Showing posts with label sci-fic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sci-fic. Show all posts

Friday, January 27, 2012

I Heart Being a Flasher! Or, Putting the Ski Back Together

 I just can't stay away till next Autumn-- think I'm gonna have to post a story bi-weekly. Sometimes, they will be edits of Oktober's efforts, as promised. As always, be it cutthroat or kind, your critique on these first drafts (and subsequent drafts) is more than welcome-- it is craved!
 Peace, Mari

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Putting the Sky Back


 Galen isn't the kind you'd expect to bomb a cathedral. He's neatly dressed, for his age; no baggy pants drooping off his backside, and his shirt is ironed, and tucked into the waistband of his jeans. His smile, when you draw it out of him, is real, honest, not a smirk. He doesn't pretend to the apathy, the cool of non-caring, that most teenagers effect nowadays.

 And he's not racist; this is born out by the colorful ring of friends he keeps around him. That's a key detail in the case. The media is calling this a hate crime, racially motivated, just as we'd expect from previous notes.

 He's a good boy. He donates hours weekly to the local food bank, sorting and hauling and running errands for them on his own fuel. He takes his grandmother to church when she's up to it, mows the lawn in summer and shovels all winter. The boy has never been in trouble of any sort, and does well in school-- he's slated to receive several scholarships when he enters college next Fall.

 So: Why was he running down the empty street, minutes before St. Celia's blew up, grinning? Did he suspect that the worshippers inside were a control group? Why did streetcam footage show him climbing up the pole seconds afterwards, just before the same cam was disabled? And how did he know how it was there?

 That's the real question, gentlemen: is one of the subjects aware of the experiment after all this time? If so, we have a problem. We're very near the end, here, and we can't afford to have our results skewed by a random factor. If it is random, and not the beginning of something larger. Yes, Harves?

 I agree, it could be. Galen is intelligent, resourceful, he could have discovered a link to us on his own, although he couldn't have an accurate picture of the breadth of our connections, just a mild inkling at best. It's happened once or twice. But he could be part of an organization-- a grassroots rebellion against the project. There's been no sign till now that the subjects have any communal awareness of their situation, outside of a few small groups known within their society to be lunatics. Galen may be the sign, and we can't afford to ignore it.

 I'm taking recommendations on this, of course, but my inclination is to clamp down, hard. To remove the smaller spyware and put back the atmospheric info net instead. Yes, we did remove it for a reason, Harves-- and the subjects registered it as a natural occurrence. They even took the blame for it's disappearance!

  I believe they created strictures designed to prevent further problems with the 'ozone.'  They may believe that they've succeeded in repairing it, or that it rebuilt itself, or that their scientific data was wrong to begin with, but that's immaterial. By the time they can confirm otheriwse, we'll be finished here. We're in the last stages-- precisely why we need to avoid any further upset. This has been a long haul, and I'm not prepared to write it off as a ruined effort. It's containable if we act quickly.

 That's it. Any contrary suggestions? Good. Let's put the sky, back, then, gentlemen. Thank you for your time. 

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Oktober the Thirteenth: Migration

Where my mind found this, I cannot say.

Peace, Mari
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Migration

By Mari Kozlowski
10/13/2011



 When all the stars had settled, earthing the power of their cool essence to avoid tumult, Qi rose and began.


 “You know that the balance above has shifted and weakened. There is strain for each of us that still dance in our proper paths, and danger to those who leave them.”


 Her voice sounded tinny and shrill, even to her; a mark of her worry. Several of the others glimmered outward in subtle discomfort. They had avoided this too long.


“The problem increases, and I’ve learned that it will increase exponentially in the next gate of the dance. We must leave this system or be extinguished, one by one.”


 Many of the starfolk leapt up towards Qi, crying out like harsh bells. They moaned their pain at her news and pulled at their bright hair till Morqwai Eldest lifted his palms for silence. Peace came, gradually, and Qi spoke into it.


 “I know we’ve grown used to these patterns, the tender beauty of our dance here. The truth is a rogue, flying in our faces, but it can’t be ignored. We cannot dance in the broken pull. We must depart, and soon.”


 A single voice challenged her now; Harquata, who had been known to shift paths for amusement, risking collision with others. Of course, she wouldn’t believe in the depth of the danger they faced.


 “How do you know this, Qi?” Harquata asked, an oily shine in her tone. “Who gave you this unavoidable truth?”


 An expected question, but unpleasant anyway.


 “I’ve been communicating with some of the dwellers below. They know of our danger; they risked their own existences to find a way to tell us.”


 Shocked cries again, but Qi carried on this time.


 “They’ve found a new system for us. They have a way to guide us there, and I believe we must accept their help.”


 Harquata’s laugh cut through the whispers, and she rose against Qi.


“You’d have us believe those animals down there? The ones who’ve threaded our paths with lightless trash and broken the balance we live by? The ones that send out brash noise to confuse our senses? We should believe they mean to help us, instead of destroy us completely?”
 

She made to leave the meeting place and others gathered around her, ready to follow.


 Qi called out to the rest.


 “The dwellers themselves are suffering! The Great One destroys them as surely as their own actions. They can guide us, and even if they prove false, we can find our own way. Leaving will be hard, I know; but there will be other paths.”


 Morqwai nodded and spoke the final judgment. “We will go. With help if it is offered. At least they can give us that.”


 The hubbub of moans and whispers faltered. Harquata returned to her place, head bowed, but still sparking with discontent.


 For the next thousand years, their last thousand years, the denizens of that small spiral galaxy watched their night skies darkening, bit by bit, till the sight of starlight had become a myth. Children born in the final centuries disbelieved stories that spoke of such points of light; and nursery rhymes about twinkling were taken as nonsense.


 But far, far beyond, in a deep pocket of space that once knew only emptiness beside its large star and spinning satellites, new light sparked and flowed, inspiring many dwellers of many of those worlds. Some of them even captured the joy of the dance as if they could not only see it, but feel it vibrating outward from the limbs of the stars in the wealth of a clear night sky.