Spencer Luster: March 2015

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Terry Pratchett walked the black sand

He made death less scary, and life much happier.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

The Other Side of Space Completed!

Okay, so it's only the first draft, but it feels fantastic. The final fourteen to fifteen chapters (out of forty-one) went pretty quickly. More importantly, I enjoyed writing them more so than any other large chunk of text I ever produced. I'm not saying it's my best work, but I had such fun writing it, even the more challenging bits.

I'm feeling a strange mixture of pride, relief, and to a certain extent a little bit of loss. I'm reminded of what Churchill said about his History of the English Speaking Peoples.

"Writing a long and substantial book is like having a friend and companion at your side, to whom you can always turn for comfort and amusement, and whose society becomes more attractive as a new and widening field of interest is lighted in the mind." -- From Churchill's The Gathering Storm.

Not that I'm suggesting my little fiction story is worthy of even cleaning up Mr. Churchill's cigar ashes. It's simply the idea of a long piece of writing being a friendly comfort that resonates. Of course my friend and companion is still there, patiently waiting to have his face mashed and his limbs twisted as I begin the second draft, but it's not the same thing as fresh creation.

I hope to finish the re-write in short order, and then present it to my son Alex. I wrote this one for him.

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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!"