Tag Archives: Original Works

Erromate: The UnSpoken Link (original series)

 

ERRORMATE:
THE UNSPOKEN LINK

The cube made its way down the corridors of the ship towards another room, one which was blaring out an assortment of dated pop song spread across the history of the dour little blue planet the ship had embarked from many well-worn stars ago.

As the doors opened and the cube entered, it found a wide eyed and hot tempered young girl with jet black hair, a long leather waistcoat and green jeans, her shoes loose with their laces, looking over a bushy haired young boy with large oval shaped goggles, a blue lab coat, and a chef’s apron. Both were keeling over to examine something stirring in a frying pan.

“That’s not a kielbasa” she said.

“You haven’t poured enough beer over it” the boy countered.

“It still wouldn’t make it a kielbasa” she continued, prodding the miniature slice of pork with her middle finger.

The boy shrugged his shoulders and resumed work on what appeared to be a small wind-up clockwork dragon.

He extended his hand, motioning for something to be placed in it, he didn’t let slip exactly what, and he just relied on Corella to know instinctively what he was requesting.
She gave him a wrench.

“I asked for a tuning fork”

“You didn’t even say anything”

“I thought you said you had a feel for people?”

“So I’m to know instinctively what they want in the very heart of the moment.”
“You’re always telling me to seize the moment; I just tend to look at moments as instruments is all”

“I’ll hand you a moment alright” she said, clenching a fist.

“Corella Breadweather?” the cube whimsically requested.

The girl reluctantly acknowledged her name being called.

“What is it?” She said, her tongue playfully wedged around the muscles beneath her cheeks.

“Ms. Risque has requested you put together a presentation on her behalf for the attention of Commander Marcus”

Corella motioned for the cube to follow her towards a calendar lying on top of her bunk bed. Her middle finger hovered over a specific day.

“It’s the weekend, schools are closed, and Sunday is where I do my homework”

“Forgive my confusion, but why would you settle on the seventh and final day of the regular cycle to put focus on your assigned projects?”

“Beats me, it’s just something she taught me. A custom amongst students she taught from her time, her place” Corella explained.

“Gives us more time for rest and play also” the boy added.

“May I offer a suggestion?” the cube asked.

Corella took to thumbing through several out of date fashion magazines littered across the messy quarters, trying to feign disinterest.

“You are being difficult” said the cube, recognising the reaction for what it was.
Corella’s mother Prentice soon joined them, having spent the day out at the market.

“I managed to attain a fetching crimson red frock for you to wear when we attend the social function this evening” she said

“Mom” Corella groaned.

“And I got you those expensive sandwiches you like to eat, surely that’s a sufficient currency to persuade you to try the frock on?”

Corella looked at her wide-eyed, raising one eyebrow, sighing and snatching the frock from her grip.

“Fine, I’ll give it a whirl” she murmured.

“Then you’ll do it?” the cube replied, picking up the response.

“Do what? The function? It’s not like you have an option, you’re still not the age to make an independent decision” replied Prentice.

“I can manage both in this thing can’t I?” Corella suggested.

“Depends, will you be anywhere moist?” Prentice asked.

“I won’t drench it if that’s your concern”

“Don’t even joke about getting wet around me, the last time one member of this family faced off against a flooding half the ship nearly drowned in its own tears, and you were deprived of a father”

There was a thin and palpable tension one could cut through in the air as mother and daughter gave each other telling and solemn looks before Prentice headed to the door leading into her own quarters.

Corella waited for her to be on the opposite end of the door before turning to the boy, Gizmund.

“You coming with me?” she asked.

“We have somewhere to go?” Gizmund.

Corella approached the cube.

“Go on, play it”

“You wish me to play the message?” the cube asked.

“What message? You never said there was a message, either of you” said Gizmund.

“Ms. Breadweather’s ability to tap into the unspoken link that connects the binary mind is a talent many of my kind have been trying to uncover in every inhabitant on the ship, we do not believe your people are born unique, that you are all one singular collective consciousness who are following a long-standing illogical desire to experience oneself from a subjective viewpoint”

“In other words, Corella’s left you stumped” Gizmund added.

“A mystery we are prepared to spend as much of our free time to uncover whenever the opportunity to interact with her arises”

“Does the crew know about this link you have?”

“It remains unspoken”

“But I just asked you, and you responded, hailing frequencies were very much open”
“You are a friend; you will not betray our confidence”

“Or maybe you’re trying to test me, to see if I’m wise enough to maintain my silence?”
“You are far too logical” the cube observed.

“And maybe that’s what’s keeping you in line too, you need someone close to Corella so as to learn how she ticks outside of the symbiosis you two share, you’re observing her, trying to create a unified network…smart thinking. I’m in”

“Just play nice and play it” Corella asked

The Cube did as instructed and played an audio recording of a tall man with a bushy beard, torn jeans and a grey trench coat, holding a spanner.

“Corella, I don’t have time, I’ll have in a few minutes is space, and there are people who are depending on me to get them home safely, when you get the request that I know is coming down the line, on the next field trip to lunar point frenz, I want you to take that which I’ve given you and head out towards the northern point, plant it in the yellow crater and stand well back. Once it does what it needs to do, return and fulfil the request. They’ll listen to you, Risqué is right; they always listen to the children”

The sound of rushing water could be heard echoing behind him, it grew louder as it headed closer.

“I love you, remember that, love and listen; it’s the key to all of this”

Corella requested the message be cut off.

Corella opened a box on her desk, inside was a crescent jewelled seedling, a murky miniature black vortex swirling across its centre.

She briefly hesitated, but eventually reached out and clutched it tightly to her chest.

“Give me an hour” she said.

“What’s an hour?” Gizmund asked.

“An Apex, in an Earthly language” she replied.

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Erromate (original series) Prologue: An Earthly Language

This is the beginning of a series of short stories and novellas based on a fantasy/sci fi  idea I’ve had bouncing around in my head since 2014.

You can also find a version of this written as a Doctor Who story over on FF.Net under the title of “In Media Res” with the role of Barbara Risque filled in by Barbara Wright

 

ERROMATE:

AN EARTHLY LANGUAGE

“Ms. Risqué? Ms. Risqué, are you awake?” came the soothing electronic voice of a glistening metallic orb hovering over Barbara’s head as she groggily rose from her failed attempt at a peaceful night’s sleep.

“Yes, not surprisingly” she said irritatingly, rubbing her eyes. She stared out the observation window of the SS Gallus, and was dismayed to find the ship had not budged from its position.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“The time is now Quarter Apex to Starlight Pinnacle”

“In an earthly language, that’s quarter to seven I’m sure”

“Numbers again Ms. Risqué?”

“Oh I’m sorry; I do forget my place every so often here. Night Delta Apex, NDA, is that what you want to hear?”

“It is an adequate guess”

“My guess is as good as yours” Barbara remarked

“Ms. Risque,  you are implying that I have zero accuracy in cataloguing our present co-ordinates”

“Navigation requires a lot of luck where I come from,  I don’t believe that is a concept understood by machines”

“By luck you are referring to the chance encounter that led your travel machine and it’s pilot directly to our door”

“Yes, our travel machine, something we’d like very much to have back at some point”

“Commander Marcus was quite adamant you were to regain control of the machine once you were able to secure the vote for planet-fall”

“We already send the children down there to pick up rocks and plant small seeds, there’s no reason why adults can’t go for a little r’n’r too, maybe even settle  there, raise families in the clear air and with clearer heads”

“The vote is to determine visiting hours specifically for all generations; settlement is out of the question”

“And who’s fault is that? Marcus is too stubborn, he’s content to treat everyone on this station like they’re the workload. I feel bad for the kids. Soon as they graduate, their privileges are stripped from them too. Those moments they spend on the planet surface is like subjecting a tired  soul into the glistening  light of a dead sun, something happens to them, they go from rowdy to relaxed. People above their age on this station are always on edge, always on toes, like they’re waiting for a war to start. Why can’t they be more like the children on that planet? Why can’t the children be allowed to stay this way? That’s what the vote means to me, yet so few are willing to come forward and suggest that maybe this kind of life just isn’t best for them”

Barbara looked distantly into the field of stars visible through her observation window.

“How can I hope to secure a vote when I can’t even tame Marcus or his hounds” Barbra asked as she finally got out of bed and slipped her feet into her shoes, she sprung up and waltzed past the cube.

“I am not an animal” the cube replied, it’s perfect English sounding distinctly distorted, almost as if he were trying to convey he took offence to the comparison and was trying to sound annoyed.

“Let me make one last pitch to the council regarding the importance of the vote, if I can get them on my side, they can spur the people on”

“They will not permit you an audience without consultation with Captain Marcus, and you are presently barred from seeing him”

“Then send one of my students up to him, they can give him a presentation, have them plead my case. He’ll listen to the children, he always has”

The cube’s colour changed from emerald green to shimmering yellow, as if to acknowledge that the request had been approved. It hovered towards the doors to the quarters. They slid open and permitted it to make its exit.

Barbara tended to her laundry, eager to do away with some of the time on her hands by indulging in a little ironing.

As she took her ironing board out of a fairly stacked cupboard, she took notice of an illustration attached to the right side of the wall, a crudely drawn picture of a tree with three domes attached to branches at the top of it in place of lush green leafs. Inside the domes were small buildings.

Barbra looked longingly at the illustration, something a student in her class had drawn for her based off of her stories.

This picture was all in this particular time or place that could remind her of the ongoing urgency she and her friends scattered across the station were faced with.

The children thought very highly of her, she would miss them when the time came.

 

THE ERROMATE SAGA WILL CONTINUE

The Sun Rose In The Morning [Original Story]

THE SUN ROSE IN THE MORNING

 

The phone signal went dead again.

Patton looked at the clock, the minute hand etched closer to midnight.

Too close. Far too close.

She tried to get the signal going again, she tried three times, always looking at the clock, always keeping her focus trained on how much time was left.

At midnight, the lines of communication would not be the only things closed off to the Earth. The greater signal was being cut, the switch to digital service was coming.

Today was the last day they would hear their voices in the most caring, humane way.

When midnight came, when the sun rose in the morning and the signal was to be turned on again, everyone in the sector  would be speaking a different, more binary language, no longer the code of kings or queens, the regency was to be deprived of privilege, there was not even a place for the people’s power, a people’s vote.

But then, they weren’t people to begin with. They were demons encased in glass and fleshly tissue, ribbons in their hair, fire in their silicon soul, and a hole in their minds.

They wanted so much to fill that hole, to cram it with knowledge of how the upper class worked, which classes they would look down on, which classes to look up towards.

Patton’s family, her ‘bloodline’, were to roam the city built for her people, these teeming masses, and they were to determine who would be classified as the Frankensteins amongst the post-modern privilege.

Then her only son, her priceless son, turned to one of the paupers, and found his heart drawn to their plight. He stood against his family, and fled with whom he now desired.

Now, with the threat of the cut off looming, the all too swift realisation that the grand experiment was over, Patton found her one bright light was standing against time itself. Precious time.

The signal to the phones were dead because he was blocking the wavelengths. He did not wish to speak, he did not wish an audience with someone who could so easily follow instruction.

Patton dialled the numbers feverishly, she held the phone to her makeshift ear, she pleaded for his voice to be heard.

She got it.

A voice message.

The minute hands ticked by, precious seconds to go before it brought forth the decisive hour.

She thought of a thousand words to choose from, and a thousand ways to say them.

She’d offer him a horse, but neither could ride.

She’d offer him a party, but she couldn’t dance.

She’d offer him creative freedom, but he had persistent writers block.

So many scenes, all to do with spoils.

She needed vital words, words so rarely considered by the privileged.

She didn’t know how to say them, how best to describe in so few words what she meant to him.

He was her sole light. Her bright burning star.

Then it hit her, she knew what to say, it was as simple as night and day.

“I pray you rise in the morning” she said.

The minute hand struck. It was midnight.

All were dead.

All was clear.

 

Just Another Place On Earth (Original Poem)

Where are you now?
Your tiny thoughts?
Everything you wish you were
Locked away in the box?
Where are you now?
What can you see?
Is there somewhere, some place, some time
You can spend with me?
I know what you are
You’re in my sights
I know all that you desire
I live your life
Heaven knows where you’ve landed
And heaven lies right here
Half of your world in the distance
Your better half is near
For I’ve seen what lies
In one man’s worth
You fight forever where you’ve landed
Just another place on Earth”

Love’s Only An Answer (Original Poem)

 

Last night as I lay sleeping
A thought occurred to me
My friendships are so fleeting
None are meant to be
I awaken with a firm resolve
To connect firmly with my past
But then I make the same mistake
Of assuming that will last
And I never seem to learn I was wrong
That a soul can only answer
When you felt it all along
And I never seem to learn I was wrong
That love’s only an answer
When your questions are all gone

Blink and Think [Original Story]

BLINK AND THINK

Johnny hadn’t quite gotten the knack of the contact lenses yet. He was thinking about the girls in his class again, and how unattractive they were.

Not unattractive in the conventional sense, as if they had buck teeth, or features that were cratered with acne and too many freckles, but unattractive in the sense of morality.

These were the girls you would entrust your deepest secrets to out of some cocky notion they would take pity on a nice guy and turn to you in understanding, but all they do is turn the information loose on their friends, or their jock boyfriends who’d wait patiently for you outside the school gates and taunt you mercilessly with the information as you crossed the road, complete with their judgement.

You’d get half-way across the road with your darkest secret being thrown back in your ear, and you’d be compelled to stop dead in your tracks and hope the approaching school bus carrying all who were in kindergarten would mow you over and give the little devils it was carrying their first glimpse of the cost of mortality up close.

He wanted to punish those girls for not being the kind that would stand by the nice guys in the class, the ones that could stay equal and independent of them, but have the compassion and kindness necessary to be open to dates, to maybe even marriage, and maybe even a family.

Too many women in his generation weren’t functioning the way his mother did in her marriage to his father. He had been raised by a family that had lived in conservative times that had been graced only by the tender innocence of then-radical innovation. Ideas of how the world ought to function differently, but ones that had not taken on any form of chaotic exaggeration or had helped to bend too many rules.

This was an age where the nice guys were tarred and feathered, and mocked for their insecurities, not helped through them.

But then, maybe the nice guys had earned it.

Nice guy is often an easily used term to describe the shy, the needy, the socially awkward, the helpless, and too many strong-willed women, at least the ones in his class, didn’t take to that. Maybe it was an age-old story God got nostalgic for and applied it to each generation, Johnny didn’t know, he was only fourteen.

He was fourteen and thinking way too much about anything but the lesson being taught to him, the lessons about the contact lenses attached to his pupils.

In today’s age of radical thought and radical behavior, learning the nature of these lenses was key to maintaining an ever rare prescense of dignity.

The nice guys now needn’t tell any jock’s girlfriend their private info out of some desire to be noticed, even loved, now all they had to do was blink and think, and it would all be downloaded onto the lenses, the glass also functioning as a clear micro server, a cloud drive with which all that was conjured forth in the mind during the lesson would be stored.

That would include revision, research, answers, questions the student didn’t have the motivation or drive to really ask of the tutor, and of course slightly more wayward thoughts.

It was often agreed upon in the testing stages that the lenses being open to all thoughts would lead to a significantly more focused form of think tank, where the dangers of having their dirty laundry processed would encourage students to be of a more strict and educationally focused mindset, with no room for filth in their thoughts.

If they persisted, the information would be collectively gathered from the lenses, uploaded to the computers in the staffing area, and each potentially devious and damaging thought would be noted down and put in a permanent record which would be issued to every other educational facility and job agency far across the country.

It seemed like an unfair and demanding task, one the students had no control over, but there was some quality of mercy attached to this insistence on a more strict and uniform collective.

The required information would be processed and separated through the right and left lenses, representing the left and right centers of the brain, which also process problem solving, logistics, and more creative and self-pleasing thoughts separately.

As the bell rang, the teacher instructed the student body to remove the contacts they were wearing and place them in the boxes, which would then be gathered by a choice pupil. The class would then move on to another room where they would undergo the same process for that specific tutor and subject, and repeat the process through all available periods until the end of the day’s school session.

This was the first day, the first hour, and the first moment of truth for Johnny.

He had been processing much of the lesson despite constantly thinking about the abhorrent actions of women among the student body, but he worried that his thoughts would be regarded as controversial, he wasn’t quite sure how to feel.

He nervously walked up to the intimidating cardboard boxes at the edge of the Tutor’s table, watching as the rest of the boys and girls removed their lenses and deposited them in the left and right versions.

Johnny was in a particular pickle here, and with good reason.

He could never tell left from right.

A friend of his chose this opportunity to pat him on the back with a gently slap that knocked both of his lenses into the left box.

A student in the class was summoned to take the boxes to the staffing area, to Johnny’s dismay, it was one of the girls.

“Hey wait up, I want to check if I put the lenses in the correct box” Johnny said to the girl as she left the classroom.

“You’re Johnny Spencer aren’t you?” the girl said as she skipped merrily along, Johnny trying to keep up with her.

Johnny looked in the box, on the lenses were little nuggets of binary code, the same row of numbers except for the final digit, the digit represented the student number on the class roster roll-call sheet.

“Don’t worry, just tell me what number you are and I’ll fish it out” the girl said.

“Ok, twelve” he said.

“There, that was easy” she said.

“I’m a bit worried…my thoughts on there, some of them aren’t pleasant” he said

“Neither were mine” the girl replied, telling Johnny how all she could think of was making love to a German footballer she’d saw plastered all over the back end of the express newspaper.

Johnny laughed.

“See? Everyone’s dirty laundry is on the left side lenses, not just silly boys” she said, “It’s equal footing for everyone, nobody has any secrets, not from them, so we all have to be on our best behavior, and it doesn’t have to seen as slavery, or being forced to think more collectively, we can use this opportunity to build character, morals, strength, conviction, and maybe make a better choice when sharing our pleasures with those we love”

Johnny grinned, perhaps there were still some girls out there getting it right.

“I’m no German footballer, but maybe we could score sometime” he thought to himself, glad that the lenses were off so the girl wouldn’t pick up on that.

“Tell me what you’re thinking anytime” thought the girl back.

Locked away in their private thoughts, finding freedom in the ten or so minutes they could enjoy between classes, the two of them chatted away in as appropriate a manner as social norms allowed.