Writing Prompt: Soldier

With the coming of the new year, I will be trying to spend more of my time writing.  Even if the results aren't posted here or published in a new book.  Like a runner training for a marathon or a wood carver whittling to hone their craft, I will dedicate a portion of each day to increasing my creative talent.  There are so many more stories to be told.

After the drain of the holiday season, my creative juices are running a little dry.  For today's blog post, I decided to reach out to another source for story ideas.  Reddit has an expansive number of writing prompts in various subreddits.  One such prompt is simply titled "Get Up Soldier, You're Not Dead Yet..."

Around me I can only sense complete darkness.  Along with the lack of any light there was only total silence.  I couldn't sense anyone else in the emptiness.  As near as I can tell, I'm the only one here.  There are no sounds of anyone breathing.  No whispers of others moving in their bunks.  I am utterly alone in the resounding silence of the dark depths.

It is only after I become aware of how alone I am do I notice that I'm not in pain.  The last thing I remember, I had just finished a long hike with a heavy pack.  My entire body ached.  My stomach was grumbling loudly for some nourishment.  I dropped my pack by my bunk and headed to get something to eat.  Then only darkness.

Could I be dead?  Could this be what death feels like?  Did I die of starvation before getting food?  Did I get a meal but there was something wrong with it?  Is this Heaven or Hell?  Where am I?  Where is everybody and everything else?

As I start to truly ponder my situation, a new sound reaches me.  It is the distinctive noises of a door opening.  A dim light shines through the opening.  My eyes try to adjust to the new illumination while I try to figure out where I am.  Then the figure speaks in an authoritative tone.

"Get up soldier.  You're not dead yet.  Although you did give it a good effort.  Now, get your ass back to training.  They need these infirmary beds for real fighters that are really injured.  Not some fool that lets his insulin get out of whack on a simple hike."

I will definitely be exploring reddit more for writing prompts.  Have you any other ideas for short story starters?  Is there a story idea you'd like me to write?

The Adventure Has Been Chosen

One of my favorite celebrities is Wil Wheaton.  He's had his career highlights.  Movies, regular on a television show, guest star on another show, host of his own clip series, host of his own YouTube series.  His face has graced more than a couple teen magazines.  Fans are able to easily follow him as he has grasped the advantages of social media.  Above all, he has remained humbly human, sharing things he enjoys as well as personal struggles.

On Monday Wil took to Twitch.tv for a rare broadcast.  Live to Internet viewers, he read a Choose Your Own Adventure book from the 80s.  He let the viewers direct the story by voting in the chat room when it came time to make a decision.  He would then read as the story continued and laugh at many of the jokes made in the chat room.  It was was a joy to both watch and take part in.

In the second story he read, we were a race car driver.  The decision was made to participate in an off-road race.  The route followed took us and our mechanic through a poor refugee camp.  Ultimately, we finished the race in fourth place after promising ourselves we would return to the refugee camp to help.  

Wil Wheaton then suggested someone should write up what happened after the race.  How some of the characters celebrated.  So here, today, is my wrap up to "The Race Forever."

You and Eduardo whoop it up as you climb out of your Land Rover.  Fourth place was no major win, but you had survived.  The two of you even managed to avoid damaging the hastily repaired axle any further.  The prize money, even for fourth, was still enough for a month-long party in whatever port you may want to visit.  First, you had a promise to keep.  It was a promise to yourself, but still one very important to follow through with.

You locate the nearest bazaar and start putting in orders.  Fortunately, you found a friendly caravan leader who agreed to transport your purchases.  This way, you wouldn't be damaging any more vehicles on large rocks.  Before long you are standing outside the bazaar, looking down a line of camels loaded with food, blankets, tents, and other items.

The caravan moves as a single line to the refugee camp.  Just like during the race, the worn out souls soon crowd around you, making movement nearly impossible.  However, this time you have more to offer them than the exhaust from your Land Rover.

At a barked command, the camels kneel down on the ground and workers start unloading wrapped packages.  You help others nudge the refugees out of the way and start setting up improvised tables.  The weak individuals finally make room and just watch, dumbfounded, as trays of food are placed on the tables.

You stand on the rock that damaged your axle earlier and look out on the tired faces of the refugees.  Your voice carries out over their heads, "Times for you have been rough.  You are a people without a home.  Still, you come together and help each other as much as you can, giving what little you have of your own."

Looking at the faces now staring up at you, you recognize the family you encountered earlier.  The man that had disappeared after diving in front of your Land Rover, the child he had been carrying, and the woman he handed the child to.  They are huddled together at the edge of the crowd.  Locking eyes with the man, you continue speaking.

"Had I won First Place, the prize money would have been enough for more permanent housing.  As it is, enjoy this feast and may these tents provide enough shelter for the time being."

The man nods at you.  You nod back and step off he rock.  You walk over to the improvised tables and sit down next to Eduardo.  As you grab a small loaf of bread, the refugees begin sitting down and filling their plates.  You smile inside and out as you realize how a few critical choices led you to this feast for those that had so little hope left.

Wil Wheaton's recording can be found here.  It includes a log of the chat so you can see how the votes go and enjoy the conversation as much as he does.  If you enjoy it, go ahead and subscribe to his channel.  I am truly hoping more videos like this are made.  There are a lot more Choose Your Own Adventure books to share. 

If you watch the video, what decisions would you have made differently?  How would you tell the story of what happened afterwards?

Story Time

I have had children of my own for almost a decade and a half.  I was a child myself for a large number of years.  Ask my wife, and she'd say I'm still rather childish.  Knowing all of this, it's surprising that I haven't written a children's story until now.  Honestly, the thought of attempting one has never entered my mind.

During a chilly morning walk to school with my sons, one of them started singing a silly song he had recently learned.  There were no specific lyrics, just a list of animals and matching hand gestures.  The end of the song is punctuated by a slightly unexpected animal.  Now, how to turn this in to a story.....?

Word had spread.  All the animals of the forest had heard.  There was to be a large party.  There would be good food.  There would be dancing.  There would be fun with friends.  It would be a good night for all the animals invited.

Mr. and Mrs. Raccoon had decorated the glade with ribbons.  Lights of all colors hang from the branches.  Mr. Rabbit had cooked his favorite vegetables.  Mrs. Bear made a salad mixed with bright berries.  Mr. Cat caught enough fish for everyone to enjoy.  There would be a lot to eat.

The Beaver family brought their drums.  The Canary sisters had been practicing new songs for a week.  The Duck brothers had their trumpets and Fred Frog was an expert with the guitar.  Music would flow like a breeze between the leaves.

The party started and all the animals started having fun.  There was dancing.  There was good music.  There was beautiful singing and laughter.  Every animal at the party was enjoying the night.

It suddenly went silent.  The singing stopped.  The drummers stopped drumming and the horn players stopped blowing.  Everyone looked in the same direction.  They all stared at one animal that just arrived.  Nobody expected him to be at the party.  Nobody expected him to bring snacks.  Nobody ever expected Squirrel.

Who would you invite to an animal party?  What do you think they would bring?

Huh? What now?

Stories can come from anywhere at any time.  The same could be said about superheroes.

My youngest son once asked me to write a blog post about a character he was to create.  I told him I would do it under one condition.  He had to come up with a character with a decent backstory.  Then I would write the rest.

So here it is, How The Heck Did I Become A Superhero Man.

It is an average day in an average city.  Average men and women walk up and down the sidewalks going to and from work and home.  Nothing in particular causes this day to stand out from any other day.  That is, if an observer ignores the open door standing in the middle of the sidewalk.  The flow of people part around it like a stream separates around a bridge support.  A view from above would see the foot traffic around the door appears like a cat's eye with the door being the vertical slit of a pupil.

Everyone seems to do it unconciously.  They don't slow down or stop and change direction.  Conversations and cell phone calls continue on uninterrupted.  Nobody seems to notice the open door standing by itself as they pass it by.

This continues until one of the average, typical office workers walks away from the path of the others.  He crosses the middle of the "eye" and glances up from intently staring at his cell phone as his steps take him through the mysterious doorway.

For a moment, a sensation passes through his body.  From head to toe, his whole body gets a tingle similar to his hand falling asleep.  He stops.  He stands there motionless as the flow of human traffic continues to pass him by.  He moves only to turn around after hearing the door shut behind him.  Without knowing why, he picks up the door and carries it down the sidewalk in the direction of his home.

Weeks have passed.  The man that had passed through the door now spends his days working with the other average employees in the office.  During the nights, he explores his new abilities.  One of which seems to be no longer needing to sleep.  He seems to be able to run long distances without becoming tired.  He can lift extreme weights.  He is even able to hold is breath for extremely long times.  Powers and abilities he uses rarely, only when an incident happens right before him.  He doesn't seek out justice or an end to all crime.  At least, not yet.

All of this from simply walking through the door that now stands alone in the middle of his living room.  A door that hasn't opened since that fateful day so many weeks ago.  The entire time a question lurks in his mind.  A question that is the basis for his "super" identity for the time being.  How-The-Heck-Did-I-Become-A-Superhero-Man.  A clumsy title, he admits.  However, a symbol with a simple question mark had been taken by a comic villain.  He also didn't feel that wearing a suit with a door on his chest carried the right impact.

It always amazes me the things that come from the mind of a child.

Who do you think the archnemesis of this hero would be?  Where would that villain get their powers?

Powers

Once again, the inspiration for a story comes from somewhere unexpected.  I was experiencing the Kansas City Renaissance Festival with my wife and oldest son.  We watched some jousting, sampled a turkey leg, listened to some choirs, and flew through the air on a zip line.

One fun area was an arena in which competitors could battle anyone and everyone with soft foam swords for 15 minutes.  They also had a small field where you could fight a knight with a live blade after a brief yet detailed lesson in swordsmanship.

One vendor carried a range of mock-up weapons of different materials.  There were scimitars, bastard swords, great swords, hand axes, and hammers.  Plastic versions sat embedded in bales of hay.  Wooden samples were grouped in barrels.  All of this combined to spark a new story in my mind.

For most people, toy stores are filled with play things and items of childish joy.  For me, they are so much more.  Inside are tools, comrades, and, most importantly, weapons.  In my hands, anything intended for fun can become a real version of itself.  A plastic chainsaw becomes a roaring tool for felling trees.  A toy pistol turns into a full-fledged deadly firearm.

My personal favorite is foam swords.  I get a special feeling each time a lightweight handle shifts in my hand and becomes a leather wrapped grip.  The sword becomes heavier as the blade extends and shifts from a dull gray to the shine of steel.  I have to keep myself from giggling with glee as what was once a plaything is now a deadly weapon in my hand.

Now, don't misunderstand me.  It doesn't matter what the toy is made of, my touch has the ability to turn it into a real weapon.  A wooden sword becomes just as metallic as one made of plastic or foam.  Firearms are just as lethal whether originally plastic, aluminum, or even soap.  They will be loaded with a single magazine.

My ability does have its limits.  After the rounds are exhausted in a gun, it becomes a toy again, but broken and useless to anyone now.  Swords also have their limits.  After wielding one

All of this started when I was a toddler.  It only took my parents a short amount of time to figure out why my stuffed dogs kept disappearing and real puppies appeared in my room.  Back then, the transformations seemed to happen at random.  My parents learned to give me generic toys that didn't represent anything in reality.  Until I was 12 or so and learned how to control my ability.  Then things got real fun.

These days I have become particularly popular at the toy stores and imitation weapons vendors at the local Ren Fest.  Some of the sword guys actually make custom blades for me without knowing what I actually use them for.  Just that I buy lots of their products.

I have also become a degree of infamous in the back alleys at night.  I'm not fighting super villains in flashy battles up and down the streets.  I am stopping muggers and watching out for innocent people walking the streets.  I wonder what the toughs and macho jerks that I beat down would say if they knew they were getting knocked around by a toy.

What is a super power you wish you had?  Is it one that exists in the comics or a completely new one?What would you do with such a power?  Let everyone know in the comments.

Combat

We have spent weeks in the trenches.  So much longer than headquarters told us we would be here.  The people we are fighting were supposed to be pushovers.  The plan was to march into town and set ourselves up in the middle of town.  There our captain had a prepared speech he would give.  His words would inform everyone in the small town that they were now under our jurisdiction and control.  Even though they would be subject to our laws and regulations, we would be leaving their current leaders in place.  That's how things were supposed to happen anyway.

We came under fire as we crested the hill outside the town.  It was precise fire from the trees lining the road.  There was incoming from so many different directions, we didn't have any time to locate any of the shooters.  A handful of the newer recruits fired randomly into the trees.  The order to retreat was given and everyone fell back in a disciplined group. We cleared the trees and the attack stopped.  Five bodies lay on the ground.  The soldiers that had fired at the town citizens were all dead.  Their remains would be left there until our mission was completed.  At that time, we all thought it would only be a few hours longer than originally planned.

We could only assume those dead soldiers were still laying out in the open where they had fallen.  It had been impossible for us to get that close to the town again.  During the weeks since we had lost more friends and fellow soldiers.  We never saw the residents themselves.  Just heard shots ring out as soldiers tried to maneuver out of our covered positions.  More often than not, the soldiers that had become uncovered would then fall.  The morale of the entire squad was lower than ever.  Even our rations were running frighteningly low, despite the decrease in hungry stomachs that needed filling.

The captain had tried to communicate with headquarters.  They kept repeating that we had to be mistaken.  Their reports said the residents of the town were all unarmed.  According to the people safe and sound behind their office doors, this mission was a cake walk.  No reinforcements were coming and  we would be extracted once it was confirmed the town was under our control.  At this point it seemed like we would be fighting here to our last man.  An end that was getting closer faster than anyone expected it ever would.

With so few of us left, I now find myself the second in command.  Only the captain himself outranks me.  Should he fall, I have sworn to myself to ignore headquarters.  When the decision is mine, we will surrender and let the residents take us all prisoner.  There's nothing they could do to us that would be worse than sitting here waiting to die.  Is there?

Musical Interlude

There are a number of writing challenges out there.  Some come as suggestions in an email.  Others can be found on websites offering authors the chance to post the results.  Occasionally they seem to come out of nowhere.  

I was having a conversation with my sons about boy bands.  A pun was made that included the names of a couple of popular bands.  This ignited a spark of inspiration.  It came to me that I should try to write a story that included the names of some bands hidden in the tale.  To fit the narrative, I did alter some band names to the way they are pronounced and not the "official" names.

It is a time of war.  The government was giving massive incentives to citizens in order to get them to join the military.  So much so, there was a big time rush to recruitment centers to sign up.  The media was proud to broadcast numerous stories of victories.  The exact nature of the enemy was never announced.  Nobody seemed to want to know who we were fighting as long as we were winning.

It seemed like everyone was willing to fight and risk dying to maintain the upper hand over an enemy they didn't know.  The people came from all walks of like.  Hard workers from the backstreet.  Boys from rich neighborhoods.  Girls who had only been competitive on the pageant runway.  All for one purpose, signing up and getting their incentive.  It seemed like you only had to point a finger.  Bang, you had a new recruit.

Regardless of their background, all of these raw recruits were sent to train at boot camp.  As soon as the fresh arrivals, the new kids on the block as it were, got a quick lesson in military discipline.  In order to field the best fighting force, they would all be equally transformed from boys to men.  After a few months of intense training and combat practice, everyone would be shipped out.  Once at the battlefield, they would be given only one direction.  Win at any cost.

It would be only after a day's hard combat and numerous losses that the true enemy would be revealed.  There was no real enemy.  The troops were being commanded to fight each other.  Survivors would be sent back to the battlefield again the next day.  Regardless of who won, victory could be claimed by the leaders that kept sending recruits in to fight themselves.

Did you see the names for all 7 bands?  Can you write a sentence or phrase with another musical group's name?  Let me know what you think in the comments.

Game Time

There are any of a number of adventures you can take on a daily basis.  Various universes to explore.  Personalities to experience.  Opportunities to either help or hinder, build or destroy.  With the activity I have in mind, here are just some of the things you can enjoy.

A swarm of dragons covers the sky.  Paths through the clouds appear before them as they swoop high over the ground.  The paths curve and bend through near misses between soaring bodies.  Occasionally unlucky dragons collide or run out of sky, only to disappear entirely.  Until, at last, only one is left to rule the heavens.

Money changes hands.  Land is bought and sold.  Homes are built and upgraded.  Entrepreneurs haggle and try to make their money work hard for them.  They acquire utilities and collect fees each time their associates utilize what they have to offer.  Risks are taken that may cause an individual to end up behind bars until they serve their time or pay to get out.  Ultimately, the victor is the one with the most money at the end.

Monsters are attacking a major metropolis.  They throw buses against buildings and scatter the denizens that live inside.  Walls are toppled by breath attacks.  Unfortunate citizens are consumed by the monsters to fuel their rage.  At times, even the monsters themselves are harmed by the actions of the other attackers.  The final monster standing rules over the destroyed wasteland that remains.

Not every family is happy or particularly successful.  Some are menaced by mice, Others become trapped on a train.  There is even a chance a member of one of these unlucky families might be terrified by topiary.  The only favor someone can do for these suffering families is to help them end their suffering by shuffling off their mortal coils.

A team travels through caverns and castles.  They encounter monsters and collect treasures.  During each battle, members of the team may help their mates to defeat the powerful beast, or slip something to the beast itself to keep their "friend" from becoming too powerful too soon.  Regardless of the result of combat, laughs are shared between the teammates.

All of these adventures are very easy to experience.  Just go to your favorite local game store and pick them up.  Each one is a board or card game.  In order they are Tsuro, Monopoly, Terror in Meeple City, Gloom, and Munchkin.  In these times of digital downloads and electronic devices everywhere, board and card games can still be just as enjoyable.  Just get some friends and/or family together and have an afternoon of games.  

With a little luck, it might become a regular event.

Busy Times

Ok.  I will admit it.  I missed the last two updates.  My real world job became a lot more time consuming than expected.  I have also had to spread thin what little spare moments I had left.  I had to wrap up editing on my new book and format everything to get it ready for publication.  I have also had to pick up supplies for my first solo sales in a booth during the upcoming Pioneer Days Festival.

With all that on my plate, I simply have not had enough in me to come up with new blog posts.  There hasn't been enough room in my brain for new stories to develop and start banging around.  With that in mind, I present a cheap dodge to coming up with something new today.  Here is an excerpt from my new novel, coming out very soon.

As they leave the system, Christian leaves his cabin and relieves Traylor in the pilot's cabin. She leaves the small space and climbs down to the otherwise empty galley to grab a bite to eat. She fails to notice as a figure appears out of nothingness behind her. The figure walks and stands directly behind Traylor as she is hunched over, eating. The new figure makes no noise or sounds. No breath fills the figure's lungs. No indications of soft footsteps on the hard deck. The figure simply stands directly behind Traylor, unnoticed.

Traylor continues to eat, looking up only when chewing to glance at the monitor displaying the relationship between the KRENNET and the other ship. She continues to eat, enjoying the peace and quiet of the galley with Christian piloting the ship and everyone else asleep or otherwise enjoying themselves in their cabins. She enjoyed being with the other members of the small crew, but sometimes being by herself was preferable.

As Traylor once again looks down at her food to get another bite, the figure behind her vanishes. Less than a second later the figure is sitting in the previously empty chair to Traylor's right, just at the edge of her peripheral vision when she eventually looks up again.

Traylor catches the edge of the figure in the corner of her eye. She jumps back in her chair, moving away from the table and preparing to defend herself from this sudden invader. Traylor finds her heart is racing faster than she thinks it ever has. She doesn't know where this other person came from or what their intentions may be. She only knows that her ship and the rest of the crew must be protected.

“Crystal! Alert the others, there is an invader in the galley!” Traylor yells up to the AI's audio pickup above the table. She keeps here eyes on the figure still seated at the table. The unexpected guest is a female human with long, blonde hair, smooth olive skin, and eyes of the deepest blue Traylor has ever seen.

Once things are finalized and the book is fully released, announcements will be made on Twitter and Facebook.  Until, then go, read, enjoy.

Satisfying An Addiction

It seems like the government is finding new things to ban every day. Some of them are banned because they are more harmful than good to the human body, regardless of how they make that same body feel. Other things are banned “for the public's own good,” whether it's any good or not.

Regardless of why something is banned, people will find a way to satisfy their desire for it. Even if it something they didn't have such an extreme need for when it was easily and legally obtained.

There is more garbage on the worn pavement than in the cans and dumpsters that line the alley. Numerous fixtures extend over beaten doors, but only one currently emits any light. Two dark figures stand in the weak glow. The shadows around them merging with the night above.

One figure is hunched inside their coat. Their hands moving nervously inside the deep pockets. Head down and shoulders hunched, she appears to want to avoid being noticed by the only other living soul in this ill-reputed area of town. While she is no stranger here, this place makes her nervous and afraid. It is only her strong desire, her almost physical need, for what can be acquired here that would drag her down to such a neighborhood.

The second figure is full of confidence. He stands straight and proud. This is his area. The scum that reside on these streets are his people. The businesses that operate here, legal and otherwise, do so at his leisure. He doesn't just live here, he is an absolute king. So much so that even the snobs from the richer parts of town seek him out in order to satisfy themselves.

“Welcome back my dear. You have returned sooner than I expected. I figured my last 'shipment' to you would have lasted you at least another two weeks.”

A look of concern crosses the otherwise happy face of the man. “You haven't been sharing my product with anyone else, have you? You know that is against the rules. If the wrong people found out about my little side business, you would be cut off from your supply forever.”

The huddled woman shakes her head vigorously, her voice shaky with nerves and fear, “No! I haven't shared with anyone else. I haven't told anyone else. I just had a few unexpected.....rough days. It took more than usual to calm me down. That's all. No risk to you.”

She stands a little straighter and her words lose most of their timbre. “Besides, I would lose more than my source if you were discovered. I would lose my entire inheritance. I would lose my very livelihood. A conviction, even for mere possession would make me a pariah in my social circles. You would just serve your time and come back to your operations, the same as before. Time behind bars might even get you a few new customers. I would be completely ruined. If either of us has to worry about the consequences of the authorities find out, it's me.”

The man waves his hand and nods in understanding. “Settle down, settle down. It just seemed a little unusual, that's all. In my experience, unusual is not generally a good thing. It causes me concern and I don't like to be concerned.”

He pulls out a small notebook and extracts a pencil from the metal spiral binding the pages. “Now, let's get down to business. What is it you would like today?”

The woman gives a nod and starts considering her request. “I want the good stuff. The stuff direct from South America. Don't you dare try to pawn any of that weak crap from Pennsylvania either. I'd rather eat mud than even touch that junk.”

He makes a few quick scratches in his notebook and looks her in the eye. “South America, eh? That isn't going to be cheap. It's getting harder to move product across some of the borders involved. It's actually easier to get stuff from parts of Europe or even Israel these days. Are you sure you wouldn't want some from there?”

“Expense doesn't matter. You know I can afford anything. Europe's stuff is decent, but they cut it with too much other stuff. It's still good product, but I want more purity. I want it direct from the source. I want it from South America. Colombia, Brazil, where they know what they are doing.”

A couple more notes are made on paper. “Fine. Suit yourself. South American it is. Delivery should be in about a month and a half.”

“A month and half? I can't wait that long. I need some now! I ran out yesterday and I can barely hold on as it is.”

“Hey, you want the good stuff, it takes time. I already told you borders are getting harder and harder to cross. Part of the trip will have to be made by cruise ship and that takes two weeks just to arrange. If you want anything quicker, I have a few samples on me. A couple of manufacturers you haven't tried yet. However, these will have to do you for now. The only other thing I have on hand is the 'Pennsylvania mud' you despise so much.”

Her hands fly out of her pockets and shake as she extends them to him. “Oh yes, please. Give me some. I need something now. Then I promise not to bother you again until the shipment arrives.”

He reaches behind his back and draws forth a thick pouch with a zipper holding the top closed. One hand holds the pouch by the bottom while the other slowly opens the zipper. The sounds of the the metallic teeth being separated echoing off the brick walls lining the narrow space. Once the zipper pull finally reaches the end, he slides his hand in and pulls out an array of small baggies. Each one contains a few ounces of the precious substance the woman has come to purchase.

He starts to extend the handful of baggies towards the woman, but quickly yanks them back, the plastic mere milimeters from her touch. “Don't get too excited now. We still have to discuss payment. Your usual amount, this time from South America. Plus these sample to tide you over. That should come to about three thousand, five hundred dollars total.”

The woman's face becomes contorted as she is obviously at war with herself. The price is more than she is expecting. She can still easily afford it, but it is considerably more than her usual amount. Hiding an expense that large won't be easy. Her desire for what he is dangling before her eyes is enough to inspire an idea.

She reaches back into her own pockets and withdraws three pieces of plastic. “Here, here you go. You can take what you want from my credit cards. I can say I made some random rash purchases. Nobody will look into that.”

He shakes his head as he begins to replace the baggies inside the pouch. “No can do my dear. I'm not your corner clothing store. I don't have the processing service that all your favorite retailers have. I can't take plastic. It's too easily traced. Too many bureaucrats getting their hands in my pies. This is a cash only transaction.”

Her hands begin to shake more than ever as she puts the useless hunks of plastic back into her pockets. Her voice picks up its old quiver again. “What about jewelry? I have some rings on me and there are some gold chains my mother never wears. She'd never notice if they went missing.”

“Nope. I can't pay my suppliers with the presumed value of things that are probably going to end up being reported as stolen the day after I deliver to you. I said cash, I need cash. You want what I have, you pay me what I want.”

“But.....thirty five hundred dollars? I can't get that much cash. My dad calls if I even get $100 out of an ATM. They don't care how much I spend, they just want to know where I'm spending it and that doesn't happen if I carry too much cash around.”

He quickly closes the zipper on the pouch and returns it to its hiding place behind his back. He flips his notebook closed and slides the pencil back into the spiral binding. He turns to leave the alley as she drops to her knees, sobbing. “Call me again when you have the money. I will hold the price for you for 48 hours. Any longer than that and my lack of patience makes the costs go up.”

Her sobs become pleading wails for him to do something for her. Wails that are only heard only by the one person whose business ethics and lack of other morals give him no desire to help the suffering soul in the alley.

As he turns from the dark alley onto a dimly lit street, a single thought crosses his mind. “All of this fuss and hassle over chocolate. Who'd have thought it?”

If chocolate were to be completely banned in America, do you think you could live without it? What is something you don't think you could survive without should it become illegal?

Taking Over The World

Villains the world over all have their own reasons for wanting to take over or destroy the world.  Some of their plans focus on defeating the hero, others just want their bidding done without question.  Regardless of why or how they try to complete their plans, would hero stories be worth reading if it weren't for powerful villains?

Finally, all of the pieces are in place.  I have planned for every contingency.  I have backup plans for my backup plans.  There are escape routes for my most dedicated personnel. Even some of the common cannon fodder may survive to serve me another day.  No big loss if they don't, they were just scum I hired off the street.  What remains of them can just as easily return there.

The expenses for this endeavor didn't make a dent in my total assets.  Which is fortunate because I will need to grease a few more wheels in order to maintain my position once I sit on my throne.  It would be a shame that so many people compromise their morals for the right amount of cash, if that fact didn't open so many literal and figurative doors for me.  Police officers in my pocket.  City officials looking the other way while licenses are handed out and permits are violated.  State legislators fighting laws that would hurt my plans, but actually help their constituents.  A few campaign contributions, some donations to the right charities, out and out bribes.  If any of them knew how much I had squirreled away from my business practices, legit and otherwise, they would demand so much more.

So much control.  So many people respecting and fearing me.  All of this from someone that couldn't even control his own life for so many years.  A drunk for a father.  A mother that was pregnant almost as often as she was high.  Siblings that were too busy getting into their own trouble to notice me doing what I had to in order to survive.  A beloved neighborhood pet or two disappears, only to be returned once a reward is offered.  Money that wouldn't be missed vanishes.  Car tires go flat just when I happened to be close enough to help, for a small fee of course.  Such subtle beginnings for a man that is about to rule the world, even if only from the shadows.

Now, in a matter of hours, my plans for the night will begin.  Those that are fated to be hurt will be hurt.  Those that must die will die.  As the dust clears, everyone will know my name.  They will look up to me and cheer for my leadership or quiver in fear of my anger.  It is only right that I take my place above everyone else.  I wonder if I should choose the material for my statue, or give the people the impression of control by letting them "decide."

If you were to rule the world, what is the first thing you would do?  What would your enemies fear about you the most?

Identity Verification

I originally had an idea for today's story that was about plans for world domination.  It was to be a piece from the point of view of a maniacal villain bent on taking over the planet.  It was going to be dark and powerful.  Then that train of thought fell off the tracks.

Netflix recently released a new version of a show that was beloved to me in my childhood, Voltron.  As I watched the reboot pilot episode, they mentioned each robotic lion choosing its pilot and the match can't be forced.  While their connection has a mystic angle, I got to wondering about a more technological angle for connecting a weapon and wielder.

There was one series that featured laser swords with an added function to the handle.  When someone gripped the handle, the weapon would sample their blood to make sure they were the kind of person allowed to wield such a weapon.  If the DNA didn't have the correct markers, the sword wouldn't activate.  I wanted to take this idea a little further.  What are some other biometrics that could be measured?  Could combinations of these physical traits be unique enough to tell one person from another?

"Alright you punks!  Millions has been spent on your training.  Apparently some high muckety-muck thinks that has earned all of you the right to your own combat equipment.  I don't see it, but they don't pay me to make these decisions."

A group of young, eager troopers sit still and straight in their chairs as a grizzled officer stands at the front of the briefing room.  The scars on his face and cybernetic leg are testaments to his long combat experience.  Behind him is a screen that currently only displays the logo of the military arm of the Interplanetary Expeditionary Forces.  The troopers know the screen will soon be showing them the specifications of the flight systems and weapons programs that will be assigned to them.  While they all respect the old soldier before them, on the inside they are all impatient and want to try out their new gear.

"Now, before any of you are allowed to pilot a flyer, drive a tank, or fire a cannon, it will have to be attuned to you.  Unlike those fantasy sims I know many of you play, there is nothing spiritual or metaphysical about this."

As he continued to speak, bars and graphs began to appear on the screen.  All of the troopers recognized the displays as the readouts of biological scanners.  Only a few knew exactly what each graph meant and what system in a body generated each readout.

"The first time you grip the controls of a newly configured system, it will take a number of biological readings from you.  DNA patterns, resting brain wave patterns, pheromone levels, and other statistics are are unique to each and every one of you.  Once these are all locked into the system's digital memory, it will compare them with the statistics of anyone else that attempts to use that system.  If someone else tries to use a system programmed for you, they will be ejected immediately.  During ground combat, this can be inconvenient.  I won't go into the hazards of this occurring during operations in space."

A quick shudder ran through all the troopers as they considered the realities of suddenly being ejected into a hard vacuum.  It was something all of them had seen the results of, but none wanted to experience personally.  As the group mentally recovered, medtechs entered the room from a side door.
 The officer finished his speech as generic schematics for computer systems and controller configurations flashed across the screen.

"Making these combat systems operable for only one person makes them extremely expensive.  Regardless of what the accountants say, I consider each of them more valuable than any one of you.  Once you have been dispatched, be sure and treasure your equipment and bring it back.  If you don't, I will personally track you down and extract every lost dollar out of your hide.

Now, follow these specialists to the medical bay and they will get you outfitted for your individual attunements."

There are so many different ways today of gathering biological data on an individual.  Would it really be so hard to customize a weapon or vehicle so that only one person can operate it?

I do realize this would be expensive.  It would also nearly eliminate the used car sales industry.  Can you think of any advantages to such a system?

Information Gathering

For centuries humankind has had the terrible talent for torturing other members of its race.  This has been done for many reasons, some seeming legitimate at the time.  People tortured each other to instill fear in their enemies, reinforce religous beliefs, or out of a perverted sense of joy.  The most common reason for torturing an individual, one that is still justified by some to this day, is the extraction of information.

Not every interrogator that resorts to torture causes severe physical pain.  Much can be accomplished by impacting the subject's mind.  Sometimes the person being tortured can imagine worse pain and suffering than the interrogator can actually inflict if the desired answers aren't given.  Rewards, beyond the ending of pain and suffering, can also be used to entice a torture subject to give up the wanted information.  Beyond any legal restrictions, the only limits on a torturer are their own morals and values.

The man sits in a single metal chair.  He is wearing only a tattered pair of shorts.  The chill coming off of the concrete floor and walls isn't enough to cause him to shiver, but is still uncomfortable.  The sole occupant stares at the floor in the glow of the single bulb mounted to the ceiling high over his head.  The starkness of the room allows him to ponder his situation with absolutely no distractions at all.

He doesn't know exactly where he is, but he knows why he is there.  He knows things.  Things only a very few other people know.  Things the other side desperately wanted to know.  Things they would go to any lengths to find out.  He is here so their interrogators can try to extract this information from him.  His only hope for survival is to keep from telling them anything.  If he speaks, then his captors would have no reason to keep him alive.  If the information gets out, his own side would kill him for revealing their secrets.  His entire existence hangs on his ability to keep his mouth shut.  Right now things could easily go either way for him.

The creek and scrape of the single door opening means it is nearly time for his fate to be decided.  A group of three men carry in a metal framework.  Once it is positioned, they all leave.  One of them returns and sets up a simple folding table next to the framework.  The single laborer looks at the subject in the chair and shakes his head slowly as he walks out of the containment room.  After a few minutes, an older gentleman enters the cell with a rolled up bag of tools under his arm.  He wrings a towel in his hands as though drying them.  Once he is satisfied, he tosses the towel on the floor outside the door and kicks it shut with an echoing clang.

The captive looks up at his captor in anticipation of what is to come.  The interrogator pretends his subject is beneath his notice as he steps to the table and unrolls his tool bag.  Many pieces of hard metal glisten in the light of the single bulb.  Sharp edges and spiny points are highlighted by the reflections they give off.  The subject in the chair knows what some of the edges are designed to do.  He is afraid to consider what the others may be intended for.

The men that had carried in the equipment now stand guard outside the room.  Through the door then can hear the faint sounds of the prisoner being strapped into the frame they had carried in.  They knew, from past experience, that the interrogation was about to begin.  A few minutes later, the sounds of screams resonate from inside the cell.  One of the guards glances at his watch.  He then reaches into his pocket and withdraws a couple of dollar bills.  He hands these to the other guard who takes them with a smile.

The sounds of human screams rise and fade and the interrogator continues his attempts to extract information.  The questions can't be heard from outside the cell as the interrogator never raises his voice above a loud whisper.

The sounds continue to rise and fall in volume and intensity for some time.  They finally cease seconds before the door opens once again.  The interrogator steps out of the room and simply confirms that he is done.  Inside, the captor hangs from the framework.  His head hangs loosely, his chin resting on his chest.  Sweat is streaming from nearly every pore and he is suspended motionless by his arms.  No marks are evident on his naked body as the guards step into the room and begin to lower him from the framework.

By no means do I condone torture as a generally acceptable interrogation technique.  However, like any other tool, it can be an advantage when used used with control and discipline.  In a time of war, the safety of one's own soldiers must be paramount.  This can still be ensured without losing a respect for all of humanity.

A Leisurely Cruise

My wife and I enjoyed a short cruise for our honeymoon.  On that same cruise were two groups that had gathered for reunions.  Ever since then, I had liked the idea of a sea cruise as a location for a class reunion.  The only hindrance is a lack of funds to organize such an expensive gathering of good friends and relations.  This doesn't prevent me from mulling over the idea of a cruise and what else may happen while the ship is on the water.  For this story, I thought I would present it in the format of a journal written by one of the passengers.

Day 1:  The ship left the dock this afternoon after everyone was told what to do in case of an emergency.  I still can't believe that someone arranged for our graduating class to have this cruise all to ourselves.  Sure, it's not a very large ship, but we weren't a very large class.  Even with many of my fellow classmates having families now, there is still enough room to get around and I don't feel crowded.  Not even with all the kids on the pool deck.  It seems some of my former classmates have been very fertile in the last couple of decades.  Now to take a few minutes and finish getting myself settled in my cabin.

Day 3:  The food here is fantastic.  I ate so much yesterday, I spent most of my time in a food coma.  The easy access to so many tropical mixed drinks didn't help my desire to sleep much.  The supply of food seems to be endless.  Each time I made a trip to the buffet line, anything that seemed to be nearly out was quickly replenished.  It didn't matter if it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, there was always plenty of steaming hot dishes ready.  There are more formal meals planned for other nights of the cruise.  I can't wait to see what those menus offer.

Day 6:  I spent the last couple of days catching up with some of my old friends.  We shared memories of our times together and told stories of what happened to each of us in the years since.  As a group, we then checked out the nightlife the ship had to offer.  None of us was too interested in the casino, so we participated in a few rounds of karaoke.  Our questionable singing skills were enhanced by a few too many drinks.  Nothing like some new stories to share at the next reunion.  I enjoyed the company of one person in particular.  I couldn't help but wonder what may have happened if I'd had the bravery back in school that I had at the end of the night.  I'm sure that kiss goodnight will lead to almost as much gossip now as it would have back in school.

Day 7:  Something isn't quite right.  I don't think any of the other passengers have noticed.  Too many of them paying attention to their families I guess.  The crew, however, all seem distracted.  The captain's voice didn't seem to be its bright and cheerful self during his morning announcements and list of scheduled events.  I also don't think the ship is where its supposed to be.  According to the itinerary, we should be headed back towards port.  The GPS on my phone shows we are still far out to sea and getting further from land.  Did someone hijack our reunion cruise?  Are we all in danger?  Is the captain stealing the ship for some reason?  What is going on?  It will be expensive, but maybe I can call someone on land with my cell.

Day 8:  I couldn't get anyone to answer my calls.  It was almost like nobody was even there.  The captain made an announcement this evening that explained it all.  Something has happened on the mainland.  He wasn't quite clear about what it was that happened.  All he did say was that hundreds of thousands of people are dead.  Communications are very spotty if they are there at all.  It seems like our cruise ship, and a few others like it, are now the lifeboats for humanity itself.

Day 9:  The attitude all over the ship has changed.  Parents are still letting their kids play, but the laughter seems muted and distant.  Meal times are much more restricted as some rationing is now in place to extend our food supplies.  It seems the alcohol isn't being rationed.  Some of my classmates now seem to be drunk all the time.  I'll take the fact not everyone is getting plastered as a good sign for humanity.  What's left of it anyway.

I may continue more of this story later on.  I may not.  I'm not sure yet.  While I decide, what kind of tragedy do you think the cruise ship passengers avoided?  A viral outbreak?  Some kind of massive EMP?  National riots and a breakdown of society itself?  Let me know in the comments.

A Day In The Mines

The curses of the Real World imposed themselves and prevented me from posting my last regular blog.  For that, I apologize.  I am adjusting many of my usual routines and patterns to accommodate a shift in my employment.

For today's post, I have been considering those that have entered the mining profession.  They risk their lives to work deep under the surface of the Earth and collect the metals and minerals we take for granted on a daily basis.  Silver, copper, and even salt all must be extracted from the dirt by people that spend long stretches of time away from the light of the sun.

In recent years, many people have discussed a secondary source for many of these minerals.  It would still require the risks and skill of miners.  However, reaching this source comes with a new set of challenges.  After all, it takes more than a pick and shovel to mine an asteroid.

The locator beacon was transmitting its signal loud and clear.  The survey crew had marked a very promising rock.  Their preliminary scans and tests seemed to indicate the presence of iron and copper ores along with some other trace minerals.  As the only miner close enough to reach it without exhausting too much fuel, Jackson would be the one luck enough to make a claim on the asteroid.  If he survived the excursion, this haul would make him a very tidy profit.  There might even be enough funds left over to upgrade some of the systems in his craft.  A larger cargo pod would mean larger future hauls for even more profit.  That would have to wait until Jackson had a chance to see exactly how much he could extract from this rock.

The beacon was about 5 degrees to his left and about 20 degrees under his feet.  A couple of short bursts from his maneuvering thrusters would place the beacon directly in front of him.  A brief burn of his main engine would start narrowing the 50 kilometer distance.  He could close the gap more quickly with a longer burn of his engine, but that would cost more fuel now and again when it came time to slow down and approach the asteroid itself.  Besides, the longer travel time would give Jackson more time to power up and run diagnostics on his mining equipment and space suit.

Some time later, Jackson is standing on a large barren rock.  The ticking of his landing thrusters as they cool unheard behind him.  His helmet keeping him alive and and blocking out any slight sounds that might make their way through the emptiness around him and the asteroid.  The only things Jackson could sense were the sounds of his suit's air recycler and the pressure of the suit itself on his body.  The lamps on his helmet don't brighten the omnipresent darkness much more than a few feet in front of him.

Jackson sticks the probe in his left hand deep into the powdery soil clinging to the surface of the asteroid.  He extracts the probe and places the sample in its tip into the machine he had been dragging behind him for testing.  As he waits for the results, he is momentarily envious of the tales of his great-grandfather and grandfather and their years mining.  It was said they could both swing a pick into the ground and pull it out.  They would then lick the dirt that stuck to the tip.  They each had the legendary ability to taste whether or not the ground had enough profitable ores to stake a claim.  Jackson had been tempted more than once with the urge to test his own sense of taste and its affinity for minerals.  It was the need to maintain a seal on his helmet that kept him from doing so.

Jackson had traveled about half the distance between his landing spot and the survey team's beacon.  He had collected enough samples to know the powdery "soil" had enough trace minerals to make it worth collecting.  It would require deeper probes into the harder core material of the asteroid to determine how much profit, if any, there would actually be.

If it were possible right now, would you want to be a part of a team surveying asteroids for possible minerals?  Or would you prefer the solitary existence of a miner itself?  While mining asteroids is still firmly planted in science fiction, much of the technology to do it does exist today.

Who Is Snoke?

Since the day Star Wars:  The Force Awakens was released into theaters, people have been guessing and publicly theorizing on the true identity of the dark Supreme Leader Snoke.  Some claim to prove that Darth Vader survived his funeral pyre and became Snoke.  Others claim it to be Darth Sidious/Emperor Palpatine, wounded when he survived the destruction of the second Death Star.  More still offer up facts that support the despised Jar Jar Binks as the one behind the holographic projection of Snoke.

I have an idea of my own.  It is supported by as much evidence as any of the other theories floating around out there.  The true identity of Supreme Leader Snoke is none other than Gaston from Beauty and The Beast.  Below are the facts that lead me to think this.

Snoke's wounds.  Gaston could easily have received head wounds like those seen on Snoke as he fell from Beast's castle.  His pale coloring could also be explained by some time spent exposed to the snow and cold waters present after the battle at the castle.

The Force.  Gaston's inability to use The Force would not be a handicap.  Nowhere is it shown that Snoke is able to use The Force.  He leads those under him with a strong hand and a drive that gets them to willingly follow him blindly.  Gaston has shown a similar ability to get others to follow him without anyone considering their own actions.

Size.  Gaston has a huge ego and sense of entitlement.  If he were to use a holographic system to communicate with his underlings, that projection would certainly be of considerable size.  The immensity of Snoke's image would only be fitting for a self-image as large as Gaston has.  After one view of Gaston's arms collection in his hunting lodge, is a weapon the size of a planet powered by a sun really much of a stretch?

Getting around.  All the different worlds in Disney's universe are interconnected.  This can be seen with the occasional appearance of characters from one area in another.  The methods are further exploited by Sora and others in the Kingdom Hearts video games.  With the recent inclusion of the worlds of Star Wars into the enveloping arms of Disney, it's not impossible to imagine a manner of transportation from the village Belle and Gaston lived in to the planetary weapon in The Force Awakens.

Are there any connection between Gaston and Snoke I missed?  Do you have an issue with one of the reasons I listed?  Is there someone you think would fit the bill better?  Leave a comment and let me know.

Endings

When planning a road trip you look at where you are, where you are going, and any stops you may want to visit along the way.  Writing a novel is generally done in the same way.  Figure out where the characters start and who they are.  Then, put them into situations that challenge them along their journey to the end of the story.  That is how it's supposed to work anyway.

Sometimes the characters refuse to cooperate and decide they want to take a different route than originally planned.  They would rather go and see The Alamo instead of taking the northern route by Mount Rushmore. I am having trouble finishing off my current novel, the sequel to Dangerous Stars.  One of the characters wanted to be playful, so I wrote in a prank for him to pull off.  Now my cast of crew mates doesn't want the story to end.

Until I manage to get them in line, here is a sample scene from the as yet untitled novel.

In the space outside, the CARRION CRUISER reaches a distance from the KRENNET that would barely be considered safe for maneuvering by nearly any pilot in space. The captain of the CARRION CRUISER transmits a signal directly to the KRENNET that Crystal relays to Traylor.

“This is Gierness Johnson, captain of the CARRION CRUISER. Delivery has been completed and accepted. The cargo is alive and well in your possession. We will depart this system once payment has been made and your AI sends ours the deposit authorization code.”

“Captain Johnson, this is Traylor. I am the pilot of the KRENNET. We were not authorized to make any kind of payment or credit transfer at this time. That wasn't a part of the instructions we agreed to. The previous carriers didn't require anything before their departures. It is our understanding that payment will be arranged by the officer that dispatched you with your orders.”

“No! I refuse to split any more payments with a little rat of a middle man that risks nothing more serious than a sore on his ass from sitting in his chair too long. We take the chances with the authorities, we risk our lives handling these and transporting these scum. We deserve more than just a pittance to live on. Now, either pay us or give us all the slaves you have. We'll deliver them ourselves and get the big payday.”

As Captain Johnson spoke, a series of alarming indicators activate on Traylor's panels. Crystal confirms what Traylor is seeing. “The other ship is activating their weapons systems and they are targeting us.”

Traylor thumbs a switch that will broadcast her voice through the entire ship. “Attention all personnel. Passengers secure yourselves to your bunks. Crew to stations. The CARRION CRUISER has taken an aggressive stance and we expect to be attacked at any minute. All airlocks are being automatically sealed. Passengers, be aware all hatches between cargo bay decks are automatically secured as well. In case of injury, please remain where you are until the threat has passed and help will be dispatched to you.”

While I try to get everyone in line, feel free to get yourself a copy of Dangerous Stars and Post Exodus to enjoy.  Once you've read them, leave a comment here or a review on your favorite site saying what you thought.

Beginnings

Every story has a beginning.  From "Once upon a time..." to "It was a dark and stormy night..." the start of a story is how the mood is set and characters are introduced.  Sometimes the details of a characters history, or that of the world itself, may be revealed as the story develops.  Other times these details are explained in the opening chapter.  Regardless of when the background is mentioned, it is the opening of a story that grabs the reader.

Here is an opening that has been running around my noggin for some time.  I don't know if there will ever be more of a story to go with it, but that is beside the point.

The sun is nestled in the mountains of the distant horizon.  The blue of the sky had been washed away by reds and oranges The light on the opposite hills had darkened with the departure of the day.  The peaks above the hills still glowed with the last of the waning light.

The strip of a black road stretches through the valley between the glowing heights and the shrinking orb.  Strolling beside the darkened strip is a lone figure.  He walks towards the setting sun, his back in shadow as he moves.

The air cools as the colors in the sky fade to black.  The shadows cast by the small brush on the valley floor disappear completely as the light of the sun vanishes.  The lone figure continues to walk in the dark.  The faint light of the full moon allowing him to maintain his path along the road.  His past lay behind him, distant but not forgotten.  The uncertainty of his future lay beyond the horizon before him.  Between the two was just the here and now.

We are all on a journey from the past into the future.  What happens on that journey may not always be planned or desired.  However, which path is taken and how fast it's traveled is entirely up to each and every one of us.

The Noah Come Ashore

My story of the Noah has taken a firm seat in the back row as I worked on other stories and ideas.  I think it's time for these aliens from a world covered in oceans to continue their quest to save humanity.

With everyone else on the base running around packing, Darryl made his way into the communications room to see if he could ask the Noah to translate the unusual signal his cousin had found.  The equipment was still active, but the Private that usually operated it was nowhere to be seen.  That was very unusual since messages may come in from the Noah or governments at any time.  Darryl didn't dwell on the situation much as he takes the seat before the console and enters the commands to transmit a signal to the Noah.  He included the signal his cousin had detected and requested any additional information the Noah may have on its nature.  In all honesty, Darryl figured it was simply a relay signal from the Noah themselves.

The captain of the Noah ship initiates the final DNA scans and collection procedures to save the various species of Earth.  Collection systems and biological storage tanks are readied for the humans to occupy them while in suspension.  There are enough tanks and space for every human being on Earth, assuming they can all be evacuated before the Drag'kon arrive.

The communications officer on the Noah ship received the new signal from Earth.  The first part of the signal was simple enough.  The attached audio file did cause some alarm.  The communications officer quickly alerted the ship's captain and began reviewing earlier scans of the solar system.  There she finds the Drag'kon scout ship's ion trail.  More to her dismay, she sees the Drag'kon attack fleet as they emerge from the asteroid belt in full attack formation.

Small, swift attack craft surround the rest of the fleet.  Their energy weapons primed to harass any defenses the fleet might encounter.  Any major damage would be dealt by the disruptor arrays and missile launchers of the larger ships.  The single Noah ship, even a battlecruiser, would be hard pressed to defend itself against such numbers.  Keeping the Earth safe while evacuating the planet would be nearly impossible.

There are still some elements of the story I wish to use.  It's just a matter of figuring out how to get them to fit in naturally.

The Source of Sorcery

Magic has been a part of fantasy stories for as long as humanity has been telling them.  From tales of mysticism during the Dark Ages to magic being wielded by superheroes in comic books and movies.  While the source of all the different magics varies, the common thread is that the user controls and shapes the energies to their will.  What if the source took a human form?  Would that person have a will of their own or would it be the will of the energy itself?  Would it be influenced by the wishes and desires of all the magic users?  How would that person be viewed by other people?

While I can't come up with all the answers today, I will do my best to answer that last question.  I have long thought about the conversation two wizards might have when confronted with a sorcerer that is literally the source of their power.

"Jack, you see that guy over there?"

"Which one?"

"The one leaning against the tree looking relaxed."

"Yeah, I see him.  Now that I look and really See him, there is something odd about him."

"Are you telling me you don't know who he is?"

"I feel like I should, but I don't."

"He's the One.  The true sorcerer.  The one living person that has been in The Chamber of The Ancients."

"No!  It can't be.  That is just an urban legend.  Nobody knows where that is.  That's where all the magical energy in the world comes from.  Legend tells us that the Life Crystal down there is what lets us cast the spells we do."

"Exactly.  The Ancients discovered it centuries ago and they were able to manipulate the massive wild energies found in that cavern into a crystal that could be controlled and manipulated.  Generations later those same Ancients sealed the cavern and crystal."

"Right.  It's said they saw magic being used too much and feared the energies would be drained for no reason.  From that day on magic vanished from the world, the battery removed before it could be drained.  I even heard there are giant statues of The Ancients down there, although nobody's ever seen them."

"Nobody but that guy over there.  I heard he was called to the desert and he fell asleep in the dirt.  When he awoke, he was in The Cavern.  The statues of the Ancients spoke to him.  They asked about the state of the world and the people in it.  Without any fear in his heart, he told them of the struggles and difficulties humanity faced.  The Crystal before him started to glow and he instantly knew what had to be done to bring magic back to the world.  The Crystal gave itself to him completely.  That's what I heard anyway."

"That can't be the same guy though.  He's too young.  He looks like he's barely older than my daughter.  The schools of magic were established a couple of decades ago, and magic had been reappearing in isolated spots long before that."

"If you didn't just wield power, but were the embodiment of power itself, do you think you would age much?"

"Probably not.  I still don't think that's him.  I See that he is in control of quite a bit of power, but I don't think he has that much."

"That's just it.  He doesn't have the power, he IS the power.  It doesn't flow through him, it comes directly from him in the form he wants it to be,"

"I still don't think so.  There is too much legend behind what he is supposed to have done for him to be just leaning against a tree in the middle of our town.  Now that I think about it, I don't remember a tree ever being right there before."

"Well, I guess we'll never know if it's him or not.  He's leaving.  Off to some grand adventure I'm sure.  Besides, you're right.  There wasn't a tree there before.  If you look, there isn't one there now either."

Comment below and let me know if you think magic entering our modern world would solve many of the problems we have, or make them worse.

Another Generation of Serenity

I have been a fan of Joss Whedon's space Western Firefly for a long time.  I frequently mentally curse the executives at the Fox network that fouled up the shows episode order and then cancelled it entirely too quickly.

Many fans of the beloved crew of the Firefly-class transport ship have asked, begged, and pleaded for more episodes.  Unfortunately, the actors have all moved on to other series.  Bringing them back together would be extremely difficult, almost impossible.  There is also the fact that the performers have all aged in the decade since the movie Serenity was released.  Some of them may not be up to the kind of role another season of chases, shootouts, sword fights, and dances may demand of them.

There is a simple way around this problem.  A second generation of crew.  A new group on board the Serenity taking what jobs they can get paid for and avoiding the long reach of the Alliance government.  Children of the original crew and some new passengers travelling the 'Verse.

Chloe Washburne-- The daughter of Zoe and Wash.  After discussing her desire to start a family, Zoe unknowingly becomes pregnant a matter of days before Wash is killed by the Reapers.  Zoe's pregnancy becomes evident and continues during a rare extended period of legitimate business endeavors by the crew of the Serenity.  Chloe is born and raised on board the ship, tools becoming her toys and removable panels her hiding places.  By the time she reaches the age of fourteen, she knows the ship intimately enough to become the best pilot ever to fill Wash's vacated seat.

Jeremiah Reynolds-- One day a teenager is waiting outside the ship with a note in a sealed envelope.  The message simply reads "Mal, I have had my time with our child, now it is your turn.  Signed, your loving wife."  The young man is the son of Malcolm Reynolds and Yolanda/Saffron/Bridgette.  In the underground life they lead, the crew of the Serenity encounter this manipulative woman a number of times.  Not all of them end as successfully as the episodes we have seen.  During one particularly dark event, Yosafbridge knocks Mal out and manages to impregnate herself with his child.  Her exact reasoning and goals are unknown.  All that is certain is that he inherited his father's drive and sense of right along with his mother's flexible morals and sense of self-worth.  Some day he may fill his father's boots as captain, but only once he realizes the kind of man he is and wants to be.  For the time being, he struts his stuff as the intimidating muscle of the ship.

"Ambassador" Richardson-- Thomas Richardson is a political attache with a small planet.  The planet's position is just outside the Central Planets that make up the core of the Alliance government, but it provides an essential service the Alliance military requires.  This allows members of the planet's ruling family nearly as many privileges as high ranking members of the military.  Having seen the extremes the Alliance would go to and their lack of concern for their own people, Thomas is more than willing to undermine them whenever he can.  Like Inara, his presence on board gives the Serenity a degree of legitimacy and allows it to dock many places they would otherwise be denied.

Kaylee and Simon Tam-- The married couple retains their roles as engineer and ship's doctor.  Her wedding dress was a familiar poofy pink gown and their cake prominently featured strawberries on each layer.  Much of Kaylee's unique decorating style now adorns the couple's shared bunk and the infirmary as well as the engine room.  The two of them take care of the ship and crew like loving parents watching over an active and potentially dangerous family.

River Tam-- The youngest person on the original crew now leads the current personnel as Captain.  Her unique abilities earned her much respect from friends and foes alike.  As time passed, new abilities surfaced and her control of them has waxed and waned.  She has become comfortable with what was done to her, but still fears the pairs of individuals with "hands of blue."

The addition of a new crew does not mean the old crew is forgotten.  Malcolm could make occasional appearances as the operator of an out of the way station or settlement.  He would have legitimate and illegal missions for the crew to complete as well as fatherly advice for his son that may or may not be heeded, or even correct.  Jayne easily has a future as an arms dealer.  His beloved Vera mounted on the wall behind his desk as he gives the current crew access to specialized equipment, at a price.  While I can't think of a reason for Inara to appear, I do feel confident that Joss Whedon could if the situation demanded it.

What next generation character would you like to see in an extended Firefly series?  Is there a villain that you would like to reappear?  Am I completely wrong on all of my characters?  Let me know what you think in the comments.

The Ultimate Control

News headlines over the last few months have been filled with incidents involving guns.  Many politicians, including President Obama, have put forth suggestions for further regulations regarding gun purchases and ownership.  While I agree that there are some people that should not be allowed to own or wield a firearm, this does not mean the public at large should be prevented from having guns for their own personal use.

Executive orders and knee-jerk legislation are not a way to debate how to properly prevent these tragedies.  These regulations simply force the opinion of one side of the debate on the general public without allowing a differing view to express itself.  While the slope may not be very slippery, but it is a path that politicians like to walk down without considering what may lie at the other end.  As long as they have their power, lawmakers don't bother with the consequences of their words.

Once politicians have the power to dictate who can have what, where will civilization eventually lead?  When laws and privileges are based on political contributions, how will the lines between the elite and the common citizens be defined?

Life is good.  Sure, I have to perform the occasional patrol, but there are worse duties than strolling through some of the nicer residential neighborhoods.  I could have been assigned border patrol or forced to work shifts at one of the Allotment Centers.  Imagine spending eight hours a day having to deal with all of those lower classes.  I guess I balanced partying and studying during my six years at college.  With the government paying all my expenses, I could have stayed longer.  Unfortunately, my parents wanted me to graduate and start making appearances at the social events they frequented.

I pat the firearm on my hip.  I was off duty, but it was my right to carry one so I wore it everywhere.  I even had a fashionably decorated holster for it to rest in.  Maybe one day I will visit the firing range and become an accurate shooter, or maybe not.  It's not like I have to worry about ever using it.  None of the lower classes were allowed guns so it's not like I was going to be shot by any of them.  Of course they spent their entire lives slaving away at their menial jobs and living in their simple homes.  Having to pay for their own education meant they never learned anything important anyway.

 It's a good thing my family became Elites generations ago.  Their contributions to the Politicals back then really worked out for me.  I didn't even have to work hard to avoid serving in the military.  I just had to check a box on a form when I graduated high school.  Let the Commoners keep the country free.  That's what they are for anyway.

In this world I see Politicals as a ruling class, sitting in their mansions on high making decisions that impact the lives of the population at large.  The Elites are the families that have given to the campaigns of the Politicals.  These company owners and their descendants enjoy certain extra perks and a higher social status.  Their contributions allow then to influence the policies the Politicals create through their votes and their dollars.  The last group is the Commoners.  These people make up the bulk of the population.  They work the hardest of the three social classes.  Their power and influence is exerted the least despite their vastly more numerous population.

With this in mind, I have two questions.  Are there any other privileges the Elites or Politicals may have that the Commoners are denied?  If things continue they way they currently are, how long before our society begins to resemble this model?