Any SF fans out there? - DPChallenge Forums

Canon EF 24-105mm f/4.0L IS

03/13/2007 10:01:51 AM · #1

HUGELY OFF TOPIC!

I wrote my masterpiece (so far) SF short story a few years ago and have not gotten around to marketing it ... I personally think it is great and will have a hard time besting it ... but if you would like to see it ... I could send it to you for a critique if you are interested (on the condition that you don't try to sell it somewhere ... LOL)

email me at Greetmir@yahoo.com to request a copy ... or hell ... would it be WAY out of line to post a very short story here in total for all to read ?

The text would be way smaller than any one pic entry ...

I would LOVE the opinions of so many artistic folk ...

me

Message edited by author 2007-03-13 10:54:31.

anotherday

Canon EOS-400D Rebel XTi

03/13/2007 10:11:57 AM · #2

sent you a mail ;)

03/13/2007 10:34:38 AM · #3

OKAY ... here it is by request ... I would welcome any publication offers ...

Unto Others by Greetmir Goodeguard

Lashing sensed the shudder of the starship as it began to decelerate. This subtly perceived tug heralded the imminent completion of his tedious and lengthy journey more poignantly than the confirming report displayed on the control monitor. The operations of the ship were as familiar to him as the monotonous throbbing of his own heartbeat. The myriads of constantly performed diagnostic and maintenance procedures were countless ants parading through the landscape of his brain.

His attention was lured yet again by his own reflection, the merciless image insufficiently distorted by the smooth curve of the silver grey display console above him. He lay suspended in a virtually invisible environment bubble; his scalpless head a coiffure of delicate gold filaments hard-wired to the nerve nexus of the ship.

Branching bundles of tubes and conductors invaded his body, monitoring biological functions while providing nourishment and life support. His heavily bearded face had melted into a slack parody of its former vibrant countenance.

Radical neural surgery had left him relieved of discomfort, his naked physique oblivious to conscious commands. Having once been active and gregarious, he had never become fully accustomed to physical helplessness or solitude. Now he was merely the thinking half of a galaxy-hopping vessel on a one way mission.

Further regrets concerning his disposition would be short-lived. Time for reflecting on his decision to volunteer for this trip waned. His mind cringed and hastily occupied itself with a glance over the rows upon rows of indicator lights and minivid screens. The visual scan was unnecessary. Any irregularity would alert his entire being and initiate automatic responses. He was merely busying himself, trying to purge the involuntary glimpse of his personal reality from consciousness, struggling to ignore the whimpers of his foundering sanity.

Lashing had wondered if he would be able to maintain enough coherence to correct any unforeseen problems should they arise. It was comforting to know that the chance of mechanical failure was negligible.
It was unlikely that his input would ever significantly alter the equation. Since the outset he had made only the most inconsequential of adjustments. The computer was capable of performing any required course corrections during final approach to the planet.

Yes, his judgement would be valuable near the end, important to the execution of the operation over highly populated areas, but not essential. Lacking guidance from him, the deadly capsules would eject and dissipate automatically before impact. The resulting spread of biological horror would be slower, but sufficiently terminal.
Not unlike the majority of the ship's systems, Lashing himself, was redundant.

Unbeckoned, a dream vision of the only consuming love he had ever known came to him. Once again, he saw her hair embracing the stars as she stood over him, smiling, lips parted, desire overflowing from her dark, laughing eyes...
The recollection was snatched away and brutally replaced by the horrific image of her battered body, limbs impossibly askew, bones jutting from torn tissue, no hint of warmth or life from eyes staring into infinity. Agony was defined by inconceivable loss.

The loathsome memory merged with those of his recovery from the mental trauma caused by her brutal death. Here were disorganised memories of screaming grief and drug induced dullness in sterile hospital rooms. Recollections of his struggles against restraints were punctuated with the gaping blanks of unconsciousness.

Gradually events became more lucidly remembered. There had been almost ceaseless parade of doctors, every one wearing a Space Agency uniform. They probed and counselled always wearing a smile under their analytical eyes.

During his climb from the pits of his misery, it had become more and more obvious that an certain urgency existed in their therapy, much in excess of what could be justified by their concern for his well being. They began to drop cryptic hints that although he felt his purpose for living had evaporated, his may be a grander calling than mere survival. He began to suspect that he was being mentally groomed for a specific purpose, some task other than merely overcoming his despair so that he could return to his regular duties in a productive frame of mind.

His suspicions were soon confirmed. Called into the audience of a superior who held a position in the chain of command four links above his own, the revealing lecture began.

Using an array of wall charts, graphs and video screens, the Commander summarised the current state of the world. There was an alarming shortage of remaining finite resources. The population was swelling to disastrous proportions despite the belated new laws regarding birth control. More land mass was being utilised for habitation and less for food production. Increasing erosion of arable farmland and the logistics of supplying food and medicine was causing dire shortages, rampant malnutrition and widespread civil unrest.

Scientists warned of the dire consequences to be suffered if drastic measures were not taken to relieve the ecological pressure. Even the most optimistic prognosis seemed to be a hopeless spiral into suffering, rebellion, chaos and near extinction. The severity of the situation was much worse than most knew.

Following an ominous pause, during which he pensively strolled to the other end of office and back, the Commander lowered himself slowly into the chair behind his desk. He then swore Lashing to a previously unrealised level of security.

During the next two hours a truly immense and highly classified operation, already underway for many years and nearing completion, was revealed. The scheme, in its entirety, was known only to a select few high-ranking officials. The scope of it was colossal, especially when considering the secrecy that had been maintained. The metallic taste of grave importance was evident in the room. A slowly increasing pressure in Lashing's chest worked to impede his breathing and squeeze his heart as the details were delivered to him.

He was informed of a probe launched to the nearest spiral galaxy in search of a new world to colonise. It had been a long shot at best, but one had been discovered. Data sent back had shown a promising planet. It had an ideal atmosphere and was rich in fertile land, clean water and minerals.
An exodus of many millions to this new paradise was well into the planning stages. This undertaking would severely tax remaining resources but could be accomplished.

Squirming uncomfortably in his chair, the Commander looked toward the wall charts briefly, marshalling his thoughts, then continued in an even more subdued fashion.

A primitive society existed on this newly found planet. In the opinion of certain experts, they were of such numbers and sufficiently evolved that colonisation may be resisted or, indeed, prevented.

This was an extremely unfortunate dilemma. It was much more desirable to colonise rather than conquer the new world, no matter how easy the conquering. This option, regrettably, was not available and the stakes were too high to allow even a thought of scrapping the project. These savages must not interfere with our intentions. The threat must be removed. They must be eliminated.
Although this plan was weak in charity, it was strong in logic. Priorities were the ruling factors. The rest was cut away and disregarded, disposed of and ignored. There were no workable options that did not include unacceptable risk.

The decision was final.

A small ship, specifically designed to plant a particularly nasty virus on the targeted world, was under construction. He, like everyone else, knew of this virus. It was transmitted primarily through the act of procreation itself, slowly attacking the immune system of its victims. An infamous part of history, it had spread in epidemic proportions centuries ago.

Barely in time, a vaccine had been discovered to halt the scourge and then a cure for those infected before more than a small fraction of the population had died. Had the virus flourished only slightly sooner, the available technology would not have been sufficient to unravel the mysteries of its design.

It had been a close call.

Now, immune to its effects, what was once a horror could be used as a tool. It would be sown ahead of us to cleanse our new home in preparation of our arrival.

The volume of information stunned lashing. He was amazed that such incredible machinations could be in progress with no knowledge of it having leaked. He was further astounded by the role that was to be his, should he accept it.

The deathship would be ready soon. It would need a pilot. By the time a volunteer was prepared, the craft would be awaiting one. This pilot would not return or, in fact, survive the mission.

Feeling as if his veins were being purged with icy water, finally accepting the reality of it when he heard the words, Lashing was offered the job. The briefing was abruptly concluded. Not asked for opinion or comment, given two days to make his decision, he was dismissed.

Escorted then by three heavily armed security officers, he was taken to new quarters within the administration building. In a haze of information overload he closed the door behind him. He noticed that there were bars on the now darkening window of his room as he collapsed onto the bed. Burying the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, he started evaluating his position.

The apparent fate of his entire species could be rewritten. He could be the instrument writing that new beginning. What possible purpose could his life now have that would be more honourable than the giving of it to benefit millions?

Widespread poverty, hunger and overcrowding were, after all, responsible for the death of his beloved. She had gone to purchase their groceries with the last of their monthly allotment, his position in the Space Agency allowing them small luxuries. She had been slaughtered for the small bag of food in her hand and for having the status that allowed her to afford it. He could help relieve the very symptoms that led to her death. Perhaps this, among other qualifications, was why he had been selected as a likely candidate for the job.

He searched for anything of value here to cling to so that he may decline this suicide mission. He found nothing of consequence. His parents were no longer alive. The only thing that had mattered outside of his career with the Space Agency, his life with his lovely mate, had been cruelly torn from him.
Also of considerable importance in his decision process was the anticipated security measures he could expect to have imposed upon him should he decline to accept the task. Surely, they would not take the slightest risk that he would inform anyone of this elaborate and so extremely secret plan ahead of schedule. It was almost a certainty that some details would never be disclosed. His life would never again be his own.

They had chosen well. The duration of one sleepless night was adequate for him make his decision. He donned the role of potential rescuer of the species. It was clearly his duty.

A planet would be scoured of its society to make room for his. They would follow well behind in great motherships, ready to populate a new world with few, if any, original inhabitants to resist. Immune to the stalking death that will have accomplished its awesome task, they would remember Lashing as a hero. He would have the epitaph of a martyr.

Drifting back from his reveries, he found himself again systematically scrutinising the readouts of the control console.

The disc of the target planet was clearly visible now at the highest magnifications of the ship's instruments. It reminded Lashing of home even though it was laced with a sparser cloud cover. It's fertile blue, green and brown colorations were noticeable even at this great distance. He had seen the results of the original survey probes and had been receiving data from subsequent ones as he approached but he was suprisingly and deeply affected by the sight of it as he approached.

Alarms sounded, not audibly but piped directly to his consciousness. Lights changed colour and others flashed. The trainÂ¬ing had not been adequate to prepare him for chaos after what seemed lifetimes of tedium and boredom. Almost immediately, it was apparent that this was not a priority alert. He had been surprised not by the severity of the alarm as by its sudden intrusion into his serenity.

He willed the alarm to reset then studied the incoming information. Coherent electromagnetic emanations had been detected from the destination.
Radio communication. Interesting, beyond all expectations. Here was something that he could really get involved with analysing.

Lashing feverishly set analysis sequences to work. Some areas of the radio frequency spectrum were dense with activity. Painstakingly, the signals were searched for patterns. Frequency shifting programs compensated for the ship's rapid approach; his velocity, in fact, squeezed years of transmissions into bursts of static. It took considerable time to analyse, assess, and sort it into some kind of meaning.

Finally, organisation of data began to bear fruit as snippets of transmissions were captured and their subtle messages sifted out and exposed by the workings of the computer. After many frustrations and a total reworking of dozens of algorithms, some intelligence was gleaned from the noise. Slowly, sections were decoded into what could only be -- music.

Could it be so? Further refinements of analysis were set into motion.

Yes, and not just music. It was beautiful and varied music, woven with emotion. He could detect here the fire of passion, and there the fear of the unknown, sometimes the joy of celebration and evident throughout most, the warmth of hope.

Lashing's mind worked relentlessly, without rest, scouring the frequencies, mentally assigning the chores of grouping, reviewing, searching. He became lost in the intoxication of drinking deeply from the well of wondrous notes created on unimagined instruments.

There was language too! There wasn't enough time to attempt translation of any of the seemingly endless varieties of dialect, but language it was. It was interspersed with and within the music. Sometimes it was obviously used as speech and at other times it was used like an instrument in itself. Song.

Through scanning and listening, searching and pausing, he sensed pain, felt love, heard crashing chords that most certainly were created for marching, was swept away in the glory of being alive. There were infinite variations of music, and singing and, here and there, obvious poetry.

The savages had advanced well beyond savagery. They now were passionate beings with hopes and dreams, happiness and love, fears and yearnings. They had the intelligence to build the technology allowing them to broadcast information and music to others of their kind.

Unknown to them, it also travelled out into space, to one not of their kind, to one bringing their destruction in biological dispersion capsules. Out to their executioner went the evidence of their pride, their love of life, their uniqueness and their diversity.

Lashing severed the link. The silence in his mind was a crushing blow. The emptiness of his vessel enclosed him a cold metallic blanket of solitude and loneliness. His duty suddenly seemed much less heroic.

This planet their only hope, he must complete his assignment, even if distasteful. In reality, should he decide against it, there was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable conclusion of his mission. The music would die, slowly becoming more faint as they succumbed to his cargo.

Wait! Maybe there was a way.

No, it wasn't possible for him to betray his entire world in order to save these beings; but then again, this was a world too!

Conflicting emotions tore at his very being, thrusting, chewing, and worrying fragments of his rationality. Chunks of his sanity were easily parted from an already decaying foundation of reason. Pity and compassion balked against obligation and commitment. He became consumed in the licking torture of helplessness and spiritual spasm.

He was lost in the maelstrom of approaching madness, drifting, yet aware in one tenuous area of perception that inaction was, due to his redundancy, action in itself. If he did nothing, all would proceed as originally intended. The oppressive weight of this responsibility was the ultimate assault. He sensed his mind about to splinter. Almost audibly, it shattered and fell into a heap of countless shards. He fled his body.

He was awash with visions of sound, smells of colour, sounds of taste. Dissolved into a hurricane of concepts encompassing duty and morality, ethics and truth, he fully understood the entirety of it. Confusion, uncertainty and indecision vanished. The distinction between the morality of a people and the universal ethics of right and wrong was transparent in its simplicity. The validity of cosmic justice was now obvious to him. He had become -- something else. He was now a child of the universe, a citizen of the Cosmos.

Placidly looking down from where he floated like a spirit above his own form, he absorbed all aspects of the ship then, merely willing it, was reunited with his abandoned shell.

Flooding easily out through the interfaces, intertwining intimately with the matrix of the computer, the distinction between Lashing and ship blurred. He was now more fully in command of his craft than its designers would have thought possible.

He was nearing the planet, speed decreased so as to lessen the friction of entry into its atmosphere. He descended in a calculated arc, chose his approach angle and, with the ship's eyes, envisioned missiles racing upwards toward him. Phantom projectiles, created in exactly the appropriate locations and frequency, were tactfully evaded. He designed the imaginary onÂ¬slaught to take him away from the land mass below. Sensors saw what he dreamed and veered to a course he knew was inevitable.

The ship was programmed to automatically eject the evil capsules upwards if a minimum altitude was reached before they were activated. They would climb to an optimum height for atmospheric dispersion and explode, spreading the concentrated virus. Only a heartbeat before auto eject, he rolled the craft, inverting it. The capsules fired into the sea.

They would open, of course, when they came to rest, as a last effort to fulfil their objective. The virus would work its way slowly, inexorably through the food chain and make itself known, but Lashing had bought considerable time for these beings.

It was likely that their medical knowledge would now have time to advance to levels sufficient to combat the virulent plaque. This, along with the inevitable weakening mutation of the virus, would ensure at least a chance of a successful battle against it. It would still viciously attack their immune systems and spread most readily through the actual process of reproducÂ¬tion itself, but the odds for conquering it were now in their favour.

Hundreds of great transport arks would arrive poorly armed, not expecting much resistance. The inhabitants of this world were likely to have advances by then to better deal with that threat too.

The last image he experienced was that of his mate as she was on the evening before her life was taken from her. She regarded him -- he believed he could detect a glint of pride in her bottomless eyes -- as the stars sparkled overhead. The soft light from the twin moons of his home world flowed delicately over the curves of her four breasts, caressing them.

Observed only by dolphins, he was gently swallowed by the Pacific Ocean as destiny was precariously placed within the reach of the destined.

(3271 words)

Message edited by author 2007-03-14 06:20:35.

Canon EF-S 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6

03/14/2007 06:03:43 AM · #4

Shameless bump for the morning crowd. Enjoy.

BlackDot

Canon EOS-20D

03/14/2007 06:17:20 AM · #5

This being a site primarily for comments and critique, I spotted that Lashing is called Lansing in the fifth to last paragraph hehe!

Just scanned it, will read it tonight.

Have Fun!

03/14/2007 06:20:58 AM · #6

Nice catch ... thanks ... fixed ... ALL C&C welcomed ...

Message edited by author 2007-03-14 06:21:25.

Nikon AF Nikkor 85mm f/1.4D IF

03/14/2007 02:09:01 PM · #7

shalrath

Nikon D200

03/18/2007 09:31:40 AM · #8

Sorry I took a bit to get back, I've been a tad busy.

I noticed the name change as well. A few more things from me:

First off, really love the story. It's something really out of the ordinary. Next up, as for publishers, check out Lulu.com, they have some good options for first publishers.

Your use of language is intricate and eloquent, I really enjoyed reading it. There is one point where this faltered though, on the 5th page when Lashing is contemplating the fate of the beings: "Wait! Maybe there was a way." and the following sentence seem a little too colloquial to fit in with the rest of the piece.

That's about all, otherwise I think you've written a great story.

Message edited by author 2007-03-18 09:31:59.

strangeghost

Canon EOS-7D

Tamron SP AF 28-75mm f/2.8 XR Di for Canon

03/18/2007 10:41:08 AM · #9

Greetmir, I finally got around to reading it. ;-)

First of all, very well done. You're a very talented writer with an eye for expression and emotion. The story flows well.

I guessed the ending by about the half-way point. I guess I've read enough of this kind of literature to recognize the ambiguous language you used to describe the planet of origin and the species. That's not a bad thing, as I'm guessing most readers will not see it coming. In that vein, you might want to come up with a more dramatic closing paragraph to reveal the "truth." The passing reference to the four breasts and the Pacific ocean was good, but I'm wondering if you can really find a brick to bash your readers over the head with.

Here's my real criticism: why are the voyagers traveling to a nearby spiral galaxy? This one element raises two separate - but crucial - questions.

1) interstellar travel is a tough enough physical problem to crack - intergalactic travel raises the story to a point of absurdity (how could their scouting ships have gotten the message back about a suitable planet when a round trip would have to be measured in millions of years, even allowing for travel at nearly the speed of light?)

2) if you (and your readers) accept intergalactic travel, why was the choice of planets so limited? Surely with an entire spiral galaxy as hunting grounds, an ideal planet could be found that was not already inhabited? It seems to me the story would work better if the species was searching within their stellar neighborhood. This would place the travel times and distances to reasonable for an advanced civilization (and not strain the laws of physics to the breaking point), and logically limit the number of star systems which could provide an ideal planet.

Just a few thoughts. Excellent story!

yakatme

Lytro Illum Light Field Digital

Nikon AF-S Nikkor 17-35mm f/2.8D IF-ED

03/18/2007 11:29:12 AM · #10

Greetmir...Where did you suddenly come from?

I've noticed your significant presence in the forums lately and I have enjoyed reading your comments and input, but I couldn't have known that you had this in you! I like this short story a lot and I hope that you are successful in getting it published.

I am not a writer so take my critique with a grain of salt. Here are some points that I noticed might benefit from rewording.

1. There were no workable options that did not include unacceptable risk. I think that the subject that you are referring to here is not "risk", but rather some distasteful, yet unavoidable consequences.

2. No, it wasn't possible for him to betray his entire world in order to save these beings; but then again, this was a world too!
"but then again" should be changed to something meaning "because" this was a world too!

3. The part of the story in which he is separated from his ship and body were a little hazy and unclear as to what was transpiring, as opposed to when he was "reunited with his abandoned shell" and "more fully in command of his craft than its designers would have thought possible." The reunification made the seperation a little more clear, but I still think that the seperation part needs to be tweaked a little.

I, also, had a good idea where this was going about half way through, but that is not a bad thing. I agree with strangehost you that you need to make the confirmation that Lashing is an alien heading toward Earth more definite, startling, and dramatic.

I hope that this helps a little and that you get the story published in a manner that is along the lines of what you hope for.

edit for typo

Message edited by author 2007-03-18 11:32:12.

03/22/2007 12:24:33 PM · #11

Thank you all for taking the time to comment and critique my story ... I really appreciate the input. It really is valuable to me as it is hard for me to get far enough away from the story to see these things.

A special thanks to Shalrath for the tip regarding Lulu.com

Cheers all!