1000 Days Goes to Mars

http://www.sci-fi-o-rama.com/2008/09/21/syd-mead-space-wreck/

If you’re here via Sci-Fi-O-Rama you may also enjoy some bits I’ve written after seeing Ian McQue’s compelling concept ships.  Enjoy!

“I don’t recall Brainard taking this picture, but it must have been him.  There’s Teague on the mainframe of course.  Big ol’ Mathis watching him—I guess.  And holding a rope?  Shipley’s got his back to the camera–facing north–overlooking the chasm.  You can tell it’s him and not Brainard from that ridiculous collar he wore that also ran down his back to his shorts.  Was that really in fashion?”

The auditorium chuckles.  Back chokes, as the kids call them, resurfaced less than a year ago right after this photo made it rounds on the web.

“And, of course that’s me looking like some Forties-era pin-up.  We cannibalized our suits for the circuitry and monofil.  And it was hot.  Any questions so far?”

Hands go up.

“But first, yes I had long blonde hair then.  Yes I’m really wearing a thong.”  Dr. Mades gestures to her near buzz-cut grey hair and slightly sagging frame. She does a vampy pose.  “Hard to believe either now isn’t it?”

The auditorium chuckles.  Several people clap.  Most of the hands go down.

“I thought that might cut questions in half.  Ms Sandifer, you first.”

“The whole trip to Mars thing seems mythical now.  There were ten or fifteen practice runs before your crew’s ultimate success…failure.  And nothing after.  Have we not been back in 40 years because of that failure?”  Ms Sandifer sits back down.

Dr. Mades smiles, but doesn’t respond.  She clicks the slide to half bright then looks over her shoulder to the wings of the stage like she’s seeking permission from a hidden compatriot.  “My dear, you think that because we crash landed.  Because Shipley died and Teague’s body was never brought back.  Because Brainard went insane and became a serial murderer back on Earth.  And because I lost both my legs that it was a failure?”

Dr. Mades looks around to the gathered students—some of whom are not enrolled in any of her courses let alone this one.  Everyone thinks that.  She walks to the edge of the stage and peers directly into Ms Sandifer’s eyes.  She whispers.

“It’s precisely because of those things that it was a success.”

Day 292

Elcho Islander

elcho islander

This is what I’ve gotten so far. I should probably not release this as it will change if I ever get back to it. In case I don’t I wanted something to show for the day….

If you’re interested in the true context of this photo then I’d follow the link. I am certain you’ll find it more powerful than what I end up with.

My initial reaction is to write dialogue that includes the spoken word, “Mon.” I’d be half a world off. Which is probably good because it puts me far enough from the reality to be entirely ignorant. And that, of course, is bliss. I’ll endeavor to avoid using ‘Mate’ as well.

“I’m a bartender in places you didn’t even know were places.”

That’s not what I was expecting him to say. I was actually expecting a nod of recognition or even a simple single syllable greeting.

“So. Listen. I could probably take you down in a punch or two or just grab you and throw you to the ground. I’ve had to learn at least how to accomplish that much to get to where I am now. I assure you that you would not get up till I’d left.”

Ok. That’s more hostile than I’d expected too. He’s serious and giving me his CV. Have I done something to this guy? I am starting to feel like I need to give him mine or walk away.

Word count: 255
Day 179
Photo courtesy jthommo101

Day 117: Conner’s Son’s Father

http://www.flickr.com/photos/14410084@N02/2122918476

Conner’s Son thought his father was foolish for leading them to this dilapidated oasis on the open prairie.  Surely the beast that tracked them would turn it’s attention here–even if he didn’t think they were that stupid.  A flock of crows startled at their unstealthy approach, rose like a flare, then dove back to their perches and cawed loudly.  Nothing Conner’s son could imagine would announce their location more plainly.  He hoped that in his death book they wrote, "Not the crows nor the beast that killed Conner’s Son but Conner’s Son’s Father."

Conner’s Son’s Father, Conner, smiled at the crows.  "There’s been just enough rain that this should work.  Follow the trail along the stream like you are hiding.  Make sure you cross through the water several times.  Come back when you hear my call.  Come back through the stream only.  Not on the path."

Conner’s Son nodded.

As soon as Conner’s Son was away Conner began meticulously uncovering the entrance to a cave.  Stone by stone he exposed the slim hole.  Each stone within arms reach of the entrance and neatly laid to avoid disturbing the secret over much.

"Son!  Come back quickly."

Conner made a hasty and obvious trail opposite his son’s that ended in an expanse of rock and hard scrabble earth to obscure his path.  He removed his boots and turned back to the hidden escape walking swiftly but with as much craft as he could to conceal his trail.

The beast would arrive soon.  Conner’s Son had not returned.

Word count: 259