Spencer Luster: September 2014

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

More Scrabble poetry

George Daley, Tom Redding and I play Scrabble and Boggle regularly. Tom's game has definitely improved over time, although victory usually belongs to me or George. Nevertheless, I was prompted to write this next poem with Tom as the hero. It came about years ago during the infamous "Scrabble Poetry War" between me and George. I think this might have been the last barrage that finally overwhelmed Dr. Daley.

Inspired by The Charge of the Light Brigade:

Happily! Happily!
Happily onward!
All holding their breath,
while Tom played for six hundred:
Forward past the others he played,
Charging with the mighty word he made,
still holding their breath,
as Tom played for six hundred!

Forward, past the others he played,
Was there a man dismay'd?
You bet!!!
'Til someone noticed he'd blunder'd:
There's not a FASH in the book,
There's Tom with a phony hook,
There's nothing like it, why even look?
All letting out their breath,
when Tom played for six hundred!

Challenge to the right of Tom,
Challenge to the left of Tom,
Challenge in front of Tom
voluble they thundered
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
But Tom said, "Oh, what the hell."
Huffing out a breath,
with confidence he tried to sell,
Tom played for six hundred

FASH would be there, they'd all see
FASH as George turned past letter E
While Spencer giggled, "Tee hee hee"
Charging into F he paged
All the table wonder'd:
Plunged into the book,
Bella barked, the table shook,
Coffee and Pepsi spilling,
Then reeling from the brilliant stroke,
Shattered and sunder'd, George spoke:
"It's in there!
Tom scores six hundred!"

Challenge to the right of Tom,

Challenge to the left of Tom,

Challenge in front of Tom

voluble they thundered

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

But Tom had said, "Oh, what the hell."

Huffing out a breath,

with confidence he played so well,

Tom wins with six hundred!

And then he woke, from fever'd dream,

To find no tiles on the scene,

He looked around and wonder'd:

"They really were a pack of cards",

or… something like that old canard.

No honor for such skill with lingo,

No Triple, Triple, Triple bingo,

No awesome score of six hundred.

"But next time I'll take all your damn ears!"

So... I guess I'd better get back to work.

Friday, September 5, 2014

GenCon 2014 continued: Westerfeld and Deadly, Unna?

I got to meet and chat with Scott Westerfeld after one of his panels. [BTW: His Q&A session was terrific. Scott was smart, and wise, and very funny. Alex was surprised at how funny. And Beth Vaughan did an excellent job moderating!] Fortunately I had something besides, "I love your books" at hand to open the conversation.*

The Other Side of Space (TOSS) includes a character who is an Aboriginal Australian. During my research, mostly on slang phrases, I ran across a few blogs and bulletin boards with some truly vile, racist diatribes against the Aboriginal people. Really virulent stuff. I mentioned this to Scott, and asked how the racism in Australia compares to the U.S. [Scott was born and raised in the U.S., but has lived in Australia for the past 12 years.] I couldn't imagine similar comments about blacks in the U.S. surviving for long. Maybe I don't hang out at bad enough water coolers.

Scott told me that in some rural areas where a mostly white town was near an Aboriginal reserve or former reserve, things still could get pretty awful. Not to say that the cities are racism free, but the kind of stuff I'd mentioned was more likely to be found in the sticks. He then recommended a YA book titled Deadly, Unna? by Phillip Gwynne. Even though it was first published in 1998, Scott felt it was reasonably up to date for my purposes, and a good read. He didn't say so, but it was chosen by the Children's Book Council of Australia as "Book of the Year: Older Readers."

As Nadia Wheatley of the Sydney Morning Herald wrote, "Combining humour, politics, fine writing and football, it's pretty hard to beat." It's a very good book. The first five paragraphs had me hooked on the main character's voice. I'd be willing to hear any story from Blacky.

So I learned a few things about Nungas and Goonyas (blacks and whites) in the book's world, spent many very enjoyable hours, and now I'm looking forward to reading more of Mr. Gwynne's work.

Thanks, Scott!

*Note to my Future Fans, if any get created: I won't ever mind hearing this!

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(excerpt from chapter three)

"What I'm looking for," Jason said, bouncing back on his feet, "is a package of fusion grade boron 11 from Earth. Seen anything like that?"

Maggie looked up at the ceiling and scratched her cheek. "Boron? That's one of those "element" things, isn't it? And you say it's used in fusion, eh?"

"Maggs!"

The black woman chuckled and hooked her thumb backwards. "Check the crate next to the lathe. I ordered the squid to unload it at highest priority and drop it here. The rest goes to Computer Science."

Jason jumped up and almost banged his skull on the low ceiling. When he landed, he leaned over and hugged Maggie. "You're the best!"

"Tell me something I don't know," she said. "Not that it does me any good."

She said something else, but Jason had already changed focus to the blue crate. One unfastened lid and one layer of packing foam later and the silvery cylinder full of boron 11 was in his hands. Combine the contents with some plain old hydrogen in the fusion reactor of Argo, and billions of joules of energy were his to command. Black space would belong to him again!

Jason put the cylinder down to replace the lid of the crate. He dropped it in place and was about to reseal it when his hands stopped.

Had that been a box from Quellan's under the fusion fuel?

He popped the lid off again.

Sure enough, that deep red label with the spiral galaxy pattern was unmistakable.

Mom worked for Quellan's.

He hesitated before picking up the box. The last time she'd sent anything to the station had been half a year ago, a week late for Jason's fourteenth birthday. The Whirl-O-Ball had been something he'd begged for—back when he was five years old. She had included a note, and it was a whole sixteen words long.

Still, if this was from Mom at least it showed she was thinking about him. Correction, at least it showed she had thought about him, however long ago she'd ordered whatever this was.

"Hey Maggs, you said this crate is for the Computer Center or specifically for Dad?"

She slid out from under the small spacecraft, welder still in hand. "What's the transfer label say on the side?"

Jason looked. Dr. Anson Blackstone. Personal. "It's for Dad."

"You thinking of hauling that to your father yourself? A squid would be easier."

"No," Jason said. "I was just curious."

A grunt was Maggie's reply.

Jason stared at the Quellans box. Maybe Dad had simply ordered something for himself. Or if it was from Mom, that didn't mean it was for her son who she hadn't bothered to see in three years. And even if Mom had sent it, and even if it was for him, it was probably dumb and thoughtless and she'd had someone else pick it out.

His curiosity beat out his bitterness. Curiosity and hope.

The box wasn't much bigger than his hand, but it had surprising mass, maybe a whole kilogram. The ribbon around it was real, shiny fabric, not one of those printed things. He untied it. The box top slid off easily.

Jason stared at the gold rectangle that had alternating violet and black stripes. He only recognized it because of who Dad was. The thing was a "Delphic Oracle", the core of a computer that some people said could have almost infinite, instantly accessible memory. Not even the FAs had that kind of tech. This wasn't for him. Definitely for Dr. Anson Blackstone, Chief Computer Scientist.

It was a dream that Dad had talked about, a theoretical device the cyber ginks played with based on speculation about four or more dimensional space. Except this was the real thing!

No. It couldn't be real. Dad was one of the people who'd proved that it couldn't work. The big chip was probably one of those mock ups for some fancy presentation. But it sure was a beautiful model. Jason twisted the latch of the clear plastic cover. He just wanted to feel it, and then put it back.

His finger touched the surface, right on one of the violet stripes. It was cold, very cold. He hadn't expected that. The black stripes were the same.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take it out, just peek at the other side. He started to lift the chip, but then thought about how delicate the leads of real chips were—one wrong scrape and you've turned a very expensive piece of technology into a ballast rock. Even if it was a model he didn't want to take the chance. Dad would show him later. Jason eased the chip back and closed the cover. He returned the plastic case to the box.

Then he felt the pain at his fingertip.

At first he thought he'd poked it on something sharp in the box, but he couldn't see anything. Then the pain flared up and it felt more like a burn. "Ow! Crap."

He looked at his finger. Nothing there. He rubbed it with his thumb.

"What'd you do, Darlin'?" Maggie asked from under the ship she was working on.

"I don't know, but it sure—Oh, Jeez!" The pain exploded now, a dozen times worse. The burning felt like it could have been from a rocket exhaust. He almost put his finger in his mouth, but pain started at his thumb now too and something made him stop.

He looked again.

Now he could see a change in the skin of his finger. It was rippling in little waves, almost as if it was…boiling. The skin puckered and bubbled until tiny drops of blood seeped out, but they quickly boiled into red foam. Smoke came off as the foam evaporated, and the puckering continued up his finger and along this thumb and God oh God oh God did it hurt! "Maggie! Maggie! Something's burning me up!"

Jason twitched wildly and banged into the crate. He wasn't thinking, just trying to get away from the agony. Smoke now billowed from his hand and it stunk and—

"Jason! Let me see it!" Maggie grabbed his wrist hard with both hands. She still wore her welding gloves.

His eyes were closed tight against the pain, but he forced himself to open them and look. Through the smoke he could see that his finger and most of his thumb were…gone. How could they be gone? The skin of his whole hand boiled, ready to vaporize next. He screamed, "What's happening?"

Maggie shouted, "You're not burning! You're being disassembled by nanoids!"