The Dish on Dishes

Which has more influence nature or nuture?

I suppose that depends on the threat facing the organism. Take washing the dishes for example. Usually not a life or death struggle and yet… And yet this is a perfect example of nature and nuture colliding.

For some reason when I’m on kitchen duty, I actually make sure all the dishes are cleaned, counters wiped down, floors swept and washcloths hung over the faucet to dry.

When my husband does them, the dishwasher is loaded and a few are washed by hand. The rest are left to soak on the counters or are piled for the next load in the dishwasher. The towels hide in piles in various places and are usually covered with jelly because someone set their spoon on them instead of on the counter (to make it easier for me to clean—yeah, I still don’t understand that one)

I’ve taught all my children how to clean the kitchen. They prefer my husband’s way.  It’s easier. And as my oldest said, that’s what the dishwasher is for. A pot is not a dish and if you put my cast iron in there I’m make you lick off the rust. She wouldn’t, but it did need to soak overnight.   Of course,  when my oldest moved out for the summer and had her own place, she cleaned the kitchen my way.

Either my genes don’t express themselves until my children are on their own, or they know how to play the game. Either way, I turned out the kitchen lights and let my hubby deal with it the next day.

Apparently, they are expressing some of my genetic traits, just not the ones I wanted:D

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Music to Last a Hundred Years

Yes, it’s that time again. A new book means new music. Except the music that is playing through my head isn’t new. It’s over a hundred years old.

Go figure.

It could be that I am researching for my WWI novella that is due in September, or it would be that I’m just crazy.

So what am I listening to courtesy of Youtube?

Broken Doll http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Npji_-Q-sGc

Hinky Dinky Parlez-vous http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SfvrrSOkJ3o

These are the clean lyrics but many books site other lyrics or just made up new ones.

Over There http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B6hRDS3LvQQ

Which for some reason always brings to mind MASH and Father Mulcahy and his search for a Korean War song.

Alexander’s Ragtime Band

I want a Girl just like the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad

Pack up your troubles in your old Kit Bag (which is also from the Spanish-American War)

All of these seem weird and yet, in Born in Blood, the citizens of Dark Hope are preparing for war. They just don’t realize it yet.

Oh, and the cannibals are coming (but that’s book 3–Bathed in Blood).

In the meantime, here is the quote that keeps running through my head and will give you a taste of what is to come in this book:

Once lead this people into war, and they’ll forget there ever was such a thing as tolerance—President Woodrow Wilson, 1917.

 

 

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Syn-En: Registration, Chapter 6

Chapter 6

“Alright, diggers, get your worthless carcasses out of here.”

Bei jolted awake at the gravely voice. His ears popped from the change in pressure. Around him, people staggered to their feet. The whirl of ship’s nacelles filled the cramped room. The air reeked of dirt, blood and sweat.

And desperation.

Something wasn’t right. He scanned the cluster of people packed into the space, looking for…someone.

Scraped hands pushed oily hair out of smudges faces. Young children clung to the ragged hems of older people. Dirt settled in wrinkled flesh, aging men and women, amplifying the terror on the boys’ and girls’ faces.

“Up, I say.”

A whip snapped in the air over Bei. A pop of electricity exploded over his head, raised the hair on his arm.

The dozen or so people around him cringed.

Charged whips. Inhuman overseers. Bei followed the black lash to its wielder. Red, segmented armor cut the man’s six limbs into joints. Spherical eyes protruded from under its helmet, and mandibles opened and closed like folding doors over sharp teeth.

The overseer wasn’t Human, but a Scraptor.

The word surfaced from deep in Bei’s subconscious. He knew the thing, knew he should fear it, and yet… Yet, he refused to cower before it. Was he tired of bowing before the ugly bug-like creatures, or was it something else?

“You deaf?” The scraptor lashed out again. This time, he hit Bei.

Bei jumped as the electrified strap connected, slashed his shirt sleeve. His body shook, but the pain… There was no pain. In fact, he felt better than before, not as run down. How could this be? He covered his flesh with his hand to stem the blood.

“Get!” Bug-ugly raised the whip again.

The other humans prisoners pushed forward, crowded the exit.

The hair on Bei’s neck stood up. Someone was watching. Rising off the metal deck, he glanced around him. Bars surrounded the cramped space, but cameras could hide on the dark spaces beyond. His gut told him to act like the others.

He trusted his gut.

Bug-ugly flashed his pointy teeth. The whip crackled around his feet.

Averting his gaze, Bei shuffled forward, following the group. In his peripheral vision, he spied two children huddled around a slumped figure.

Small hands caressed bloody, tapered fingers. Tears streaked the dirt on their bruised faces.

Bug-ugly turned to face them. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Dashing forward, Bei moved into the whip’s range. The lash curled around his raised forearm and discharged. His body jerked and his knees buckled. He landed with a thud and sat motionless for a moment. Energy surged through his limb, crackled across his teeth. Was he immune to pain?

Eyes wide, the two children scuttled backward.

Bug-ugly jerked his lash free.

Bei shook his head. What was going on here? And why couldn’t he remember? He reached for the slumped figure. As soon as his fingers brushed her skin, he sensed her slow heart-rate and… and another heartbeat.

She was pregnant.

The two children huddled near the stark metal walls, clinging to each other.

Bei slid his arms under the expectant mother’s legs and back and rose to his feet. He knew she suffered from multiple contusions, a sprained wrist and dehydration. But how he knew, he couldn’t say. He eyed the backs of the other humans. The cell was nearly empty. Pinning the children with a look, he cleared his throat. “Stay in front of me.”

He could protect their backs, while the group ahead provided cover from the front.

Mouths open, the children glanced from Bei to Bug-ugly. A charge built up in the air. The two youngsters scampered forward and slipped out the door. The whip hit the ground where they’d been standing.

Bei’s long strides closed the distance between them.

“Did you see that?” A soft voice asked.

He checked over his shoulder. Bug-ugly hadn’t said the words, yet he could have sworn it came from nearby.

“He is protective of the diggers. Many of his kind are.” A deeper voice this time, like rocks rubbing together. “It is useful when we are not making quotas.”

Heat flashed through Bei. He knew those voices. Knew them and hated them.

“Yes, but it wasn’t in his programming.”

Programming? The word burned like acid on his skin. Bei tightened his grip.

The woman in his arms moaned.

Walking down the ramp, the two children turned to watch him, concern deepened their brown eyes.

“It’s alright.” Bei forced himself to relax. She didn’t need him injuring her further. His long strides quickly closed the distance between him and the main group of people. They left the ship and stepped onto packed ground. Instead of blue sky and open space, a rock dome arched overhead.

They were underground.

Water dripped nearby. A mine, he knew. Yet, the space remained close, too close for a tunnel and had corrugated walls. A cattle chute. Humans were being herded. His ears strained. The voices had disappeared. His elbows brushed the sides of the metal walls, but he didn’t drop his hold.

As soon as he got to where they were herding them, he’d take time to think, figure out what the hell was going on.

Then he’d plan his next course of action.

And maybe a little payback.

Wonder if ol’ bug-ugly would like getting beat with his electrified whip? Bei marched out of the chute and into a four-by-four meter tunnel. Water dripped from the cut rock walls, gathered in channels along the side, and rushed down the sloping floor. Strings of lights illuminated the passage.

The group thinned as some rushed ahead.

The children slowed until he caught up. The older one eyed him from under blond dreadlocks. “This is our home.”

A girl, Bei guessed, from the pitch of her voice. Probably six or seven. “Will there be someone to take care of you two and…” He didn’t want to say mother. He had a feeling some women didn’t like being asked their age. Although the woman seemed to be in her early twenties, she could be their mother. “And her.”

The little girl pointed to red hashmarks on the tunnel. “Yes. This is where our clan lives.”

Clan? Humans often lived in communities. He lived in a community. He tried to grasp the name of it, see it in the colored symbols on the wall. A mist filled his head and prevented him from seeing his clan’s markings. The tunnel branched into three directions.

“Which is your clan?” The little girl grasped the younger child’s hand and dragged him down the one with the red hashtag.

“I don’t know.” Just one more unanswered question Bei needed to add to the growing list.

The girl’s eyebrows met over her nose. “You must know. It is very important to know.”

He couldn’t agree more. Yet, he felt a block wedged between him and the memory. “Why?”

The tunnel curved and a man stepped free from an alcove. He grinned when he saw the little girl, but stopped cold when his attention landed on Bei.

“Daddy!” The little boy tugged free of the girl’s hold and raced toward the man.

The Dad caught up his son, held him close then buried his face in his neck. A moment later, the two raced ahead of Bei down the tunnels.

“Because…” She bit her lower lip. “Because it is. It is food and clothing and everything.”

Bei blinked. Very important indeed, and yet he still couldn’t remember. He followed the girl around another bend. “I think I’ve lost my clan.”

“That is not good.”

“No. No, it isn’t.”

Rocks skittered behind Bei. He guessed two men followed him. Something told Bei he wasn’t going to like the welcoming committee. His skin tightened.

“Once I hand her over, I’ll see if I can find my clan.” He raised his voice, hoping the guys behind him heard. He didn’t want any trouble.

He wanted answers.

The tunnel opened up on a wide cavern. Mud and rock shanties filled the space. Black smoke from the cooking fires smudged the jagged ceiling. Women and children gathered around bubbling pots in the center of the space. Men armed with picks and shovels stood on the roofs of the buildings.

Guess trouble had found Bei.

He stopped three meters into the village. “If you tell me where she belongs, I’ll set her there then leave.”

A man rounded the corner of a building, holding a sledge hammer in a white-knuckled grip. Dark eyes pitted his oval face and moisture clung to his scraggly beard. “Ruth. Here. Now.”

The little girl sprinted to the man’s side. “He doesn’t have a clan, Father.”

The man pushed Ruth behind him. “And so you thought to join ours by impregnating my daughter?”

“I just met your daughter on the transport. The child she carries is not mine.” At least, Bei didn’t think so. An image flickered inside his head. A blond-haired, blue-eyed woman with a warm smile. He breathed through the pain. That was his woman. His.

Shadows danced along the ground.

More men had joined the three behind him.

Fabric ripped. Ridges appeared along Bei’s arm. He nearly dropped the woman. What the hell? In the blink of an eye, the ridges disappeared. What was wrong with him. “If you just take her, I think I should leave.”

He could hurt these people, would hurt them if they tried anything. And they were going to try. He could taste the anticipation in the air. Practically see them drawing off the pool of courage, the presence of each gave the other.

“And have it said the Deutche clan doesn’t take care of its own?” The leader thumped the handle of the sledge hammer in his hand.

Instead of hiding in the ramshackle buildings, the women and children behind him collected rocks and broken handle pieces.

“Ruth can tell you that she’s never seen me before today.” At least Bei hoped it was true. Craters hollowed out his memory. His gut said only the blond woman would bear his child. But why couldn’t he remember her name?

The leader snorted. “Ruth?”

Ruth sidled out from a building. She stretched her lids until they slanted. “I haven’t seen one like him, since the Mings.”

Did the motion mean something?

“Are you a Ming?”

Bei rolled the name around his head, came up blank. “I do not think so.”

Two more men joined the crowd behind him.

He had to end this and soon. Crouching, Bei set the pregnant woman on the ground. He smoothed the rocks away before lowering her head. “I will leave now.”

He had to find the woman with blond hair and blue eyes. She could help him find his clan. She could help him find himself.

Raising his hands a little, Bei rose.

The men charged.

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Friday Funny

Hubby is on vacation and I’m enjoying his company, so here is a photo my friend Hugh sent me to enjoy. Don’t know who took the picture but I think we’ve all been there:)

Untitled attachment 00064.jpgHave a good weekend!

 

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You Oughtta Be on Pages

Hey all,

I’m looking for a few good names for my up and coming Born in Blood book.

If you ever wanted to be fictionalized, leave a comment with your real name, the one you give police, or the one you always wanted to go by.

I’m looking for those I can gratitiously kill off, a few minions, a few traitors and assorted other characters.

You can tell me your preference but I’m gonna use you where I need you, so don’t be upset if instead of being a big burly cannibal, you end up a cross-dressing spy:-).

If I do use your name, I’ll send you a free copy of Born in Blood in the eformat of your choice.

Bring on the names!

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Syn-En: Registration, Book 3, Chapter Five

Chapter 5

Groat scratched his chest. The new armor slipped. The layers of muscles hadn’t formed yet to hold it in place. But that would change in a manner of days. Then he’d be stronger, tougher. Until then, he’d have to live with the stench of assembly line. He glanced at Mopus, watched the green Munician swim in and out of focus.

Did the new breed of Human endure these trials?

Clacking his claws, Groat drew Mopus’s attention.

A small smile played with his emerald lips. He stopped in front of Groat and flicked a piece of lint from the shiny red alloy. “Getting used to the new armor?”

Groat stomped away. He didn’t appreciate being groomed by the Munician, it made him feel less than equal. Then again everything the species said prodded Groat’s pride.

The political arm of the Founding Five excelled at acting superior.

Twitching his stomach muscles, Groat moved his claws behind his back. He hated the damn things, wished they’d been removed with the new models.

Yet, the Municians demanded claws be standard issue for every suit.

Stupid nuisance. Both of them. Groat stopped on the Amarook rug, rested his foot on the raised head. “I’m talking about keeping the new Humans, mixing them with the diggers.”

Mopus waved away his concerns like dust in the air. “The improvements in labor will raise our profits. And higher profits mean bigger bonuses. Besides, you’d just destroy them. It’s what your good at.”

Groat stiffened. Insulting him in his own office. “I just want it noted, that I object to their integration. They are more machine then man. And machines can’t be trusted.”

“You worry too much. These are not sophisticated technology, but crude Earth-based machines. I surprised they can even walk.” Mopus pursed his lips. “Now, if there isn’t anything else, I wish to observe how our little profit makers adapt to their new programming.”

The Munician didn’t wait for a response but glided over the floor and out the door.

Pausing by his desk, Groat tapped on his holographic keyboard and stopped the recording. If the machines malfunctioned and harmed the diggers, Mopus would pay for it out of his bonus and Groat would get to test his  new armor.

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Phoenix Comicon, Part II

Given that this was our first Comicon, I didn’t really understand how these photo ops things worked. So I kinda, sorta didn’t allocate enough time between photo sessions. I actually thought the time on the ticket was when you were supposed to appear. Boy was I wrong. Everyone lines up and that is the order in which you are taken.

This conventions big draw was the cast of Babylon 5 and John Barrowman. Ooooh, John Barrowman. Yep, I bought 2 tickets to see him, not realizing 4 people can be in one photo. As getting a refund was iffy, we decided to take two pictures. Problem was, Captain Jack’s line was hideously long and I had another photo op 15 minutes after his started. The comic con volunteers were most helpful and offered to pull us out of one line and put us in another so we would get our photos. Instead we waited in line for 2 hours and were first (after the all volunteers and staff folks snuck in). Mr. Barrowman was very cool and said he’d do just about anything (except kiss) as long as we thought of it. So our first photo was serious.

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And then this happened.

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After we collected our stuff from one line, the staff fit us in the next line and we managed to get our photo taken with Bill Mumy. Lost in Space was hubby’s first intro to SciFi and says it was on when TV was good.

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We were able to attend a few lectures before our next photo op. So we heard things on engines for space travel by ASU professors, Josh Whedon’s career, and a rather heated discussion about Sherlock versus Elementary. But I loved that Benedict Cumberbatch pinned the producers of Sherlock into filming another 6 episodes before the series ends.  We also went to a bit of a stage performance by the Longshots, a zombapoc survival group.

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We then returned to the line to get our photo taken with Wil Wheaton. We were two away and had already handed over my belongings when the fire alarm went off.  The entire 3 story convention center had to evacuate. We were in the basement and dutifully headed toward the exit. The couple behind us had set their kids, 8-10 years old, to the side as they didn’t want their picture taken. The kids were swept up first and were quite upset because of the separation. John Barrowman, who was holding open one door leading to the stairway, had them stand between  him and a staff member until the parents caught up with them. Thankfully, they were not too far behind us. But boy, I would not like to experience those 10 minutes of terror.

We all evacuated across the street and hubby and I ended up standing next to the Grudge girl while the fire department showed up and gave the all clear. Never did find out what caused it, but rumor said it was a kitchen fire.

Back inside we went and took our place at the front of the line. John Barrowman and Wil Wheaton were messing around while we waited for the folks to return who were in front of us. Then pictures resumed. Wil thanked us for returning and my hubby asked him if he really tasted like chicken. He said no he didn’t but Dr. Parish did:-)

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We will be going next year, but will arrange our photo ops a little better so we can attend far more workshops.

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Phoenix Comicon Part I

It was bound to happen, but I don’t know if it would have happened this year except our daughter volunteered to help out at Phoenix Comicon. Since we had to drop her off and pick her up, we decided to go. Thanks to my daughter’s tip to buy photo ops and tickets on line, I managed to do just that.

But that isn’t to say I knew what to expect. I knew folks would be dressed up, but the convention was huge! I’m a huge SciFi fan and I know most of my comic book heroes. I was clueless on most of the anime and only vaguely familar with various video game characters.

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My husband and I spent 6 hours on Friday. One hour was in line for our photo op with Nichelle Nichols and Walter Koenig. Uber cool! I  have to say Nichelle has class and Walter has that Cheshire Cat smile.

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We then spent a few hours walking around the exhibit hall. I loved the steampunk display, but wished there was more.

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Hubby didn’t see why the catapults weren’t in operation. He wants his own, but for his birthday/our 25th wedding anniversary, he’s getting a telescope. Maybe when we get a little more land, we’ll build our own catapult. The exhibiters offered to help.

They had multiple sets built honoring Star Wars. Wished there were a few more aliens about, but that’s okay.

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I got my Doctor Who fix and hey, there was even several Tom Bakers. Since there were multiple Tardises (Tardi?) I figure there was some funky quantum vortex going on. K-9 even put in an appearance but I didn’t have my camera:(

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The 13th Floor was there with their cadre of monsters. They put on the haunted house during the month of October and are near our house.

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Lots of authors and artists. I bought 3 books. 2 on drawing and one from Gini Koch. I also bought a tee-shirt with a raven and a quote from Edgar Allan Poe. Hubby got a tee-shirt that says “Are you out of your Vulcan mind?”

And because I couldn’t resist, I purchased two made just for me notebooks. I picked the cover, the interior (one was blank, the other a ledger). The man who ran the booth is the son of  teachers and donates part of the proceeds to schools for supplies. http://www.skullastic.com

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More on Friday.

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Syn-En Registration, Book 3, Chapter 4

Happy Memorial Day to those in the US.

Chapter 4

Nell leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The soft purr of the Icarus’s engines swirled around her. “I’m out of ideas.”

No movie she remembered covered being trapped in a very tiny room with a six-limbed alien wolf and an autopilot steering them straight into enemy hands. She’d even removed the isolation wire in her cerebral interface to interact with the computer directly. Yet, even Mom couldn’t help.

Obviously, her husband had not watched all the movies she’d given him. Otherwise, he would have known that the autopilot should have an override, so she could set the spaceship down on an asteroid or moon. Just as she drew her last molecule of oxygen, Bei would rescue her.

She dragged her forefinger and thumb over her eyes, causing white spots to dance on her eyelids and sighed. Why hadn’t Hollywood written a movie about this very situation? Why couldn’t she think of a way out after two days?

Elvis’s nose twitched. When he climbed off his chair, his nails clicked against the metal deck. He curled up next to Nell. “Does this mean you’re giving up?”

“Never give up or surrender.”

The Amarook’s ear flicked. “That is from a movie.”

Nell hugged her shins and set her chin on her knees. “Don’t mock my use of movie cliches. It comforts me. Besides, not all of us can lick our cares away.”

Elvis’s tail thumped and his lips curled into a smile. “It is most handy.”

“Do you think the Skaperians will stand behind me when I register humanity?” Registration had been her only option, only way to get help to find Bei, Rome and Keyes. Dipping her hand into Elvis’s downy feathers, she scratched him behind his ears.

He stretched his neck a little and his eyelids drooped. “If there are any left alive.”

His purring vibrated along her fingers. “I thought there was a Skaperian base on Erwar.”

That was where their damaged spaceship had laid course. Too bad, the ion trail left by her husband’s kidnappers aimed for the same planet. She didn’t want to meet the lime-green elf and his Scorpion side-kick without an army at her back.

“Before your Skaperian allies went into hibernation on Terra Dos, the embassy on Erwar reported deaths from the Surlat Strain.” Elvis shifted. “They could all be dead.

She scratched behind his other ear. “Or some could have survived, and now their numbers are growing. It has been a hundred years since the two planets lost contact.”

I am picking up a Skaperian energy signal from the embassy’s location, Mom’s reassurance flooded Nell’s head.
“See.” Skaperians must be alive or in stasis. They just had to be. The Amarooks could sponsor humanity’s registration, but Nell needed the Skaperians’ political and military might to retrieve Bei, Rome and Keyes. She swallowed despite her dry mouth and her fingers gripped his feathered scruff. “How much longer until we land?”

Elvis shook off her grip before rising on his hindlegs and tapping the keyboard. “We’re beginning our final approach now.”

Now. She scrubbed her hands down her face. After two days stuck in this room, now seemed too soon. She stared at the clock readout on the screen. “I wish we could see Erwar.”

See if people gathered outside, noticed the shuttle’s arrival. Aliens were people too. Well, all but the elves and bugs. They were the bad guys.

“Perhaps you should check your link to the computer. It has pictures of the planet and a map of the Skaperian embassy.” The Amarook stretched out along the deck and flipped onto his back. He flashed images of Nell rubbing his stomach.

She ran her hand along the bumps of Elvis’s ribs, down his sternum and found the sweet spot that made his leg twitch. As much as she hated the vulnerability, having access to the Skaperians’ library would come in handy. Closing her eyes, she focused on entering the ship’s Combat Information Center. Mom?

A digital representation of her mother appeared in Nell’s mind. Like the last time she’d seen her, Mom had her hair tucked up in a bun and wore a floral print dress. She sat at a computer, ready to find answers to every question. Yes, dear?

Are we ready?

Of course. I said I wouldn’t leave you, and I haven’t despite the change in hardware. Mom smiled and tucked a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear.

I appreciate it. The information Mom provided had saved Nell’s life more than once. She hoped the streak continued.

Mom’s hands hovered over the keyboard. It is the least I can do for my daughter.

Except alien engineering, Syn-En technology and Nell’s cobbled memories constructed this mom. Like all mother-daughter relationships, it was complicated. An ache pulsed at the front of Nell’s skull when she thought about it.

Would you like me to provide more information on the Founding Five?

No! Elfie boy and Scorpion were both members of the Founding Five——the aliens who set the rules of sentience and controlled the planet. They were also the stuff of her nightmares for the last two days.

Mom frowned. I can stimulate more serotonin to calm you.

I’ll be fine. Right, because that’s all Nell needed, someone messing with her brain. Show me our proposed landing site and the pathway to the embassy.

With pleasure. Mom tapped a few keys then disappeared.

A black grid materialized around Nell. Slowly, layers of green crept over the lattice. Large trees with drooping branches swept the grass. Fragrant blossoms in day-glow colors hung in star-shapes from verdant bushes. Beyond a brown stone path, a creek burbled. Golden fish swam in the clear water, arced through the air to catch a fly.

Elvis shimmered to life next to her legs. “Is this where we’ll land?”

“No.” Pushing aside the needle-like leaves, Mom ducked under a low branch. “You’ll set down here.”

Nell’s stomach lurched as the image spun and coalesced. The clearing widened to nearly the size of a baseball field. The brooke edged the right field and a stone pathway trimmed the left outfield. Nell’s lunch of cardboard rations revisited her mouth before she swallowed the bitterness. “Do we follow the brown stone road to see the wizard of Skaperia?”

Mom chuckled softly. “Yes, it will take you to the Skaperian embassy. Do not forget to take the introductory crystal given to you by the Witan. The information should convince the new ambassador that humanity is their ally.”

Nell stroked the two-inch hexagonal crystal under her shirt. She hoped the data encoded on the chip convinced the Skaperians to look for Bei, too.

The low hum under her feet altered. A whine of gears meant the landing struts had been deployed.

Fisting her shaking hands, she stuffed them in her pants pockets. “How many aliens are outside?”

Mom shrugged. “Unknown. Sensors were damaged in the attack. But records indicate fourteen alien races were used as servants at the embassy.”

Servants her Aunt Fanny. The aliens would be slaves, non sentient slaves. How many of them had been human? And could she use them to free Bei if the Skaperian ambassador refused to help?

The deck bucked under Nell’s bottom.

Touchdown. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes. The four walls of the safe room replaced the image of the park. A wave of claustrophobia swamped her senses. Nell waited for it to recede. It’s okay, she would be leaving this room soon.

I’m opening cargo bay doors. Please, remain inside this room until I verify atmospheric conditions. Mom’s cheery voice swirled inside Nell’s head.

Nell pushed to her feet and stared at the closed door. The air better be breathable. All the scuba gear was on the upper deck in the crew quarters.

Elvis stretched. His pink tongue lolled out as his rump stuck up in the air. “Most of Erwar’s residents require an atmosphere between fifteen and twenty-percent oxygen.”

Oxygen at eighteen percent. Mom’s voice shook.

The Amarook arched one feathered eyebrow.

Nell’s heart tumbled over a few beats. Uh-oh. Tell me, you’re not experiencing a glitch, Mom. They couldn’t afford another setback. Not now.

Not a glitch, dear. Recalibrating our position based on current satellite imagery. 

We landed in the wrong spot? So much for autopilot. Nell slid aside a metal panel by the door and tugged on the lever. The seal around the door released with a hiss. A dry breeze carried the scent of ozone on a cloud of dust.

Elvis sniffed the area around the jam. “I detect no toxins.”

Erwar appears to have suffered an environmental calamity, dear. Most vegetative life has been wiped from the planet. The Skaperian gardens are now desert.

Desert. That didn’t sound too bad. Nell had been born in Phoenix. She could handle desert. Shifting to the side, she curled her fingers around the handle and pulled the door open.

Emptiness yawned in the former engine room. Open pipes dead-ended where the fusion reactor once stood. Scorch marks licked black flames along a three-inch wide gap on the hull. The opening was smooth as if done by a laser scalpel. “Did Scorpio’s weapon do that?”

Scorpio, as you call him, is a Scraptor. They provide security and military might for the Founding Five, so it is logical to assume it was his weapon.

Nell knew what happened when assumptions were made and it wasn’t pretty. Is there any defense against the evil laser?

Mom sighed. Technology is not evil. It is——

Spare me the lecture, right now, Mom. We’re going to need a defense against it.

If you place a sensor against it, perhaps the CIC can devise a countermeasure.

Right. A sensor. The ship listed to the right. Ponytails of wires broke loose from a severed conduit and unspooled into individual cables.

It will have to be a wireless one, given the damage.

Elvis trotted to the gash. He snuffled the opening before licking it. His nose crinkled then he spat onto the floor. “Nasty stuff.”

O-kay. Nell stepped down into the curved belly of the engine room and crossed to the door. “And where would I find a wireless sensor again?”

I would recommend you use a spare arm. The CIC can maneuver it around to take more readings.

Nell shivered. The meat market it was. She opened the engine room door and mounted the short flight of stairs to the cargo bay. Hot wind bussed her cheeks and tossed grit into her eyes. She tugged the neckline of her shirt over her nose and mouth.

I think the emergency packs should contain everything you need for the journey to the embassy, dear. But I can make a list of recommended items if you’d like.

That’s okay. Knowing Mom, it would probably include a change of underwear. Nell had already packed a pair, not that her Syn-En uniform needed it. The outfit was a long way from the astronaut diapers of the twentieth century. She just hoped she didn’t have to find out how her body’s wastes were repackaged.

Reaching the top of the stairs, she blinked in the bright light. Orange dust coated the two padded benches running the length of the cargo hold and more twirled inside through the open bay doors. Opening the elongated cabinet over the right bench, she bypassed a feminine arm hanging on a metal peg and selected one of the thicker male ones.

The skin was cold and rubbery to the touch.

Nell shuddered. Gross, gross, gross.

“I can attach that while you assemble our packs.” Elvis held his fur-covered hands out for the limb.

“Gladly.” Nell dropped the arm then scrubbed the feel of it from her palms.

Holding it against his chest, Elvis trotted from the room.

I would recommend you wear the modified boots. The sand seems quite loose. At Mom’s suggestion, the overhead bin holding the boots flashed a green light.

Blinking, Nell lifted the seat off the bench and freed Elvis’s helmet then set hers on her head. When she lowered the visor, gray tinged the world. She dropped the cushion and the bench compartment sealed with a thunk. Rising on her toes, she opened the overhead compartment and pulled out the survival packs.

A map overlaid her vision and a compass rose materialized in the upper right hand corner of her visor. The landmarks are no longer visible, so I will guide you to the embassy this way.

Thanks, Mom. But do you know if the embassy is still there?

Satellite imagining indicates that two square miles of it are protected by shielding and is still standing.

That was something at least. Nell shrugged on the pack’s shoulder straps and buckled it across her chest.

“I’ve attached the arm to the wardens. Repairs are beginning on the hull.” Elvis’s muscles twitched as she secured the saddlebags on his back. He toyed with his helmet until it fit his muzzle properly. “I hope we reach the embassy before dinner. I do not relish a side of sand in my food.”

His voice whispered softly through the speakers inside her helmet.

“Me either.” Nell grabbed the first aid kit off the wall on her way to the ramp. Using its clips, she attached it to her chest, then grabbed her all terrain shoes. “Mom, once we’re clear of the ship, seal it up.”

Will do, dear.

Her footsteps faded to a rasp when she stepped onto the ramp. Rivulets snaked down sand dunes, and an orange haze clung to the soft peaks. Sheesh, the Sahara Desert had more noticeable features.

Wind molded her uniform against her frame. The temperature sensor on her visor flashed forty-nine degrees Celsius. Ooh, a balmy one-hundred twenty degrees. Thanks to her suit, she wouldn’t desiccate after twenty steps.

Sitting on the edge of the ramp, she slipped on the shoes and secured them with Velcro straps. She rose and stared across the ocean of dust. Hollywood may not have thought of her trapped on the spaceship, but they had thought of a sand world. Mom, giant worms don’t live under the sand, do they?

No, dear.

Elvis quickly donned his sandshoes then stepped into the sand. Waffle marks followed behind as he walked. He glanced over his furry shoulder. “Coming?”

“Yeah.” Bei needed her. Which way? Dunes to the left, dunes to the right. And a big flashing green arrow on her visor, pointing the way. Mom knew her well. Walking like she wet her pants, Nell managed to avoid tripping and stepped onto the sand. Then another step, and another.

Muscle tensed as she lifted her sand-shoes and cups of sand. Crap. Walking in thigh-high water would be easier. Puffs of dust marked her progress.

“You can shut the doors now, Mom.” Nell turned to watch. Thanks to the cloaking, it appeared as if the benches in the cargo bay floated in the air. Seconds later, nothing but barren desert surrounded her. Her breathing echoed loudly in her helmet. She could find the ship again, couldn’t she?

I am with you, dear. I won’t lose you.

Right. Mom was in her head. Mom could lead Nell back to the ship. Provided the link didn’t break.

“At least, we know the shielding works.” Elvis circled Nell.

“Cloaking.” The showoff couldn’t even get the terminology right. Turning to the side, she tracked up a dune. “You should walk at a moderate pace to conserve your strength.”

Elvis raced up the hill and waited. His wagging tail stirred up almost as much sand as the wind. “I am excited. This is my first time on an alien world. Don’t you remember your first touchdown on a foreign world?”

“Yeah.” Her freewill had been highjacked by Mom, then soon after she’d been held hostage and sentenced to death, then there’d been the near war she’d started between two species. Good times. Her vision swam. But at least, she’d had Bei by her side.

Bei had better be alright.

Squaring her shoulders, she reached the apex of the hill. An ocean of sand dunes surrounded her. “Are you sure the embassy’s around here?”

Just follow the arrow, dear. You can’t miss it.

Mom sounded a little too happy about it. Nell hoped that didn’t mean psycho Mom had returned. Psycho Mom had been happy and helpful, too.

Trust me, dear.

Yeah, that would work. Still, what choice did she have really? Besides, the Syn-En computer was in charge, not the Skaperian. Nell set one foot in front of the other and slid down the hill.

Elvis loped at her side. “I wonder if there are other Amarooks alive. I had relations that served in the embassy.”

Images of pink and gray mottled wolf-faces filled Nell’s head. “The Amarooks would have survived with the Skaperian. You have a symbiotic relationship, right?”

“We did.” Beneath the orange dusting, he glowed red. “Until they betrayed us, experimented on us.”

“These folks weren’t part of that power play.” Nell ran her hand down his back. Grit infused his soft fur. “So don’t rip anyone’s throat out to payback the wrong.”

Elvis’s eyes crinkled behind his clear visor. “I—”

He yelped and his front paws disappeared in a wave of sand. His arm splayed out to his side as if to catch himself, but they too were swallowed.

Fear and panic swelled inside her head. Elvis’s emotions rippled through her, kicking her heart rate up, drying her mouth and warming her body with a spurt of adrenalin.

His face disappeared.

“Quicksand!” Nell lunged forward. Her hand closed around his furry hind leg, just as the ground gave out underneath her.

Quicksand? Mom’s voice rose a notch. I have no reports of any such thing. In fact—

Obviously, no one had told the quicksand that. Mom’s voice fritzed out. Sand closed over Nell’s head and swallowed her.

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In Honor of Towel Day–a free short story

Way back when, in a time when dinosaurs had big hair and metal bands wore make-up… Okay, I wrote this when I was in college in a galaxy far, far away.

Let’s try that again.

Here is a very old essay and since I reference that brilliant book, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams, I’m finally getting to post it on/near Towel Day. Technically it’s tomorrow, but I’ll be at comicon all weekend, so it’s going up early.

Enjoy!

Me and My Backpack

In his book, The Hitchhicker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams offers some very good advice, not only to freeloaders running around the universe, but also to students entering a university from high school. The most valuable advice offered to cosmic travelers is, of course, ‘never forget your towel’. To the new university student this translates into never forget your backpack.

The words ‘Don’t Panic’ sprawled in bright red letters across the cover of the Guide offer a sort of comfort to the new studen, but they don’t compare to the false sense of security provided by the backpack. In a world of spiked hair, fluourescent shirts, and bright jams the sober often drab color of the backpack reminds us that somewhere outside the university exists a world that still wears business suits, pastel pants and blouses, and elegant coiffures.

As we the students forage from class to class amid the skateboard fanatics, roller derby skater, mad bicyclists and deranged electric cart drivers, gasoline fumes miraculously stored in the backpack, remind us tat just beyond those buildings lies a civilized world of gas hogs and coal consuming power plants. Although the backpack offers a physiological comfort, no one can deny the pleasure created by whacking a skater, who deliberately ran over your foot, upside the head with your backpack.

In many cases the backpack may exceed the boundary of just a security blanket and become the student’s best friend. Many students can be seen around campus openly carrying on conversations with the backpacks while eating lunch. Some students hide behind newspapers and pretend to be reading when actually they are talking to their backpacks (the record shows that no backpack has ever responded).

Students and backpacks are never separated. Backpacks can often be seen hanging to their pals shoulders during a conversation among friends or receiving the customary piggy-back ride while traveling on bicycle or climbing up stairs. The loss of a backpack either by a falling out or kidnapping causes sever depression among the owners. Even the bright colors and strong arms of a new backpack can never take the lace of the first. should the backpack make it to graduation, many doctors are now able to surgically remove the backpack.

Besides being an ever present friend, backpacks also make very good bedfellows. When students are unable to get enough sleep the previous night, they can use the backpacks as a pillow or a substitute teddybear.  If students are uncomfortable sleeping in strange sleeping in strange surroundings backpacks are able to stand guard duty.  Placed close by, with them partially unzipped (just enough to show a little teeth) they can frighten off many potential disturbances. Most important, if a student is tiny enough he may be able to crawl inside the backpack for warmth on a cold winters day.

In the Guide, everything is stored in the towel. Items that are asked to be borrowed have just been temporarily misplaced, the same also applies to the backpack. When a studen asks to borrow a piece of paper, it isn’t because the student didn’t buy any (no self-respecting student would admit to that) it is just that all the heavy books are on top of it and they can’t reach it. Pens and pencils are a different story. Everyone knows that a backpack lives on pencil lead and drinks ink (various ink and pencil marks are found near every opening). And that hollowed out shells are lost forever in the bottomless pit of the backpack. It is only when you begin to search for change to enter Vendoland that old carcasses are dredged up. The old excuses concerning the disappearance of homework like the dog used it as toilet paper and I forgot it at home are replaced by my backpack ate it.

Backpacks do provide some services not mentioned by the Guide. Miscellaneous edibles can be stored in there like sandwiches, homemade cookies, chips and fruit. Experience tells us that aromatic food frequently disappears between entering and leaving the backpack (questioning the backpack provides no answers). although it is ideal for food, the portable cafeteria does not provide beverages; therefore, various on-campus vendors must be consulted when thirsty.

Why?

Backpacks have not been known for being able to control their bladders especially during class time or in transit. These leaks can prove awkward.

Students new to university life would have trouble making the adjustment if it was not for their backpacks. The self-confidence provided by the backpack eventually enables students to switch to the briefcase. Although this does not usually occur until their Senior yer or upon entering Graduate school. And when our memories of university life start to wan, the times spent with our backpacks with be forever ingrained on our stooped shoulders minds.

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