Meteor Man (part 2)

This is the second installment of a relatively new piece, Meteor Man. First written in July ’94, I was never satisfied with it until my last rewrite this past September.

It’s a longish piece at 11,300 words, so I’ve broken it into five sections. I hope it’s worth it.

Enjoy.

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Read Meteor Man (part 1).

Meteor Man (part 2)

Geertz sat behind La Velle and Singer in the unused navigator’s seat as they piloted their asher back to The Wall. He hooked the navigation displays into Awkright’s Xenolab systems back at base. In front of him a fabber of The Wall floated suspended in repeller matrices all its own. Multicolor rhombics danced into it. Geertz used an iconglove to make adjustments. The various links clicked as they updated their displays.

La Velle glanced at Singer and nodded towards Geertz. Singer nodded and cleared his throat. “How’s it going, doc?”

Geertz continued making adjustments. The rhombics turned teal-green and stabilized under and slightly to one side of the surface of The Wall. The asher’s ventilators hissed briefly.

La Velle gently clapped his hands. “Dr. Geertz?”

Geertz spun in his seat. His eyes were red and his gloved hand closed into a fist. The Wall and its rhombics exploded in a technicolor frenzy.

“I’m sorry, Doc. You okay?”

Geertz turned back to his lost displays. “I’ve never been in an asteroid before.”

Singer nodded. “You get used to it.”

“Are you two Meteor Men?”

La Velle laughed. “God, Doc. That goes back a ways. I haven’t heard that used since I was starting out. Yes, we both are, by the way. Got the paperwork to prove it.”

“Actual paper paperwork?”

“Yeah, actual paper paperwork. They haven’t done that in,” he shook his head, “I have no idea how many years.”

Singer monitored their descent. “You age slower out here. Nobody knows why.”

Geertz gazed at their faces, the professional scientist’s sharing the child’s lack of shame at investigating the unexpected. The asher filled with the static clicks of updating displays and the hiss of slowly moving air.

La Velle checked his displays. “I was a little jumpy my first time down under, too. Kept waiting for the Meteor Man to show up.”

“The Meteor Man?”

“Oh, you know, every new place has its boogie men. First folks out this far said they heard partial words on shadow frequencies, off band, some said they saw the rocks move. The usual scary stuff to keep the kids in their beds at night.”

Singer nodded. “Yeah, Doc. My first time down I lost my lunch five times. Jumped every time a shadow moved. It takes some getting used to. You want us to shut down for a while? Give you some time to adjust?”

“What’s it take to be a Meteor Man?”

La Velle laughed. “Started out blowing up NEOs, asteroids coming too close to earth to take a chance they’d hit rather than fly by. We made asteroids into chunks of rock that just shot through the sky back home. That’s where the term Meteor Man came from.”

Singer took over. “Then Northern Arizona University discovers Didymos’s moon is behaving strangely and SpaceGroupX is hired to investigate. They drop a sounder and discover she’s rocked over and not natural. Nothing in her, but still she’s not natural. The next thing you know five or six of the big terrestrial mining firms are in the space recovery business and the ‘Belt, Trojans, Greeks, Hildas, Centaurs, and the Kuiper and Oort when we can get to them, and whatever else is out here goes to auction with the governments getting first pickings through any finds.”

La Velle finished. “But we got steady jobs, great pay – ”

Singer chuckled. “And no life and no wife.”

Geertz’s face paled.

“Oh, Christ, Doc. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Geertz cleared his throat and turned back to his equipment. “That’s all right. Thanks. We need to know about The Wall. Dr. Ellis wants all the particulars.”

La Velle covered his partner’s faux pas. “We have plenty of time, Dr. Geertz. Let’s shut her down, give you a chance to get use to things.”

“No, thank you.”

“Tell you what, doc. We’ll keep her going, slow her down a bit and turn up the matrix to smooth out the ride some more. Can we do that for you?”

“Yes. Thanks.” Geertz turned back to his work.

It remained quiet except for the caterpillar’s whine and the repeller matrix’s small red suns holding and releasing the cave walls as they crawled along.

Singer, forgetting about their guest, started to sing the instrument readouts. La Velle also forgot Geertz sat behind them and started adding his” Uh-huh” of agreement as a backbeat to Singer’s tune.

Geertz cleared his throat.

The ashermen stopped singing. Singer swung his seat around, his head silhouetted in the dark by the asher’s forward displays. His eyes reflected Geertz’s station lighting. “Sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to disturb your work.”

“No. Not at all. I was going to say you guys sing together well. You must have worked together for a long time.”

Singer swung back and looked up at La Velle’s reflection in the forward. “We been together on twenty digs on as many rocks, Doc.”

“That’s a long time.” Geertz paused. “I think it’s a long time. It’s a long time, isn’t it?”

La Velle tapped a screen. “Wall’s coming up. It’s about thirty, thirty-five years, Doc. Normal years.”

“You guys must like each other to be together that long.”

Singer and La Velle looked at each other’s reflection. Singer nodded. “We like each other well enough.”

Geertz pointed to the scorpion’s claws. “Why do they call them ‘mormons’?”

La Velle laughed a little. “Because they’re scoopers.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You know about the Mormons, doc? The religious people back on Earth? There used to be a joke about Mormons: People called them scoopers because God opened their heads and scooped out all their brains.”

“Ow.”

“I guess the first team to use an asher had somebody who knew that joke. You can find the reference in most astromining texts. Here, let me call up mine.”

Geertz sat up and leaned forward.

La Velle tucked himself into his seat. “It’s okay, Dr. Geertz. You can come up here. You won’t break anything.”

Geertz looked at him and smiled hesitantly.

“Come on, Doc. You can’t see it from back there.”

Geertz stood between the two men. Just as he did the asher’s glide system lifted it slightly and to the right. Geertz lost his balance just enough to have to lean against Singer’s station. Singer caught Geertz’s arm and helped him steady himself. “No problem, Doc. Happens to everybody. See? Look here.” Singer pointed to two switches on his panel. They were labeled “Scoop 1” and “Scoop 2”.

Geertz smiled. “Wow. I’ve never heard them called anything but mormons.”

La Velle glanced at Singer and nodded. “Funny how some things stick.”


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Meteor Man (part 1)

We’ll round out the month with a relatively new piece, Meteor Man. First written in July ’94, I was never satisfied with it until my last rewrite this past September.

It’s a longish piece at 11,300 words, so I’ve broken it into five sections. I hope it’s worth it.

Enjoy.

Co-Author and higher level subscribers (10$US/month or more) can download a complete PDF version of Meteor Man for offline reading. or Join Us to continue.

Meteor Man (part 1)

Singer sat arms folded at the asherpilot’s station. Looking through the forward, he watched their progress towards asteroid 480-SMN-10’s gut as he murmured the digdial’s readout. “Thirty point naught.” A minute later, “Thirty naught one.” A minute more, “Thirty naught two.”

La Velle, sleeping at the co-pilot’s station and with his back to Singer, snored gently.

Singer started raising his voice on the last digit, making a sing-song to alleviate the boredom. “Thirty naught three. Thirty naught four.” A green light flashed on his console. Beside it a screen switched from operations to analytical. The asher, a mechanical scorpion on caterpillar treads, slowed automatically and the hoppers on its back closed to preserve the ores already gathered. The digdial read 30.041 as the asher broke through into a cavern.

Singer lowered the asher’s main mormons and swung the high resolution sensors over the bow, making the scorpion lower its claws and bring its stinger forward. In the vacuum of 480’s interior the mormons touched the cavern floor silently. The high resolution sensors danced at the ends of their metal whips. The only sounds were the mormon’s counterweights sliding forward to keep the asher’s center of gravity stable and the subsequent wind down of its caterpillars. The repeller matrix, which made sure the excavation’s walls didn’t collapse on the asher, lit its stern, bow, starboard, and port with waves of red as it sought structural weaknesses in the cavern.

As the matrix’s oscillators quieted, its light stabilized into a cool, nightsky blue. The subterranean expanse filled with repeller-hued dark and the silence was complete.

The asher’s computer began displaying the sensors’ reports. Singer nudged La Velle. “Wake up.”

La Velle yawned and opened an eye to the forward. He shook and sat up quickly, his hands moving to his armrests to right himself. “What is it?”

“You tell me.”

“Shit.” La Velle linked Mainward. “This is Dig 480-SMN-10. We got a problem.”

Main came back staticky. La Velle and Singer’s asher rested deep in 480, a big asteroid with a weird elliptic which took it far out and far in, far out and far in. “What you got, 480-SMN-10?”

La Velle opened the link. “We’re not sure.” Singer nudged him and La Velle shook him off. “We think we got construction.”

The link responded with dead static. The asher’s digtime clicked off seconds.

Another voice came through the link. “You sure?”

Singer and La Velle looked at each other. Singer sighed. “Meninquez?”

La Velle nodded and groaned. “Meninquez.”

Singer took the link. “We’re some thirty deep. All the way down there was only planetary. Straight geologic. At 30.041 we come to a wall which the asher thinks is neither planetary nor geologic but which it does read as being 2500 orbits younger than 480 itself.”

“Okay. Surface and shutdown. I’ll have someone there tomorrow. Meninquez out.”


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Cold War

My first draft of Cold War is dated 22 Jul 1987 and is based on my experiences in the arctic and working for USAACRREL: United States Army Arctic and Cold Regions Research and Environmental Labs. I wrote the story for a workshop. Self-reflection and -inspection wasn’t in vogue at that time and wouldn’t be for another five or so years. Most stories presented were tech driven and bored me. The one or two character driven stories were weak because the character aspect had to break through the tech aspect.

Anyway, since then it’s been published in Midnight Zoo ’92, Horizons Science Fiction ’99, Tales Told ‘Round Celestial Campfires 2016, and Daikaijuzine Sept 2020.

Enjoy.

Cold War

Home is…south? Gotta be. Everything’s south.

Which way is south? Can’t smell it anymore. Damn compass froze, it’s so cold.

Cold didn’t bother me the first 250 miles. Neither did the glare of the sun. Or the endless white. Or the total lack of smells. Someone told me there’d be weird smells up here. There aren’t any. Not this far north. There’s the smell of the ocean, humming beneath this glacier. I could smell the snow at first. That stopped after a few hours, after my mind got so use to the smell of white that it got blocked out. The winds don’t howl like I thought they would. They wouldn’t this time of year, anyway. But they whisper. The glacier surface is so flat I can hear conversations back in Mantinac Bay. They come to me when I let my mind rest, when I lay down to sleep. That’s not like in-country. You lay down in-country, any thing’s got legs uses you for an LZ, a runway. The ice surface is uneven, though. Up close it’s uneven. That’s like in-country. But nothing crawls over you. Nothing living, nothing but the wind.

I don’t sleep that much anymore. The monitor’s attached to my chest. Physically attached. They sowed it into me where the skin is thickest. So I can’t sleep on my stomach and when I sleep on my back I can see this damn little red light blink blink blink. Blink blink blink. Keeps you up all night, you know? Blink blink blink.

How much farther? I use to be able to do this in my head when I started. Mantinac to the Pole is nine-hundred sixty klicks. I’ve gone four-hundred. What does that leave?

It’s a long trip. Some nut told me the ice would smooth out. This from a guy with a Ph.D. in cold weather research. Guy learned from a book. That was back at USAACRREL: United States Army Arctic and Cold Regions Research and Environmental Labs in Hanover, New Hampshire. New Hampshire can get cold, when the Montreal Express comes in the from the north and we get a Nor’Easter heading in from the Maritimes. One year we had a snow squall New England style. That’s a hurricane in winter. It got cold. Not like this. This is a dry cold. They didn’t modify me right. I can feel it. Right up my legs to where my willy used to be. I can feel it.

I started with just over nine-hundred kilos of supplies. Stupid bastards. Over nine-hundred kilos in the sled, my body weight just under a metric ton. Oh yeah. They figured this one right. Each time my feet splayed, the fishtails on my soles picked up little slivers of ice that worked their way in. Deep. Kind of like shin splints that itch. I’ve only used a third of the supplies. That part of the design went right, anyway. Big as I am, I don’t need much food anymore. How ’bout that, mom? Mother never raised no tiny children, she used to say. What you think of your poor boy now, momma? They took what you and papa made one night and made me something no woman will look at again.

Everybody thinks they find test subjects in jails. He’s a lifer, he’ll do this to get out. Maybe a college student who needs extra beer money. Oh, and there’s this one, where they volunteer some private to go hazard. You know how Garrett got to be The Flash? Fricken’ lightening hits his lab bench and douses him with chemicals. Fricken’ Bruce Banner would have a tumor the size of a football if he ever sat in a gamma ray like they said. Remember ‘When Captain America throws his mighty shield’? The next line should have been ‘That ninety pound wimp gets a dick as hard as steel.’

Used to read comics all the time. Can’t remember too many of them now.

How much further do I have to go?

Got this thing in the side of my head. They said it was like what they did to help me walk after Charlie sent me a baseball as I jumped off the Rome. I never walked right. They said they would fix all that, too. Make me a fricken’ Steve Austin. Fuck. This thing in my head, under this plate, it listens to me and signals some satellite where I am and how I’m doing okay.


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“Rachel, Above the Clouds, While Flying” is in The Rabbit Hole Volume Four: Weird stories Special issue: Madness

Those wonderful and wise folks in charge of The Rabbit Hole anthologies honored my by including Rachel, Above the Clouds, While Flying in The Rabbit Hole Volume Four: Weird stories Special issue: Madness.

 
Read several authors’ work and enjoy.

Just read mine first.

And leave a glorious review.

Thanks.

15 Days of Harveys Day 10 – Me! Four Flash Pieces

Yes, I’m blessed! Harvey Duckman Presents Volume 8 has four flash sized pieces from me (but be warned, Harvey doesn’t like the term flash).

It’s a Man’s World

 
“Where are you going?”
Susan’s face softened but she looked away.
All the women in the neighborhood were dressed in what we use to all “Easter Sunday” clothes; light dresses, bright, Spring colors of sky blues and yellows and whites, some with flower prints with big roses or tulips or daffodils or morning glories or black-eyed susans and all with long, lush green vines wrapping around them. All of them wearing wide-brimmed sun hats, many with scarves tying their hats around their chins. A few wore sunglasses. All had nice big purses, lots of different colors but most of them white, white cloth gloves covering their hands and all of them in either tasteful heels or flats. Nobody wore stilettos or CFMs of any kind.

Lessons Learned

They stood, coffee cups in hand, staring out the kitchen window. The radio switched from the news to two DJs joking about the lead story: an extraordinary meteor shower that wouldn’t be seen locally due to heavy cloudcover.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the sink. “Turn that down, would you, Love?”
She put her hand on his back and leaned forward beside him. “You think that squirrel knows we’re watching him?”
“How do you think he gets up there? That’s twice in two days I’ve seen him at the top of the bird feeders. He can’t be getting past the baffles on the poles and there aren’t any branches near by.”

Sanctuary

There is a planet on the scanners. It is large and round and red. The sun is yellow and warming, and the planet is in the sun’s life zone. The gravity is slightly stronger than Earth’s. The air is a bit richer, and there is abundant water under the surface.
The red coloring comes from two things. The surface of the planet is covered with red vegetation and their spores are everywhere. The ground is also red, although not with spores but with clay and slate like so faraway Connecticut.
The dog beside me raises his massive head and growls. I scratch behind his ears and his hind legs start thumping the cabin floor. I make him thump in time to songs I sing, switching legs as I go from chorus to lead and back.
“We’ll go down, see if this is the one.”

What We Saw at Bishop’s House

What’s become of Bishop’s house? This chamber is like the one I lay in moments ago but I know neither you nor your man. Outside the door, that’s not Bishop’s workshop.
I am William Bennett. Where is my wife, Chrysanthé? We are “The Dancers Extraordinairre.” There’s an advertisement in my breast pocket. See? “Dancers to the Crowns of Europe.”
Bishop’s told you of us? Where is he, then?

Each of the above is from Harvey Duckman Presents Volume 8 (the famous “No Dragons” issue). You can read the rest of each along with several other amazing stories between its captivating covers (and I hope you do!)

Have you been Harveyed?

The kind, wise, and wonderful folks at Sixth Element Publishing included four of my flash pieces in Harvey Duckman Presents Volume 8 and I’m repaying that kindness by showcasing the opening from each author’s work for the next few weeks.

 
Read

Next up, a taste of Kate Baucherel’s Firebird.

Enjoy!