develop that slowly unless it’s stifled with a lack of interest or funding. The private sector didn’t get involved until cash prizes were involved, then the private sector even spent more money than the prizes were worth.
“That only suggests money wasn’t a motivator. That leaves a lack of interest. Humanity simply isn’t interested in space exploration or advancing itself.
“Dr. Iizuka, you mentioned an ‘unseen umbilical’. Maybe you weren’t far off. Maybe when we feel gravity slip from us we snap, pardon the expression. We’re all birds leaving the nest. Some fly, others fall and die.”
“That’s quite a bit of speculation,” said Trudeau.
“Maybe,’ said Dr. Iizuka, “but we have to entertain every idea until we come up with solid evidence.”
Captain Barris shook his head. “They’re so damned concerned about the politics of the day. I’m glad we’re up here and away from it all.”
“Is that why you became an astronaut, Captain?” Dr. Iizuka asked.
“Actually,” Captain Barris stammered a bit before he decided to be honest, “Yeah.”
* * * * *
Captain Barris rolled his eyes in boredom.
“Seems we’ve lost another one,” Trudeau said.
He watched as another prospective astronaut lolled his head about, unresponsive. Captain Barris closed his eyes. His eyelids exploded with a field of colors before his pupils. Blues and greens and reds swirled themselves into tiny spots before his eyes. For a moment he thought they looked like small foil-wrapped chocolates.
Friday, October 12, 2007
"A Touch of Rust" - Free Short Story
Hey folks,
I've been posting a lot lately. I've been working on that high you get after you've busted your butt for so many months on a project and finally completed it, in this case Issue Number 9 of the If - E - Zine(tm).
I appreciate all the comments and communications I've been sharing with many of you as of late. Feel free to keep them coming.
For today's post I offer the first two parts of "A Touch of Rust", one of the three free short stories found in If - E - Zine(tm) Issue Number 9, this year's Special Halloween Edition.
If you'd like to read the full story, you can find it at TheLordShen.com
Much love and respect,
~ charles, ed.-in-chief
“A Touch of Rust”
© 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be stored, copied or used without written prior permission from the author.
The world had turned to rust long ago. Few saw it happen, yet everyone felt it. Rust was simply too difficult to find in a city of concrete and plasma. The city was home to many things, but vegetation was not one of them.
Little Koji, however, knew of the one unique spot within the vast, sprawling city that held such rare life.
Koji exploded from the school, running through the asphalt playground into the arms of his waiting grandfather.
“Grampa! Grampa!”
“Heya, kiddo!”
They hugged.
“Are ya ready?” Grampa asked.
“Yeah!”
They were suddenly in a small, battered old truck speeding down the road, pressed on by zooming traffic and sounds of Shostakovich drowning out the world.
They passed through valleys of concrete wrapped in two-way plasma screens each stretching several stories high. From the inside they acted as windows, but from the street-valleys every building was a towering, mountainous billboard playing one channel or another, flashing some commercial or another.
They ignored the psychologically designed brilliantly flashing colors. Grampa drove, windows down despite the thick, heavy smog. Winds whipped at their hair. People stared at them from other vehicles, from behind closed glass.
Little Koji smiled at them all.
The old truck turned, diving underground, searching for a spot in which to park. Koji watched, counting row after row of vehicles. He thought they looked like sticks of gum packaged tightly, only their wrappings each different.
They found a place to park, slipped in and were off to the elevators.
Once again Koji watched, counting the floors as they passed on by. Up, up, ever up they went.
Koji spilled out of the elevator, his grandfather in tow, on the 132nd floor.
With the swipe of a card, a beep and a whoosh Grampa’s condo door burst wide.
Koji ran in, peeling off layers, spraying himself and his accessories everywhere. Here landed a jacket, there a backpack, as the little boy ran around furniture undaunted and heading for another door.
The door was made of glass and slid open. Koji could see his destination through the door as he drew near.
With a slide and a bang the door made way for the little boy. Koji came at last to stand center-stage of the big balcony, reaching high overhead to touch the golden leaves and bark of a tree all aglow with the fires of Autumn. The tree chattered at him with happy refrain, its leaves rustling on self-made winds.
* * * * *
Later that afternoon Koji and Grampa sat at a small table beneath the tree eating snack cakes and drinking apple juice.
“Grampa?” Koji kicked his feet.
“Kiddo?”
“Teacher says there’s not just one kinda tree in the world, but all different kinds!”
“That’s right.”
“What kind of tree is this one?”
“Oh, a glorious maple.”
“Glorious maple,” Koji repeated. “We read about maples in school.”
“Oh? What’d you read?”
“They’re called Acers and there’s even different kinds of maples!”
“That’s true. This one’s a sugar maple. Did you read about them?”
Koji shook his head.
“The western hall of the palace of one of the dragon gods is filled with sugar maples, all turning gold. Maples also keep bats away from your home.”
“Like vampires?”
Grampa smiled. “And vampires, too, I’m sure.”
“Grampa, why do trees change colors?”
“Well, not all trees change color, but maples do. Did you learn about chlorophyll?”
Koji nodded, smacking his lips over a small cake. “It’s what makes plants green.”
“That’s right, and when that chlorophyll breaks down in some plants, like in maples, the colors start to change.”
Koji snatched up another cake and drank his juice.
“Everyone needs a little rust in their lives, kiddo. It makes us old but… it makes us humble… a part of something bigger than ourselves.”
Koji kicked his feet. He smiled up at the tree. “I like comin’ here, Grampa.”
Laughing, Grampa said, “It’s just another place to live, kiddo. Just another box.”
“A box with a tree!”
Again Grampa laughed. “I like you comin’ here, too, kiddo.”
Koji gulped his juice.
Grampa smiled.
* * * * *
Read the rest of the story within the pages of If - E - Zine(tm) Issue Number 9 at TheLordShen.com!
I've been posting a lot lately. I've been working on that high you get after you've busted your butt for so many months on a project and finally completed it, in this case Issue Number 9 of the If - E - Zine(tm).
I appreciate all the comments and communications I've been sharing with many of you as of late. Feel free to keep them coming.
For today's post I offer the first two parts of "A Touch of Rust", one of the three free short stories found in If - E - Zine(tm) Issue Number 9, this year's Special Halloween Edition.
If you'd like to read the full story, you can find it at TheLordShen.com
Much love and respect,
~ charles, ed.-in-chief
“A Touch of Rust”
© 2007 by Charles Shaver. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be stored, copied or used without written prior permission from the author.
The world had turned to rust long ago. Few saw it happen, yet everyone felt it. Rust was simply too difficult to find in a city of concrete and plasma. The city was home to many things, but vegetation was not one of them.
Little Koji, however, knew of the one unique spot within the vast, sprawling city that held such rare life.
Koji exploded from the school, running through the asphalt playground into the arms of his waiting grandfather.
“Grampa! Grampa!”
“Heya, kiddo!”
They hugged.
“Are ya ready?” Grampa asked.
“Yeah!”
They were suddenly in a small, battered old truck speeding down the road, pressed on by zooming traffic and sounds of Shostakovich drowning out the world.
They passed through valleys of concrete wrapped in two-way plasma screens each stretching several stories high. From the inside they acted as windows, but from the street-valleys every building was a towering, mountainous billboard playing one channel or another, flashing some commercial or another.
They ignored the psychologically designed brilliantly flashing colors. Grampa drove, windows down despite the thick, heavy smog. Winds whipped at their hair. People stared at them from other vehicles, from behind closed glass.
Little Koji smiled at them all.
The old truck turned, diving underground, searching for a spot in which to park. Koji watched, counting row after row of vehicles. He thought they looked like sticks of gum packaged tightly, only their wrappings each different.
They found a place to park, slipped in and were off to the elevators.
Once again Koji watched, counting the floors as they passed on by. Up, up, ever up they went.
Koji spilled out of the elevator, his grandfather in tow, on the 132nd floor.
With the swipe of a card, a beep and a whoosh Grampa’s condo door burst wide.
Koji ran in, peeling off layers, spraying himself and his accessories everywhere. Here landed a jacket, there a backpack, as the little boy ran around furniture undaunted and heading for another door.
The door was made of glass and slid open. Koji could see his destination through the door as he drew near.
With a slide and a bang the door made way for the little boy. Koji came at last to stand center-stage of the big balcony, reaching high overhead to touch the golden leaves and bark of a tree all aglow with the fires of Autumn. The tree chattered at him with happy refrain, its leaves rustling on self-made winds.
* * * * *
Later that afternoon Koji and Grampa sat at a small table beneath the tree eating snack cakes and drinking apple juice.
“Grampa?” Koji kicked his feet.
“Kiddo?”
“Teacher says there’s not just one kinda tree in the world, but all different kinds!”
“That’s right.”
“What kind of tree is this one?”
“Oh, a glorious maple.”
“Glorious maple,” Koji repeated. “We read about maples in school.”
“Oh? What’d you read?”
“They’re called Acers and there’s even different kinds of maples!”
“That’s true. This one’s a sugar maple. Did you read about them?”
Koji shook his head.
“The western hall of the palace of one of the dragon gods is filled with sugar maples, all turning gold. Maples also keep bats away from your home.”
“Like vampires?”
Grampa smiled. “And vampires, too, I’m sure.”
“Grampa, why do trees change colors?”
“Well, not all trees change color, but maples do. Did you learn about chlorophyll?”
Koji nodded, smacking his lips over a small cake. “It’s what makes plants green.”
“That’s right, and when that chlorophyll breaks down in some plants, like in maples, the colors start to change.”
Koji snatched up another cake and drank his juice.
“Everyone needs a little rust in their lives, kiddo. It makes us old but… it makes us humble… a part of something bigger than ourselves.”
Koji kicked his feet. He smiled up at the tree. “I like comin’ here, Grampa.”
Laughing, Grampa said, “It’s just another place to live, kiddo. Just another box.”
“A box with a tree!”
Again Grampa laughed. “I like you comin’ here, too, kiddo.”
Koji gulped his juice.
Grampa smiled.
* * * * *
Read the rest of the story within the pages of If - E - Zine(tm) Issue Number 9 at TheLordShen.com!
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
a mind full of things spilling out of the mouth and dying
I've been tired as hell lately. Writing and editing have been on my mind but I've not had the energy really to do either. Money matters weigh heavily on me. So much to do.
Luckily the writing bug is infecting me. Or so it seems. At least, that's what I'm hoping. My mind has been on two tales in the last 2 or 3 days. Those tales include a throwback hardboiled pulp noir set in the 1940s-ish in a traveling freak show. The other story is a neo-noir futuritic cyberpunk mafia deal.
As for reading, I'm doing a little. I'm struggling through Something Wicked This Way Comes by Bradbury. I'm struggling through it not due to the material, but due to my lack of energy and concentration. The book itself is beautifully written and had I read it at another time I'd probably be voraciously flying through it.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to return Hamlet to the library and I've got another book to pick up, waiting for me. The book that is waiting for me is Look Homeward, Angel. It's Thomas Wolfe's first novel first published I believed in 1929.
Very, very tired.
Luckily the writing bug is infecting me. Or so it seems. At least, that's what I'm hoping. My mind has been on two tales in the last 2 or 3 days. Those tales include a throwback hardboiled pulp noir set in the 1940s-ish in a traveling freak show. The other story is a neo-noir futuritic cyberpunk mafia deal.
As for reading, I'm doing a little. I'm struggling through Something Wicked This Way Comes by Bradbury. I'm struggling through it not due to the material, but due to my lack of energy and concentration. The book itself is beautifully written and had I read it at another time I'd probably be voraciously flying through it.
Tomorrow I'm hoping to return Hamlet to the library and I've got another book to pick up, waiting for me. The book that is waiting for me is Look Homeward, Angel. It's Thomas Wolfe's first novel first published I believed in 1929.
Very, very tired.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Giving Shout-Outs
Hey folks,
Serials will be coming soon, or so I hope. I've been very busy editing stories and working on the website. The serials are just sitting on the back burner for now. They're on their way.
For today's weekly post I bring to you some shout-outs and links to favorite sites and people, all with an old skool sci-fi flair. Let me know what you think and be sure to check them out. Enjoy.
SUPER ATOMIC TV
CIVIL DEFENSE MUSEUM
DRIVE-IN THEATERS
THE GHASTLY ONES
Serials will be coming soon, or so I hope. I've been very busy editing stories and working on the website. The serials are just sitting on the back burner for now. They're on their way.
For today's weekly post I bring to you some shout-outs and links to favorite sites and people, all with an old skool sci-fi flair. Let me know what you think and be sure to check them out. Enjoy.
SUPER ATOMIC TV
CIVIL DEFENSE MUSEUM
DRIVE-IN THEATERS
THE GHASTLY ONES
Monday, August 13, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
And So Begins Something New...
Hey folks,
Welcome to the new Atomic Swan Serials. Herein you will find my usual rants, raves or general nerdiness, but you will also find the main focus of this newly revamped blog to be serialized speculative fiction.
My intention is to post every Friday with the occasional random post in between whenever the mood strikes me or if I find some oddment in the news concerning science and/or science fiction and monsters. If I somehow find myself not currently working on any serial I will still post every Friday some video or music or thought of the moment in relation to science fiction, horror, monsters or speculative fiction.
As luck would have it, I am currently not working on any serials. But we need to kick this thing off with something. Enjoy the video.
~ charles
P.S.: Please let me know if you like the new look and direction of this blog. Even if you don't like some aspect of it, please let me know. Every little bit helps.
~ charles
Welcome to the new Atomic Swan Serials. Herein you will find my usual rants, raves or general nerdiness, but you will also find the main focus of this newly revamped blog to be serialized speculative fiction.
My intention is to post every Friday with the occasional random post in between whenever the mood strikes me or if I find some oddment in the news concerning science and/or science fiction and monsters. If I somehow find myself not currently working on any serial I will still post every Friday some video or music or thought of the moment in relation to science fiction, horror, monsters or speculative fiction.
As luck would have it, I am currently not working on any serials. But we need to kick this thing off with something. Enjoy the video.
~ charles
P.S.: Please let me know if you like the new look and direction of this blog. Even if you don't like some aspect of it, please let me know. Every little bit helps.
~ charles
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