Category: Practice

Brandished Destiny – part 3

This is going to be longer as I’ve missed some days adding in here.  I have been surprised by all the recapping going on and wonder why in this book I have so much compared to the others.  Perhaps it’s because I saw this as the last, but now am not sure if it will be.  Regardless, here’s part 3.

 

CHAPTER 2

Larry waved us over to their pine picnic table. He had thoughtfully set out corn on the cob, American style french fries, water, and a salad bowl for a snack. He and Fawn had learned how much work went into marriage, and that no one family ever had it like the fairy tales. They had more good days than bad now, and Zhira was one reason why. I’d just sat down to grab an ear of corn, when my cellphone buzzed. An instant later, a shrill ringing came from an open window in their house.

Fawn grumbled and stalked toward the back screen door while I stayed outside with my cellphone so I could have a bit more peace and quiet since Larry and Zhira had followed her inside. Sinera, my secretary, didn’t waste any time with greetings.

“Fern, you have a potential client waiting for you here. What time shall I tell them you’ll be into the office?” I blinked.

“Umm, today’s Sunday. I’ll be in the office tomorrow morning.” I held the cellphone in front of me and checked the date. It agreed with me that it indeed was Sunday, and that at twenty-one Celsius, with clear skies, a hint of a north wind, and no threat of rain, it was a good day to be outside.

“I was contacted directly, and informed I must call you. I do not believe this is one client who will appreciate sitting in your office until tomorrow morning.”

The identity of the client was not my first thought. My first thought was how did she contact Sinera directly? Sinera’s an elf. She doesn’t have an official number. All of my calls get routed to an answering service when no one’s in the office, which is how weekends are, or are supposed to be. The immediate thought was that she’d been contacted magickally. If that was the case, it was someone we already knew because they knew of Sinera. Thinking about it, beyond my previous clients, who mostly preferred Magick stay away from them, had no idea how to get hold of Sinera. All I remember them using was the advertised phone number. That this person knew about Sinera well enough to contact her directly meant it was someone who knew her. That meant Elves. My client had to be an Elf. I have an aversion bordering on an allergy to Elves. Sinera is the notable exception. Elves live in Underhill. They do come to our world and trade goods, a number of them Magickal, that they sell, or trade for something they consider of value. Your guess is as good as mine what each one wants.

Elves are scrupulously truthful, but that does not mean they’re honest. An Elf will always look for the best way to present the truth and in such a manner so you want to believe it. They tell you what you want to hear using the truth as the lever and it’s a bit like the old joke about ‘proper diplomacy’ which is telling someone to go to hell in such a manner they look forward to the trip.

The most classic example of Elves I can think of is trading something for a service. That the service could span generations of humans doesn’t make the service any less legitimate, and it’s not slavery. It’s payment for a good or a service. Yes, it’s indentured servitude, but not slavery. Slavery is forcing servitude on another, indenturment is someone agreeing to it.

“Should I be concerned that we might be dealing with a fae?”

“I would say yes to the might.”

I stayed quiet for a few moments, thinking. Sinera politely gave me time to gather my thoughts.

“Is it someone that you and I are familiar with?”

“Yes, you have had some unfortunate dealings in a legal decision some time ago.”

Legal decision. Only one person fit that description. Judge Caddus. He was forced to declare me beholden to the Elf Lord Cobb when I falsely accused him of deliberately bespelling me. His daughter did it, but the hard fact was he wasn’t the caster. No one except Cobb was happy with that, especially the Judge.

“Has he indicated what the reason for this emergency?”

“He has said he will only speak with you face to face, in your office.”

So not helpful.

“I’ll be there within the hour. If he offers anything in the way of a hint or explanation, give me a call. I’d like not to go in cold.”

“Understood. I will inform you if more information is revealed before you arrive.”

I ended the call and grabbed a second ear of corn. The Judge could wait a few more minutes. After nibbling my lunch, I stepped on inside to tell Fawn and Larry that I had to go over to my office. As I pulled the screen door open I spotted Fawn rummaging in the closet by the front door. She pulled out her police jacket she’d gotten as a new officer. She still wore it in preference to anything else. She settled it on her shoulders and flipped her blonde hair back, then bent down to give Zhira a hug.

“I have to go to work sweetie. I’ll be home soon.” She straightened up and shared a hug with Larry. They held onto each other for a moment more, looking into each others eyes then they noticed me watching.

“He shortstuff. I have to go in. There’s a crime that doesn’t appear standard. So the special unit will be covering it.”

I nodded. “It’s a day for it. I just got a call from Sinera that there’s a client who wants to see me now of all times. I have to go too.”

Larry reached down and picked up Zhira. She giggled and leaned over to Fawn to give her a kiss on the cheek. She then wiggled in Larry’s arm to give me one on the cheek and a pat of her hand.

“We keep corn” she said smiling.

“Yeah you will ‘cause it’s your favorite. I know you” I said laughing. There’s something about laughing innocence that lightens any mood. Here I was going to talk with a Elven Judge, and all I could think of was how nice a day it was. Children are magic.

The good mood stayed with me on my drive over to the office. I pulled into the near empty parking lot and parked the shiny black PT cruiser under the lone light post in the lot. It was still missing the rear seats, but I hardly used them. The large back without the seats allowed me to carry a whole lot of things. I felt a stab of melancholy as I got out, closed and locked the door. There not so many around now which made it stand out more. TO do my job I was likely going to have to get a newer old car so it would fit in more when I had to stake out an area. The bright blue sky gave the red brick a more vivid color as I walked to the front door. Reality intruded on my happy mood as I began considering more the reasons an Elf Judge would need to see me so desperately.

I couldn’t think of a reason why and that bothered me more the closer I got to my office. When I pushed the door open of my classic nineteen thirties noir style office, enjoying the gritty ambiance with the four drawer file cabinets bolted to the Murphy bed. The four-blade fan turned silently and its refurbished bearings over my large Oak desk with candlestick phone and new Rolodex that sat in gleaming black on the polished wood. The new bricks stood out against the older faded ones, with the only thing missing was the neon glow of the building’s sign because it was too light outside for it’s orange color to be seen. This was home, moreso than any other place I’d lived.

Judge Caddus was in the guest chair next to my desk, in full formal dress. His dark blue robe covered him from shoulder to ankle and his boots were of bright blue laquered leather with some silver highlights. His pale hair was in a long tail between his shoulders. He stood up and bowed politely as I moved to my desk and sat down. He sat after me, telling me that he was requesting my help rather than standing and demanding it. Sinera had schooled me on some of the Elvish eitquette.

Whoever bows lower is the one requesting the meeting, and who stands last is the one who is petitioning the other for assistance. If they remain standing, they will be negotiating from a position of power and making demands. If they sit, then it will be as a potential ally or looking for assistance. When both the standing last and sitting with the other party, it is one coming with a request of the person they’re meeting with.

That he sat with me and stood until I began sitting meant he was not trying to pull rank. He was genuinely concerned about something, and that something was extremely upsetting, if I understood Sinera’s lessons properly. I smiled and did what I always did, start with small talk. It gets people, most of them, to be more at ease.

“Hello, Judge. It’s been a while since the last time we saw each other. I’m hoping you have been doing well for yourself.” He looked at me like I’d grown horns and hissed at him. Too late. Whatever gaffe I’d done I did accidentally. Judge Caddus calmed himself and realized the mistake. He actually smiled, if the faint raising of the lips was an Elvish smile.

“I am also unfamiliar with proper human reaction and form. Let us both understand our differences and allow each the room for unintentional error.”

I smiled. He’d spotted the problem and offered a complete solution that blamed neither and focused on understanding. I am nowhere near so diplomatic. I much preferred not fighting, but I had little tolerance for errors that could be avoided with a little effort such as study or practice.

I nodded to indicate I noticed his layered solution.

“Yes, let’s not get in a fight because of a misinterpretation of someone’s intent.” I paused a moment to let him consider the words. “If I am not being overbearing, may I ask what had you contact my partner Sinera directly and request this meeting on a day that is almost never an office work day?”

He stared at me for a long moment. His eyes locked on mine and I don’t think he ever blinked. He sat and stared, as if trying to find a way to broach a subject. Finally he sighed, then reached up a sleeve on his robe. He took a few moments to locate something by touch, then removed his closed hand and placed on my desk in front of me. He opened his hand and withdrew it, leaving behind a small metallic-like blue glass bottle. The same kind of bottle that cost my friend Zhirk his life and Hervald Thensome his soul.

I’m not sure if I shrieked and scrambled back or just teleported to where I was, mashed back against the wall next to the window that had been replaced during that first hellish case. The Judge, thoroughly alarmed at my reaction quickly grabbe my coffee mug and placed it over the bottle, covering it and hiding it from sight. I struggled for breath for a few moments before the adrenalin shakes hit. I was wired, and scared to death. I had smashed that thing! At PEI Anolyn had deliberately targeted the box with glass bottles and burned it to ash, along with the huge oak tree that Cobb had used as a torture chamber to make them from the agony and despair of his victims.

I could hear Kent Nix and Kevin Love scream their lives out all over again. More than anything at that moment, I wanted to grab the bottle of scotch and drown my fear in the bitter alcohol and forget that cursed thing under my upended coffee cup. It’d take the better part of a year of twice-weekly therapy to finally get a control on all the trauma that went with the previous jobs. My head was more or less back on straight, and I didn’t wake up screaming or paralyzed by nightmares.

Now, that thing shows up on my desk out of the blue. Well, blue robes anyway. Snark and sarcasm has always been a way I handle stress. It just isn’t the best choice because giving someone attitude when they’ve got the upper hand is just begging for bat things to happen. It had more than once and somehow I managed to avoid most of the bad intentions sent my way. I rubbed the nub of my little finger while Judge Caddus attempted to apologize by bowing his head almost to the desk top in contrition. Now was the time to use that diplomatic moment.

“Judge Ca-ddus. I apologize for alarming you.” I took a shaky breath and walked back to my chair, turned it deliberately slowly back to the desk and sat down. “That item you thoughtfully brought me has many bad memories and experiences tied to it. I, uh, did not realize that any still existed.” Another shaky but calmer breath helped focus me. I closed my eyes and pictured my room mentally, using its familiarity as a calming influence for my body. I could feel the wire-tight tension ease as I mentally pictured each item in the room.

“I humbly accept your generosity and would have you know I meant no disrespect nor harmful intent. You are one of the few that know the nature of that creation and I am very desirous of temporarily procuring your abilities and expertise to determine the reason for its reappearance.” He gestured at my cup. “This was found in the hands of an Elf that had used it to overwhelm a Troll. The Elf has been judged and executed in accordance and balance to the crime committed. I have brought this to you to request your expert assistance.”

National Novel Writing Month – Brandished Destiny – part 2

Here’s the second part comprising the end of Chapter one.  It’s a lot of exposition and talking to oneself/scribe.  There’s also some explanation of the last book and what happened to Fern and Fawn at the compound.

 

Fire, water, earth, air. The four classical alchemical elements. I could lift and toss rocks up to the size of a bulldozer over two kilometers, create heat that could melt brick and cause the earth to glaze. I could form shapes from my imagination, just like the earlier ramp to divert Fawn’s attack away from me.

That brings me to the most interesting part. If we’re within a few meters of each other, our skills blend. Each of us is the power source for the other. We’re both huge Magick batteries.

We can do those Magickal things each other can do ourselves. Fawn can punch power at me; I can harden Magick around me. They’re not quite the same, but it is close in form. If we hold hands, we become one source that can do everything. We think the same, hear the same. Our powers become one all encompassing cauldron of power that is anything we deem it to be. It’s intoxicating, and scares the both of us all the way to our toenails.

Something that feels that good without any apparent limits is something to avoid. Magick is seductive enough on regular days. It’s why a number of potential wizards don’t live long enough to become wizards. They play with power and want more to play with because it’s like a heavy shot of your favorite method of getting high. Drunk on power is not just a metaphor. Knowing when you’re getting into that kind of power is what keeps you alive and sane. It made us paranoid. We did some research and had Larry help us out. We found nothing describing what was going on with us.

Larry is still hunting through whatever’s on the ‘net. And we live as quietly as we can with this power and try not to go too crazy with it all. Thankfully Zhira seems unaffected by it. She’s a normal active little girl with curly Ash blonde hair and the most intense violet eyes. Eyes like that usually presages Magickal ability, and with her parents, it’s kind of a given she’d be some kind of Magick wielder. Honestly, I’m looking forward to seeing it and dreading it at the same time.

Magick is has been the one big constant in my life since the craziness started happening with Hervald Thensome. I could definitely do without more crazy Magick. Which was why Fawn and I were practicing. You know the old saying of ‘waiting for the other shoe to drop’? We knew it was going to happen. Magick’s got its own agenda, and like it or not anyone that practices Magick is part of that ongoing agenda. Anyways, reminiscing can get you really lost in your own head. However, sometimes the past comes knocking at your door. When it does, you really should avoid answering. I’d left the door wide open and the past came waltzing through in full party mode. What’s a girl going to do? Well, in this case, throw a party.

National Novel Writing Month – First update of ‘Brandished Destiny’

National Novel writing month got off with a literal bang for me.  I got in 3500 words which is a new record for any output that I can remember.  I’ll be posting 2-3 pages of the new novel here in the following days fore two reasons.  First is to let those interested see the progress of the fourth book of the Glass Bottles series which is tentatively titled ‘Brandished Destiny’.  THe second is a spur for myself to keep up the pace and not fall into overthinking the story, which had clobbered my writing before.  So now that you’ve made it through the introduction, here’s the first post of 2020’s ‘Brandished Destiny’

CHAPTER 1

The blast of power blotted out the cloudless blue sky with a rippling distortion that turned everything grey. It smashed into me like a runaway truck. I held my ground and diverted the power upwards by imagining a curved surface in front of me. The surface did its job and the power flashed upwards to break apart in blots of grey surrounded by flecks of blue. Imagination is a great weapon when you don’t need a circle to cast, but you pay for it with headaches and lethargy. I had both in spades.

We’d finally gotten a handle on what we experienced facing off against a huge entity that a weird cult had put their compound over. Both Fawn and I suddenly could do major magic without needing any kind of practice or particular item to focus. It was just there. Believe me, we were very happy it was just there back then. We’d have died along with a lot of naked senseless people trapped in cabins that were going to be used for some kind of sacrificial ritual that would have wakened said enormous entity. That we’re still alive is a testament to sheer wild luck, and perhaps magic’s own agenda.

Larry has never heard of this kind of thing ever happening before. If Larry doesn’t know, it’s a good bet that it’s something potentially unprecedented. Which ratcheted up our own paranoia about becoming lab rat test subjects for the powers-that-be in Canadian government. We’ve kept what happened secret for our own peace of mind. Neither of us wants to give up our life as it is.

Fawn and Larry, through a lot of counseling and a lot of work, stuck together. Zhira, their daughter was born healthy and Fawn was pulled back from death’s embrace via shocking her heart back into action. I helped out for the first five months until Fawn told me to get lost and take care of myself. She’d recovered totally, and was the picture of Amazonian health. If anything, she looked more together than she had since high school.

She was back on her job and had been promoted again to precinct captain and still managed to hang on to the leadership of Dayning/Halifax police department’s magickal response team. That organization went through three incarnations before settling on the current the current ‘Special Response Unit’ moniker. The SRU was her special baby. Larry had given up on trying to get her to drop that position, but had at least gotten a compromise with her being the precinct captain which meant her forays into the field were now more limited.

Fawn relaxed and glanced over to her left, where Zhira was making sand castles with daddy Larry. She turned her gaze back to me.

“One more time?”

“No, I’m wore out. Spend some of that extra energy on those two” I laughed, then winced. I’ve said in the past that Magick is a pain, and now it was a literal pain in the head, and the metaphorical neck. It’d be a few minutes before the headache went away, but at least it’d go. I hadn’t been terribly interested in practicing Magick, especially since it was something that just came natural after being dragon possessed. What changed I don’t know, but after it happened the cases I got hooked into suddenly were a lot more weird and unsettling. The giant entity was the first and the most disturbing to me. The others were just plain weird.

The latest example was that I had to go over to Klaus’s liquor store down the block from my office, and help him solve a problem with missing stock. The security system he had showed no one in the place, and now one leaving. Bottles and kegs were full one moment, and empty the next. Not gone. Empty. How someone empties a full bottle of alcohol without removing the cap would have been beyond me before Prince Edward Island, now it could have been simple. I’d have to do it one bottle at a time, but I could do it. Whoever had played this trick was way more practiced than I.

Klaus called me back later saying he’d found the missing booze. One thing you should remember about Klaus is that he’s a bookie. He’s not big-time, and he deliberately keeps his client list small, almost like a hobby than a business. Anyways, he found the booze when he opened the door to the small back room where he runs it. All of the booze had been transported into the room and nearly drowned him when he opened the door.

As it was his equipment was shot, and I think the critters in the sewers had a grand old time with that much booze flowing into the system all at once. I never did find out why or how that happened. Rynun wasn’t hanging around the alley any more so I couldn’t ask him. He’d returned to the area around my folk’s old cabin since the spell conjuring up Ahiah was finally broken. I rubbed the nub of my little finger. Ahiah had bitten it off during that fight. He’d been banished back to the ground.

I’d tried to forget that particular nightmare for two years without any luck. It seems more than just my Magickal abilities were improved. My memory was nearly eidetic now. Maybe that was a reason why I could do spells so easy and without a circle. I could remember every sense and feeling, for lack of a better description, of each spell.

It made my head swim thinking about it and I turned my attention to my niece. Zhira was two. Her birthday was last week, and she’d gotten a genie costume. Yes, she wanted one. How did we know? She told us. Yes, at twenty months she was forming sentences. Not great ones, but definite, distinct, sentences. She saw the costume on sale for Halloween. Yes, that’s still a holiday, only one with more meaning than before. Regardless, she saw it and wanted it. And ‘Auntie’ Fern just couldn’t say no.

She hadn’t taken it off since she’d opened her present, with exceptions to wash it. I could only wonder what she’d be like by four if this was two. Maybe she’d be casting spells though gods I hoped not. Which brought my thoughts over to Fawn and I.

I find it amazing how Magick fitted itself to us in such disparate forms and yet so appropriately. Fawn’s Magick works internally. Basically she can harden her skin, increase her strength, speed, vision, hearing, etc. Anything dealing with physical attributes, she can do it. Me, mine’s all external.

World’s Eye View – 27

It’s been a long time and finally I get a chance to come up for air and post the next piece of World’s Eye View.

 

Man that’s thin. How do you keep people thinking about survival and not about home? Answer:Keep them too busy to have time. Eugeni did keep us hopping like fleas on a hotplate. He was putting in twice the hours we were. Yeah I think he was trying to figure out the bombs when he died. So how do we figure them out? “I want to put a change of operations to a vote”, Thompson said. He stared at Kim. According to the rules, I something was offered up, everyone got to have a say. Kim had kept things in his favor by not giving anyone time. It grated, but neither Roels, or Thompson wanted to face Ingers if he got set off. That came under the ‘Really Bad Idea’ column in captial letters. “Very well, friend, David. What is your proposal?” Kim finally asked. “I vote we put someone on the Xian-Xi docking rings full time. That would give a person time and resources with the computers to figure it out”, Thompson replied.

“I will take up the task”, Kim said gravely. “I was thinking Roels should be the one to do it”, Thompson countered. “We can vote on it right now. We’re all here”, he finished smugly. Kim glared at him. Not something you can win this time. If you don’t vote, then this all falls apart. Then we’re all finished. The vote went Roels, Shukla, and himself voting for the idea, Kim and Ingers against it. Kim took the defeat with ill grace, and left after the three raised their hands. “You think he’s going to try something to get back at that maneuver?”, Roels asked him as they drifted down the tube towards Salila’s cube. “I don’t know. It’s best to think a little paranoid, so, yeah, I’m half-expecting something. Probably Ingers”, Thompson said. God I hope he just lets it go. The voting’s working, so far. I don’t like it, but we’re starting to settle into a workable setup. So maybe it does have something going for it.

The next few days were tense, with Kim answering questions with a surly reply, and the voting becoming more and more complaint sessions. Fortunately, the complaints stayed in the sessions, and no one tried to push things outside the sessions. Roels set himself to digging into the system software, slowly working through the code, trying to locate what controlled the docking rings and the charges. Thompson, Ingers, and Kim worked on clearing the debris from around the smashed panels section, then detached the damaged section, cannibalizing the pieces for use as spare parts for the surviving sections. Through it all, Thompson could feel the two men watching his every move. He’d been watched by them for a while now, but this was different. He could almost feel Ingers gaze, like a predator sizing up a potential victim. He spent a few long evenings in the machine shop making a reinforcing patch for the damaged hull. He started twice, and had to stop as his mind wasn’t in making the proper cuts.

What’s different this time about them watching me? They did it before. What’s diferent this time? Thompson snapped his fingers. Kim. Kim’s the difference. Ingers was just shadowing people, nothing really threatening, he was hanging back. Now, it feels directed, like Kim might be asking Ingers to watch. If he did, does this mean he’s pissed at the fast one I pulled? He looked at the badly formed patch. Maybe I should make some protection. He straightened an edge of the patch, and took the long piece, grinding the edge down to a semi-sharp edge with a thin point. He got out the high-speed duct tape, wrapping the unsharpened end to make a grip. Once finished, he got a small magnet, placing it in his pocket.

When he reached his cube, he looked around, and decide on hiding the knife under the shelf, using the magnet to anchor the knife. God forgive me, this is really bad if I’m paranoid enough to make a weapon. What does that say about me? Am I paranoid, or unbalanced. I don’t think so. Roels, I wonder how Roels and Salila are doing? His schedule said that both Roels and Salila would be on duty, with Ingers. Roels would be sifting through the system code, while Salila would be scanning for radio signals. Ingers would be doing the daily visuals on the panels, and checking the reserve for leaks. That doesn’t mean he will. If I’m unstable, he’s downright spooky. I’m gonna keep it close, just in case. I can hide it under the jumpsuit by folding the top down.

He shifted the knife to a spot with easy hand reach next to his hammock-net, then settled into an uncomfortable sleep, waking at intervals through the night. The next day was more fitting for the patch. The job would have been much easier with the 3-D printer, but the powders to make spares had long run out, so the fallback was knocking the patch out by hand, which was much more labor-intensive. Compunding this was none of them had any practical experience as cutters or welders. Thompson volunteered for the job, figuring that both Ingers and Kim would relax if he was in one place for a day or two.

The welding and cutting finally finished after twenty hours of work. The patch fit over the dented area with some rough overlap. It took Kim, Ingers, and Thompson to hold the plate in the right position to begin welding. “Friend David, how long do you believe this welding will take? The air recycler in my suit is beeping”, Ingers said. “Once we get the first few welds in place to stabilize it, I can handle it myself. I’m thinking about a half hour for that. Weird. My recycler’s fine. Dial shows another four hours before it might need replacing. “Friend David, my recycler is running low, I’ll need to go in soon.” Both of them, with the same problem? “I hear you, can you hold on for a half-hour? With you and Ingers helping we can weld hold spots down.” “I understand, friend David”, Kim replied. Thompson got the first weld in place, then drifted up and to his right, snagging the plate Ingers and Kim were centering. He worked on the spot weld as the station orbited out of the sun and into the dark.

Possession is 9/10

Here is the start of ‘Possession is 9/10’.  It was a fun little story to write.

 

The day invaded my personal space with a gradual lightening of the comforting darkness. Next came the tortuous ringing of the bells on the alarm clock. That vicious little thing has it in for me. I tried to burrow deeper into the warm coverings and ignore the cutesy venomous ringing that threatened to drive a spike in my ears. Ten agonizing seconds later I finally started my day –- by bringing my clenched fist down on the offending noisemaker. Irritated strength overpowered the small mechanical brass contraption and the satisfying ‘crunch’ of flattening metal gave way to irritation. I was going to have to get another alarm.

Blessed sleep ran whimpering from the growing brightness and I sat up in bed, stretching my arms towards the ceiling and trying to keep them between me and the way too cheerful sunlight streaming in through the blue lace curtains on the floor-to-ceiling patio window.

Each morning can be an adventure. This morning I wake up after crunching the alarm, stretch, try to cover my eyes, and then turn and put my feet on the floor, only to find that the floor isn’t there. The bed I’m in hangs in mid-air with no visible means of support, and my head barely avoiding a collision with the ceiling as my senses start to tell me things are very wrong.

The night stand drops from the side of the bed, falling to the floor with a splintering crash. My feet dangle off the edge and the bed tilts dangerously as reality and gravity grab me by the throat and give me a solid shake as a good morning greeting. The bed falls stopping just above the floor and gently settles. My feet touch the floorboards and flinch away. The wood was like ice. I look down and the floor is ice –- at least a quarter-inch thick over the reddish cherrywood. My breath hangs in the air as puffs of fog from my lips. Just another day of possession for yours truly.

You heard right. Possession. As in something not ready to pass on hides inside a person hoping that it can coerce whom it possesses into satisfying a last lingering regret or desire before it rejoins the choir invisible and moves on to its reward or whatever place restless spirits go. Fortunately for me, I’m not the one who’s the possessed.

That would be my ferret, Imp. She’s what is called a ‘Siamese coated’. Her limbs are all a chocolate brown with a light tan body and a bandit mask. It’s striking actually. Not as striking as her chatter when possessed. If you’ve ever heard a child try to squeak out curse words while trying to control an out-of-control object, you have a good idea of what it’s like for Imp.

She has full control of her body, but the spirit can talk, usually screaming for Imp to slow down so they can talk to me and we can agree on a deal for their lingering business. After a negotiation of some mutually beneficial deal, we get about the business. Hey, stuff like this isn’t for free. I have to make a living too. Otherwise I couldn’t keep Imp in the style she’s accustomed to.

Like today, she’s sleeping on my bed, and came wide awake as it settled back to the floor. Her furry body launched off the bed onto the floor without a care in the world.

Me, I shiver in real cold and check the thermometer on the wall by the patio door. It says -10C and that I’m welcome would I like to hear the forecast for today? I decline with ill grace. I’m never happy unless caffeinated. That being said, it was obvious that a spirit was in desperate straits to use Imp.

Obvious, you ask? Easy to answer. If you note I said the bed was floating in the air. I didn’t suspend it from strings as a slight of hand trick. That’s expensive and more effort than I want to put out for anything actually.

To answer the second unspoken question I know you’re itching to ask; Why not me? Because I’ve no aptitude for psychic phenomena. Why a ferret has that kind of sensitivity is one of those things in the universe that no one has any idea. It just is. Imp was being her usual self, running to the food dish, finding it empty. Then realizing she hasn’t done her morning ablutions, and runs for her toilet. Once that’s done it’s back to the food dish, then to me to ask if I could please hurry up and feed her since she’s hungry thanks-ever-so-much?

I get there eventually, which is never fast enough, and get a scoop of ferret food for Imp. Then I can go about the real necessities, coffee for a wake-up, and eggs with bacon for me. Then I can get to the spirit in question. Said spirit was trying to talk around ferret crunchies and failing. Imp paid no attention to the funny noises while I waited patiently for her to finish eating and let the spirit communicate.

When Imp came over, I nodded at her, and she lay down in front of me, looking for all the world like a cat that had just claimed that spot for its own. I leaned over so the spirit could get a better look at me. Ferrets are notoriously near-sighted.

“Hello, I’m Kat, that’s Imp. What can we do for you?”

Imp shifted lazily as the spirit tried to get a word in edgewise while she cleaned her belly fur.

“I’m…ahh…Chuck Wuerley.” The spirit tried to gag as Imp started cleaning her butt. “Gah! Oh my god this is…ack! What are you doing?! stop! Stop!” His discussion was put on hold while Imp finished her morning ritual. She looked back up at me and the spirit recovered enough control to resume talking.

“What is this? There’s this weird taste in my mouth.”

“That would be Imp’s breakfast and some hair from her grooming. You’re in a ferret, by the way, not a person.”

The ferret continued to gaze up at me in what I suppose was stunned silence or ferrety satisfaction of a full belly and clean fur. You can never tell with spirits. Or ferrets. Some are okay with an animal possession. A few were ecstatic. Most are shocked and dismayed. Chuck seemed like the latter.

“A ferret? What the hell is a ferret?! I rolled my eyes and walked over to my bathroom. I had a mirror on the counter next to the sink, and picked it up. I walked back out to the still motionless ferret, and plunked the mirror down in front of her.

“It’s a rat. I’m in a rat. Why am I in a rat?”

“Imp is a ferret, not a rat,” I said indignantly. “Get your mammals straight, doofus.” I waggled a finger right in front of Imp’s nose as I spoke. Imp took this as an invitation to a play fight. She leapt up, dooking and shook her head side to side as she rapidly backed under the bed while the protesting Chuck tried to scream at Imp to stand still.

“Whoa! Stop! Stop! Dammit you little ass-wipe-fuzzy-stretch-rat stop! I need to talk the person. Stop dammit!”

Imp scrambled out from under the bed and pounced on my fingers, biting playfully at them as I flipped her over and tickled her belly.

“Waah..ha..hahahahaha! Stop! It tickles! Haaahahahah!”

Imp dook’d happily and flipped back over. She scrambled back under the bed, ran out, then ran back under again as I moved toward her. Chuck was pleading with me to stop and listen to him after another five minutes. I stopped playing with Imp, who made a few lunges and back-aways from me, then seeing playtime was over, noodled over to my feet and lay on her side.

“Okay Chuck. What’s your situation besides being dead and all. What do you need to happen to go to the great beyond?”

“I want you to find my kid.”

“Find your child? What happened? Did she run away? Or…?”

“No no no no…nothing like that. I want you to find my kid. My baby goat.”

I couldn’t help it. “Say…what?”

The Deep End – Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of a Glass Bottles series spin-off novel detailing how Dean Youngwood garnered his reputation as a Private detective Hero in Halifax/Dayning in Nova Scotia (New Scotland).

 

“Hey Dean, how did the test go?” Carny Weston walked over to Dean Youngwood, giving him a fist bump as a greeting, and falling in next to him as Dean walked to his car. The sidewalk was full of pedestrians in a hurry to get lunch. The noon whistle had blown only a minute before Dean had exited Precinct Four after taking his test. He’d come dressed for the weather, and Dean was thankful for his bit of preparation. The snow was coming down thick and slushy, sticking to anything it landed on. The weather station had promised wet snow and the station had got it right. Dean smiled at Carny a little wistfully, then stuck his hands in his jacket pockets.

“You know, I think I did pretty good. But…,” he paused and Carny’s face fell. His blonde beard was already festooned with fat flakes that were threatening to turn his whiskers into an ice sculpture. Carny’s blue and black checked hunting jacket was doing much better, the snow giving Carny the look of a man with a completely out of control dandruff problem. His shoulder length blonde hair combined with his beard made him look like a modern viking.

Dean by contrast to Carny’s appearance, had short black hair irregularly cut, a testament to ‘don’t do this at home in a mirror’, and dark brown eyes that almost looked black. He’d put on weight since his days in the Canadian Air Force, and had a slight gut. His swarthy skin made him look piratical, but in fact Dean was a full-blooded Cree. He wore a pair of thick blue denim work pants, and a matching blue coat to protect him from the cold. His last name, Youngwood, was his adopted parents name. He chose it for his own despite some protests by fellow Cree.

“Aw man that s…,” Carny started to say, but Dean pulled a piece of yellow paper out of his jean pocket and held it in front of Carny’s nose.

“I think they believed so too, because they gave me this little piece of paper.” Dean smiled as Carny whooped and enveloped him in a bear hug.

“Way to go, man! Way. To. Go!”

He ceased hollering as people around them stopped and stared at the exuberant spectacle. Carny put Dean back on the ground and the two continued their walk back towards Carny’s pickup. When they reached the battered green truck, Dean glanced at Carny as he opend the passenger door, “How about lunch on me? I passed the exam, I think we should celebrate at ‘The Shake Shack’. I haven’t had a artery-clogging hamburger and fries for a couple weeks.”

Carny laughed, and opened the driver’s door.

“Sounds great! how ’bout we stop by Tim Horton’s afterwards to get a coffee and donut as dessert?”

Dean grimaced. “I’d love to, but I think I’ll pass on that. I can only handle so much decadence.”

“Wimp.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Dammit, it’s no fun if you don’t insult back. Where do you get off being agreeable?”

“The same place you get off by trying to start something.”

Carny laughed again and pressed the start button on the dashboard. The vehicle rumbled as the engine refused to start, then caught with a roar. Dean settled back in his seat as Carny wheeled the vehicle out of the parking lot, and into lunch-hour traffic.

While they slowly worked their way towards their destination, Carny asked Dean, “So where are you going to hang your shingle?”

Dean stared forward out the windshield, watching the fat flakes of snow descend on the barely moving vehicles.

“I was thinking up around Shannon Park. The area is old and poor, but a lot of decent sorts there. I could probably get by.”

Carny looked over at Dean as though Dean had sprouted a second head.

“You’re nuts, you know that? I understand wanting to help people, but first you gotta get on your own feet. Helping people is good, but if you can’t keep a roof over your head, how you gonna help someone else?”

Dean shrugged, then looked over at Carny.

“You blew big holes in that idea. Yeah, I’d like to help out that way. Lots of folks could use a little help to solve problems. Hell, maybe solving the problems would fix something.” He sighed and turned back to watch the traffic in front of them. “But you’re right. If I can’t keep a place open, I don’t do anyone any good.” He turned his head towards Carny again. “So what would be your plan?”

Carny shrugged, then replied, “What about joining a detective agency for a bit. Get a name, take care of a few cases. Hunt down a few bail jumpers. Whatever. An agency would get your feet wet for a regular paycheck, and getcha experience without worrying about rent.”

Dean listened quietly. The traffic began moving once more and the two lapsed into silence for the three minute drive over to ‘The Shake Shack’.

After thy sat down with their food, Dean took a bite out of his burger.

“You’re angling for me to work with your cousin, aren’t you?”

Carny smiled and took a hefty swig from the straw in his drink.

“See? That’s why you’re the detective. You can figure things out.”

Dean shook his head. “I know you think your cousin’s a good guy, Carny, but I’m not sure he’d be the best one to work for starting out. I mean, he’s a skip-tracer, not a private investigator.”

“That’s why he’s perfect to work with. He’s been there, done that, and can give you pointers into how to use your newfound legal license the best way possible. It’s a steady paycheck, and you help by getting bad people off the streets.”

“And I have to track down people who’s only crime was that they can’t pay on their car, and I have to take it away, and they lost their job because they can’t get to work to pay bills and help their families.”

Carny’s face drooped. Dean figured he’d tried to be helpful. Carny was always trying to look out for friends. He and Dean had spent a hitch in the Canadian Air Force for four years as mechanics working on the old F-22 Raptors that had survived The Change. They’d gotten along and worked well together. Then became in-laws when Carny had married Dean’s adopted sister Carol. In the three years they’d been married, Carol had two pairs of twins. The first pair were girls, and the second were boys.

Dean shook his head. then took another bite from the burger.

“Say I join your cousin, do you get anything for referring me?”

“No, I just thought he’d be a good place to start.”

Dean nodded. “Okay. I’ll go see him. No promises. I’m still not certain that I want to do this, but you’re right, I have to start somewhere.”

“Cool! I’ll drive you…”

“Ease up Carny, I’ll drive over this afternoon. You need to get back to work, Carol’s probably going crazy with four crazed munchkins running around.”

Carny set his drink down and grabbed at his potato wedges, stuffing two in his mouth. he chewed, then swallowed.

“She probably is, eh? Carol’s a great mom. Though she’s got a temper.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, you would too with four kids in diapers and needing constant supervision. I bet she’s exhausted by the time you get home.”

“Yeah, she is.” He turned to look at Dean. “Speaking of that, wanna come by and spend time with your nieces and nephews? I could take Carol out on the town, maybe a movie, eh?”

Dean chuckled. “Okay, okay. I get it. When do you want me by?”

“How about five-thirty? I’ll be home by then and you can show up. the kids’ll love seeing you.”

“Yeah, I bet. My back’s still sore from the last time they loved seeing me.”

Carny chuckled and finished off the last potato wedge.

“You adore them as much as they adore you. Admit it for once.”

Dean shrugged, smiling. “What, and ruin a streak?”

Tia

This story is short and was hard to write because it is so much an attempt by me to deal through words with a currently ongoing situation.  Be forwarned it’s emotional.

 

TIA

The monitor next to the blue sheeted hospital bed beeped quietly. It measured its occupant’s heart rate, blood oxygen levels, and every fifteen minutes blood pressure. The figure in the bed was stocky and round faced. The thin bed sheets outlined an equally stocky body that seemed shriveled and shrunken. A hand, yellowed with jaundice reached out and upward as the man shook his grey-maned head slowly back and forth while drool slid from the left side of his head to pool and soak into the sheets tucked around his formerly thick neck.

Beside the bed, a slightly younger man with a small bit of black in his silver hair reached out slowly to grasp the uplifted hand. His freckled fingers wrapped the pale mottled ones, holding them still as the withered figure in the bed futilely attempted to free his hand.

“Easy dad, I’m here.” The voice seemed to calm the man. He released a soft moaning sigh as his eyes wobbled behind the closed lids. “I’m here. I’m here.” Karl Thorson raised his head, and looked are the artificial cheery bare white room, then back to his father, who was in the final stages of dementia.

He’s being taken by inches in front of me, and I can’t help him at all. He’s not been dad for a year now. Mom’s a wreck, I’m sick of this whole thing. God, please let him die. He’s hurting so much…he’s

“He’s not hurting. He’s dreaming.” the words, spoken right next to his ear had him jumping up and spinning around to face the intruder. The man…woman after another glance, peered back up at him with a faint lopsided smile. Her hair was dyed a grey purple atop her round head and short rotund body encased in green hospital scrubs. Her name, ‘Tia’ was on the white card pinned to her left shirt pocket.

She toddled past Karl to peer at the old man. She clucked her tongue as she arranged the bedding and smoothed it out while the man groaned softly. She laid her hand on his forehead, and he calmed at once. His eyes continued their restless dance behind closed lids but there was a softer movement now.

“You’re the one taking care of him? Thank you. I know it’s rough like this, and I can’t thank you enough for all the kindness you and the other staff have shown him.” She waved her hand between them as if gently pushing away the praise, and chuckled softly.

“Yeah, I’m doing my best. I’m Tia, by the way. Everyone calls me that.” She turned and peered at the old man again. “He’s in the final stage. Two, maybe three days. Then the body will shut down.”

“How can you be so certain? The doctors said it could be weeks, even months before the body turns off. With dementia there’s no way to tell” Karl said firmly, his eyes sharpening with anger. “What’s your degree in?”

“I’ve seen a lot of patients like your dad. There’s a lot of small clues, or ‘tells’, just like in poker. The body always gives itself away in situations like this” Tia went on calmly. Her confident manner slowly dampened Karl’s budding irritation. “I learned that a while ago when I first started this job.”

Karl turned back towards his father, then slowly settled back onto the small rolling stool still next to the bed. Ms Tia didn’t move away from the bed, and continued to rest her hand on the old man’s head. Once Karl was seated, she removed her hand and took a step back. Karl nodded at her and turned back to his dad.

“This damned dementia is killing him, and killing us too. We keep hoping for one last good day to say goodbye, but it doesn’t work that way. He’s just going to…” Tia interrupted him.

“You’re saying good bye all the time. You know what’s happening, and you’re getting to understand and make peace with him and his passing.”

Karl spun on the chair and angrily faced Tia. “You’re telling me this is a fucking goodbye? Just what kind of new age crap are you peddling? Get out! Get out and stay away from my father!” Karl shouted as he stood up, hands balled in angry fists as he stared at the stocky woman. How dare she tell me this is a goodbye. It’s not even close! It’s a living death and it’s robbing any chance of dignity for my dad!

He strode towards the door. I’ll get someone to take her out of here! Fraking bitch!

“He’s not in pain. He can’t remember it. If you look at it from another angle, you’ve got a chance to deal with his passing. A car wreck just takes him. No last words, no time, no chance to say something or clear the air. He’s just gone.”

Karl thrust his hand out at Tia, then swept it towards his father.

“It’s a damn sight better than this! This is a living death! Where’s the dignity in dying this way!?”

“Well,” Tia said calmly. “How is being torn in pieces dignified? How is the body’s natural function of evacuating its bowels dignified. Death is not dignified. It’s just death. The flesh quits working. Dementia allows you to come to grips with loss while they’re still alive. You get to say goodbye and they can hear it.”

Karl ground his teeth so hard the enamel chipped with a series of small pops.

“He would never remember it!” The intensity in his voice seemed to get through to Tia, and she fell silent and watched Karl like a bird watching a hungry viper. Karl stepped closer to Tia, body leaning towards her as he held his anger barely in check. Tia started to take a step back, then shifted her feet, planting herself firmly in place next to Karl’s father.

“You’re afraid. It got him, and you’re afraid it will get you too.”

Karl ducked his head as Tia hit his fear squarely. He raised it to stare angrily at her as she nodded to herself.

“Yeah, I’m afraid. I hate what it’ll do to my family when it happens.” He clenched and unclenched his hands agitatedly. “I wish I could have five minutes with it in a small room…just me, it, and a baseball bat.”

Now she did take a step back, but not from fear. This was an assessing glance, and Karl felt suddenly stripped bare. Tia held her gaze on Karl for what seemed like minutes, then said, “Deal, I’ll see you when you get diagnosed.”

Karl opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Tia seemed to shimmer and fade. A small heat shimmer floated above his father, who moaned then smiled softly at something only he could see. He gazed, open-mouthed at where Tia had been, then pulled out his cellphone, and dialed son Pearson’s number. What the hell just happened? He took a deep shaky breath, then another. Pearson answered on the second ring.

“Hey Pearson, it’s Dad. I’m gonna need my bat back…”

World’s Eye View – 26

I think we’re in trouble. The station wouldn’t ring like some bell from just a panel hit, would it? We might have lost something. Once the decision had been made, he called Roels and Salila over to man the cameras, and cycle through them to look for other possilbe damage. “I’ll help them button up”, He told the two. He took a look at Salila, then jerked his eyes away as his body had started to respond. God I gotta keep it under control. I couldn’t live with myself. He hurried away from the two and down to the airlock to help Ingers, and Kim.

The EVA inspection was thorough, and the information was bad. The main body had been clipped by something, and while there wasn’t a leak yet, the irregular dent would weaken the welds under the constant and extreme temeperature changes as the station passed from sunlight to darkness four times a day. Kim sat everyone down to discuss the options. “As it is currently, we are in no immediate danger. But as Ingers has pointed out, the uneven expansion and contraction will eventually pop the welds open, unless it is fixed immediately.”

Thompson was in his own thoughts as Kim talked. Should I or shouldn’t I tell Ingers and Kim? After all this time how do they no t know about the capsule? Vyhovsky never talked to them, o anyone about trying to get the Xian-Xi freed from the docking rings. Why is that? What made it so important to him that we didn’t know? I can’t figure that out. So, why haven’t I said anything? Because I’m paranoid that’s why. It’s a secret, and for whatever stupid reason, I’ve kept it a secret. He was pulled out of his self-examination by Kim’s next words. “Ingers looked over the Xian-Xi capsules during his EVA, as have I. It appears that comrade Vyhovsky, was trying to sabotage the capsules.” Roels and Salila stared at Kim like he’d grown a second head, Thompson felt himself go pale, and cold. “Sabotage?! What the fuck, Kim?!”, a voice yelled. Thompson looked around and then realized it was his own. What the hell? Sabotage? Where’s Kim going with this?

“Yes, fiend David, I’m sorry, but ‘friend Eugeni’”, Kim almost spat the name, “has partially dismantled the docking rings. In the apparent hope of marooning us permanently. The rings have small boxes inside the exposed areas that appear to be some kind of small, disabling charge, according to Ingers’ inspection.” “Are you certain of that, Kim? Ingers, are you certain?”, Roels sputtered. “Explosive charges? Why? This is a science station, not an orbital missile battery.” Kim nodded. “In truth that is all the station is supposed to be. But who knows what Russia’s ideas for the station were with ‘worst-case’ scenarios? This place would be ideal as a missile defense item. The base’s orbit is four times around the earth in a twenty four hour period. The orbit is more pole to pole, than geosynchronous, or equatorial. One might wonder why, if one was of a paranoic disposition.”

Thompson stared at Kim, slack-jawed. You’re kidding, right? How is a station that barely has enough room for us, and in a particular orbit suddenly become part of a Russian military conspiracy? This is nuts. “H-how do you figure this? Have you gon all X-files on us Kim? That’s just, crazy”, Thompson finished. He looked at the others, and could see Roels and Salila leaning against each other, and talking in quite whispers. Ingers scowled at Roels, which Salila caught and shrank back against Benoit. Roels didn’t seem to see the look, but he hunched down as Salila clutched at his arm. He’s still terrified of Ingers. So am I. I don’t get how he can be so Ingers one minute an d so psycho the next.

He put the thoughts aside and listened as the others talked. Roels argued that there was no way Vyhovsky could have brought charges like that up with him without them being discovered. There seemed to be too many and to precisely placed for one man to get them all into the ring without his efforts being discovered. Salila said nothing and stayed close to Roels, and away from Ingers, who had begun to stare blankly at her, once more. Kim looked over at Ingers, who ducked his head and turned away. “So, what if it was put in place by the Chinese when they made this part of the station? I wouldn’t put it past them, or any country, to build in a few ‘safeguards’ in case some kind of conflict arises. Look at Russia with the Missile platforms they tried to disguise as nuclear communications. You don’t need a big bosster if the warhead’s in orbit, just a push at the right time.”

Kim glared at Thompson for a moment, then said with a sigh, “Yes, it could easily be that the devices were in place as part of the Chinese designed section.” He strightened up and projected his voice. “What it all means is we work together, and see if there’s a way to defuse the devices safely.” Thompson took a deep breath. Maybe it’s way past time to let the cat out of the bag, and fix this. “I think that was what Vyhovsky was trying to do. He’d uncovered the devices. Maybe that was why he’d kept the radio signal a secret.” Everyone turned to Thompson, listening. “How does one link to the other, friend David? Do you have a theory?”, Kim demanded. “Yeah I do”, Thompson replied. “Think about it. What if we did know about people surviving down there. The first thing we’d be doing is thinking about going home. We were in a debris orbit. IF we didn’t move the station, we’d have been perforated most likely. Look outside. It happened. We have no idea how high up we are except a computer’s best guess, since there’s no telemetry. We’re gonna burn up when the station finally drops to the edge of the atmosphere. I think he was trying to free the capsules by taking the rings apart. The bombs were a complication he hadn’t figured out.”

World’s Eye View – 25

The menace surrounded Ingers like a palpable aura. Even at his most contrite and gentle, Inges radiated violence. Barely caged violence. At the same time, Kim used Ingers as much as possible, banking on that intimidation to make his ‘democracy’ work. Thompson still hadn’t said anything about the docking ring and the Xian-Xi spacecraft. He was certain, somehow, that mentioning a way home would tip the fragile balance they had, and visions of Vyhovsky floating dead also kept him cautious and secretive. For whatever reason, he just could not get himself to reveal that.

Thompson floated back towards his room, and looked in on the communications station. Salila was there, along with a very attentive Ingers. Each movement she made, he almost mirrored exactly. It was a disturbing feeling Thompson had watching the unconscious dance. She kept shifting away, he kept closing the distance ever so subtly. A shift of motion as he floated, a slight twitch of a leg to change his facing. She was being subtly cornered at the station. “Hey Ingers?”, Thompson said, surprising himself. Ingers snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in, and gazed at Thompson with an almost thankful look. “He should be either taking a quick shower, or in bed”, Ingers answered quietly. Thompson nodded. “Okay. Think you’ll be ready to check the panel attitude systems tonight? We’ve missed that check a few times now.” Ingers eyes further cleared as he put his mind to the problem. Thompson thought he was losing himself again as he didn’t answer for nearly a minute. Salila, shifted back to the far side of him, and started checking the system as she’d been shown while Ingers floated in the center of the room, anchored by one hand. “Yes, I can do that”, He finally said.

“Good, I’ll help you button up for EVA. Think around nineteen hundred hours?” Ingers nodded, and it seemed the old Ingers peeked out from his eyes. “Yes, that will work.” “Good”, Thompson said again. “I’ll see you at the airlock then.” He started to turn, then turned back. “Salila, Ms Shukla? Could you look in on Roels and re-bind those ribs of his? I’d do it but after six hours EVA I don’t want to take a chance on screwing it up.” Slalila looked up with thanks in her eyes as she launched past both Ingers and Thompson, through the hatch, and was gone up the tube towards Roels cube. Ingers looked as if he was going to follow, when Thompson spoke up. “Want me to help you with the channel search? It’s been a while since I’ve pulled duty here, the refresher course would do me good.” Ingers nodded, and then begain talking Thompson through the system.

Four hours later, Tbhompson had just gone to bed when there was a sharp vibration that set the station groaning from stress. Thompson was out of his netting, and scrambled to the camera station, flipping through the cameras one at a time to try and find the source of the sound. The fifth cameera showed the cause. The last three panels on the section they’d just shut down were torn away, the wreckage that impacted the panels, and the panels themselves were nowhere to be seen. Ingers bounced into him from behind. “What’s happened?”, he asked anxiously. “Panels got hit. Maybe a metorite, maybe space junk”, Thompson replied. He felt his shoulders tense as the camera displayed the damage.

“We have good news and bad news”, he said. “The good news is that panel was the one we just shut down, so it’s empty of ammonia. We didn’t lose anything.” He paused taking a breath. “The bad news, look at how the panel’s damage is. I think the station itself may have gotten tagged. We need to EVA and check it out. There isn’t a camera that can check that edge.” He looked back to Ingers, who for the moment, seemed totally focused. “I’ll go. I can run the camera and snap some images. We can make plans. I want to check the antenna also. All the data inside says it’s normal, I want to check it outside and be certain.” Thompson shrugged, then said to Ingers, “You have my proxy for ‘vote’. Let’s get you buttoned up.” Kim, Roels, and Salila showed as the two started for the hatchway.

“What happened?”, Kim asked them. Thompson listened to Ingers sketch out the situation. He sounds so normal fright now. What’s going on in his head? Thompson listened as Kim polled a quick vote from the others, and got a unanimous decision. Nothing like catastrophe to make us all pull together. Geez, what a world. His attention came up as something in Ingers speech started alarm bells. “Maybe I should take friend Benoit with me to look check for damage.” Benoit looked surprised by the request, and looked over to Thompson. No buddy, don’t go. Tell’em your ribs aren’t healed. Thompson shook his head minutely, hoping Roels caught his concern. Roels turned to look at Salila, who was hanging back from the knot of men, clearly staying well away from Ingers.

“I think I have to decline”, Roels told Kim and Ingers. “It still hurts to twist and breathe. I don’t feel ready for an EVA.” He looked to Kim, who nodded slightly, then to Ingers, whose brows had furrowed down. He looked suddenly like a preadator whose prey had wisely moved out of range. Oh crap, what was he going to do? Ingers, what the hell are you thinking? “I will go with you, friend Ingers”, Kim said. “We all must, ‘step up’, as our friends say. Only in full cooperation can we survive.” Thompson’s teeth clenched at the blatantly political tone. Vyhovsky said the same thing, you ass. He focused, relaxing his features, and damping his anger before he looked up at the others. “That sounds like a plan to me”, he agreed.

Ordinary writing? NOT!

As a perennially amateur writer, I dream of writing a story that will entertain billions of people.  That brings me to today’s point.

All authors didn’t take up writing to be ordinary at it.  We all chose this medium as a chance to create something larger than ourselves and gift it to the world.  We’ve all told ourselves that if we enjoy the story, that’s all that matters.  This is true.  Sometimes the best stories are the ones we write for ourselves and no one else.  But there’s that little voice saying how great it would be to have our efforts, and skill at writing, recognized far beyond our own word processor.

We didn’t start writing to be ordinary at it.  We chose this as a way to be EXTRAORDINARY.  To leave a legacy.  How far that legacy goes has a lot to do with luck as much as skill.  That may be discouraging, but realize the only way to know is to keep writing.