Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in kennycelican's LiveJournal:

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Friday, December 7th, 2007
12:03 pm	FYI on snippets Hallo Probably going to be posting one every couple days for a while, rather than every day. Holidays, doncha know. Current Mood: tired (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 5th, 2007
9:30 pm	XLI, snippet two When the young man had left the building, Olton turned to his aide, who presently was manning the desk in the reception area. "Keep my calendar clear for the rest of the day, Mr. Duncan." "I couldn't help overhearing your offer, sir. Given what we've heard, would you actually have gone through with it?" "Mr. Duncan, that young man marched thirty miles this morning, sacked the moment you gave him the word that he would have time, and was up and ready to go another thirty miles before you said a word to him. He's done that more than once a day for a week with, from what I can tell, no supplies and no real rest. Given that kind of raw material, wouldn't you want to see what you could make of him?" Duncan grunted acknowledgement. "I suppose I see what you mean, sir. I was referring to the bounty and the Victorians' proscription against taking his contract. Would he be worth the fallout if we tried to hire him?" The Captain thought a bit, then shrugged. "They didn't say anything about hiring him; they just said not to take his work. Hiring him might get us in a minor pissing contest against the Victorians, but there's been a lot of talk about someone doing a lot more than that, too. I'm sure if push came to shove we could get some help if they tried to change their tune after the fact." Duncan looked at his commanding officer sharply. "Should I really be hearing all that, sir?" Olton chuckled wryly. "Probably not. That would be why you're clearing my calendar. I drank a glass of that water to make sure he knew it was safe. Old Machiavellian that I am, even while I was trying to get him to sign on with us, I was setting him up for the Victorians. That's why I had you line up Jack when I heard Mr. Do-Shire would be here this morning." On hearing that his Captain had imbibed from the water that had been delivered to the conference room, Duncan's eyes widened. He then keyed his phone and began rapidly typing commands into the terminal on his desk. "Gardner, send two men up here right now. The Captain needs an escort to his quarters. The escort is not to talk to the Captain, nor are they to listen to anything he might say." Voices sounded through the phone, too low to be heard. "I'm sending Rodriguez and Harper, I told them they're to silent escort Cap to his quarters and see that he stays there until further notice. What's up? Everything OK?" "Nothing you need to know details on. Medical reasons, I'll get the Doc to sign off on it later, but for right now we need the Captain sequestered immediately." "Gotcha. I'll want that sign off ASAP, or I'm gonna be paying you a very unfriendly visit." "You'll have it. Duncan out." The aide turned to his Captain with a look of mingled frustration and relief. "OK, sir. I'll have to let the Doc in on what's going on, but I think we've got the situation contained. How much did you drink?" "About a glassful. It should wear off in eight hours or so, but I'd lock me up for twenty four just to be on the safe side." The Captain grimaced, "Damn, I didn't think this stuff would affect me this much, or this fast. By now Mr. Do-Shire is going to be a very suggestible young man." *** Tram leaned his head back against the headrest of the transport. His head spun a bit, and, staring at the clock on the dash of the vehicle, he did a quick once over. His original assumption that the cause was standing out in the sun waiting for his ride seemed unfounded. He had a fair amount of experience with sun poisoning, and not only was he not prone to it, he wasn't showing any of the other symptoms. It was possible he had caught some local strain of cold. Not likely, but possible. His vocation on Astori had taken him all across the face of the planet, including the single spaceport, and he'd long before caught and lived through just about every commonly occurring strain of cold. Also, his symptoms seemed odd. He began to close his eyes in an effort to concentrate when the driver spoke up. "So, find what you were looking for out with the O'Malley's?" Tram hesitated for a fraction of a second then shrugged. "Not really. I begin to think I'm not going to find what I'm looking for anywhere." "You mean you can't find what you're looking for on Penance? I can't see that. Not being able to afford it is another thing, but if it exists, Penance sells it." Tram sighed, abandoning his efforts to discover the source of his ailment. Whatever it was, it wasn't serious enough to be an emergency. Perhaps he would purchase some food once he got back to the city. "Some things are not for sale, Mr...?" "Call me Jack. All my friends do, and I don't mean to contradict a paying customer, but since I'm given to understand you're not the one doing the paying, everything, and I mean everything, has its price." "Does Dignity have a price, Mr. Jack? Honor? Honesty? What is the price of Loyalty? If a man's Loyalty, Honor, or Dignity has a price, are any of those things worth having?" "It's just Jack, Mr. Do-Shire. I didn't say the price was monetary. The price of Loyalty is often Loyalty returned with interest. The price of Dignity is often success. And the price of Honor is usually pain, sometimes death." A small voice in the back of Tram's mind tried to get his attention, but he shrugged it off to pay attention to what his driver was saying. "For instance, take your Honor. For it you've suffered hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and if you continue on this path, you'll likely suffer pain, humiliation, even death. But with those coins you will purchase the Honor of being a hero, perhaps a martyred one, but a hero nonetheless. Will you not?" The voice was getting more urgent, but the need to answer was overwhelming. "Yes, but that is not my goal. I do not seek to earn a hero's mantle; I seek only to do what I must to fulfill my duty, my vocation." "Ah, a vocation, is it? That explains quite a lot then. Not too many men would fast for weeks on end, remain nearly motionless for days at a time, and forgo sleep for long enough to make most men hallucinate. It usually takes desperation, religion, or an uncommon level of greed." "Or a combination of more than one," replied Tram. "Not only is it my vocation to protect my people, but their need is a desperate one." "Oh, it is, is it? What would make an entire world so desperate?" "Our world has been attacked, and the aggressors have begun exterminating anyone who will not cooperate fully with them." The driver glanced over his shoulder, disbelief clear in his eyes. "An entire world conquered? I don't buy it. Never been done. Never going to be done, mostly because it's just not practical to do. It would take more resources to conquer a world than you could squeeze out of a conquered world. Transport costs are just too high." "There is one assumption that is always made when people use that logic." "Oh?" "It assumes the native population is willing and able to fight back, and that the native population is large enough to make a difference." "You're telling me that your population isn't big enough to fight back? Then there's no reason to conquer you, unless there's some rare resource on your world, which is a vanishingly rare condition." "No, our population is fairly large. Our world is a blessed one, and we have been good stewards." "So why haven't you just kicked the pirates out?" "My people are pacifists. Except for my Order, none of them are able to fight. Those who are willing and trained to participate in violent action do not have numerical superiority over the invaders." "Pacifists? You have got to be kidding me. Even the Core Worlds have shown that they're willing to take up arms if the situation calls for it. Even if, as a native of Penance, I've got to say they suck at it." "Kidding you is the one thing I'm not doing. Astori was colonized exclusively by pacifists seeking to escape the violence of Terra, and for the most part they have succeeded." The voice finally slipped its message past the fog inhabiting his brain, and adrenaline surged. Tram forced his voice to be calm, his pulse to slow. "Mr. Jack, you seem to know a great deal about me and my situation. Such as my name, and how I came to be here, and what I've done since." Tram saw a small smile in the rear view mirror mounted on the windscreen. "That would be because there are a number of individuals who are interested in the ultimate success of your mission here on Penance." "You are one of them, I presume?" The grin widened. "Only a representative, really. I'm reasonably well known in certain circles as a safe way to get a message to a visitor to Penance. That being said, I'm actually quite a big fan of my current employers." "What message were you given for me, then?" "I was actually instructed to discover something before telling you. I think I know the answer by now, but let me ask you directly. What are you willing to pay in order to find a liberator for your world?" "I've only a small amount of money, and my world, while blessed in many ways, is not wealthy." "You're also not that bright, if you've already forgotten what I said earlier." Taken aback by Jack's rudeness, Tram thought back over the conversation. Comprehension showed clearly on Tram's face as it dawned, and Jack spoke again. "Right. Now, what are you willing to pay to find a liberator for your world?" "I would give anything. If my life or my death can purchase protection my people, either is freely given." Jack grinned again. "I was hoping you'd say that." *** Half an hour later, Jack pulled off of the highway and into the municipal traffic grid. He turned on the Land Rover's auto navigation and turned to his passenger. "Where I'm taking you you'll need cash. The Company I'm taking you to see doesn't barter for trinkets." "Do you know the location of a dealer in art or exotic natural gems?" "Yes, actually, but you're in something of a rush." "I am?" "You don't think my friends are the only ones who know where you are, do you? Your pirates actually have a presence here on Penance, which I'm sure you guessed." "I stowed away on one of their transports to get here, so yes, I'd assumed they had some presence here." "They're sure to be watching for you to convert your trinkets into cash. The moment you try, they'll be on you like white on rice." "Rice isn't white, it's brown." Jack, stopped momentarily by the non sequitur, stared at Tram. "Are you ok? You seem a little flushed." "I think I may be coming down with something, actually, which may mean I've even less time than you said. How will we handle this?" "I've a few more options on my credit reader than the typical cab. Dig out what you've got for trade, and I'll put together a debit card with the right amount of money to get Tenly's attention." Tram began digging through the pockets of his outfit. There were more pockets than one might think on seeing the flowing, robe-like nature of the outer garment. The inner layers were covered in cargo pockets, originally intended for various tools of his trade. Now all but one were filled with small works of art, the finest portable artwork he had been able to gather before leaving his world. As the pockets emptied, the collection on the seat beside Tram began to grow. Small faceless dolls, inlaid and jeweled curved knives, painted ceramic solitaires, and small but exquisite dream catchers all piled onto a piece of lace which was itself worthy of note for its delicacy and intricacy. In a separate pile Tram placed a collection of small bags which looked to be made of leather and decorated with beads and embroidery. "I think the makers of these might roll over in their graves if they knew what I was about to use them for." He looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged. "Then again, if they were so insistent that objects of art were more important than living people, I'm not sure I their good opinion was worth worrying about." He then proceeded to empty his last remaining pocket, a large one, into the bags, until each was full nearly to bursting. When the last bag was tied closed, he finished emptying the pocket into his right hand. "I'm afraid I'm out of bags. I'd intended to visit a jeweler to sell these, and take them directly from my pocket then." Jack handed Tram a small plastic card, then cupped his hands to receive the contents of Tram's fist. A glittering waterfall poured into his open hands, flashing every color of the rainbow. Jack rolled them back and forth a bit, a low whistle coming from his mouth. "You know, I've seen this kind of wealth as credit chips, and as machinery, and even as, um, services to be rendered by professionally friendly women, but I've never actually held it in my hands as a bunch of pretty rocks." He poured them back and forth between his hands then, with a regretful look, poured them into the pocket on his shirt. "I'll need to go directly to someplace secure myself after this. Thankfully the cab's bulletproof. Can't have it any other way when you have to pick up fares carrying enough hardware to wipe out a small town." He glanced out the windscreen. "We're almost there." Tram looked out the window, saw the profusion of buildings, and was somewhat confused. "Almost all of the Companies I researched are located outside the city proper. The only Companies listed inside were the Victorians, who are listed as not currently available for contract, a few small Companies currently in transit, and…" He stopped, looking at the squat, ugly cube of a building the cab had stopped in front of. It occupied all of a particularly large block on that side of the street, and the only things marring the smooth black facing were a slightly recessed door set to the left of center and three man-sized gray letters hanging just above the door. His face snapped around to Jack. "Jack, I can't afford this. I'd never heard of XLI before I arrived on Penance, and the only thing I've found out about them over the past week is that the fee they charge for a consultation is more than I've got available as a down payment." Jack made a strangled sound, like he was trying to hold in a giggle. "Ex El Eye," he muttered. Looking Tram straight in the eye, he said clearly, "So you're not willing to walk in a door to save your people? I told you that debit card has enough to get Tenly's attention, I meant it. My backers will pay me the difference between what's on the seat and what's on the card, so don't worry about me." He paused, searching for something in Tram's eyes. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed satisfied, and continued. "When you talk to her, tell her everything you told me about your situation. Speak simply, and above all be honest." Tram felt himself unable to look away from Jack's eyes. The little voice in his head was stirring again, but it was buried in gauze again, unable to break through. He nodded, pocketed the debit card, opened the door of the cab, and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Jack nodded as he closed the door, and rolled down his window. "Thanks for the tip, sir. Enjoy your stay on Penance!" As the cab rolled away, Tram turned and walked toward the door. Somehow he was unsurprised when it slid inward and to the side with a hiss when he was less than an arm's length away. Current Mood: nervous (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 4th, 2007
8:55 pm	XLI, snippet one XLI Chapter One Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will. Mahatma Gandhi Tram closed his eyes leaned his head back against the smooth, cool tiles of the wall. The tile felt strange against his close cropped sandy hair, strange because of the unfamiliar lack of texture in the ceramic, but mainly strange from most of his hair being gone. He rolled his head gently back and forth, the chill easing the ache even as the motion and the gentle bumping caused a faint nausea. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked toward the receptionist. By that gentleman's collar tab's insignia, Tram supposed the man had a job title that sounded a bit grander and far more militant, but to Tram, anyone sitting at a waiting room desk greeting visitors was, by definition, a receptionist. Tram took himself to task briefly for allowing his thoughts to wander, then realized that the middle-aged man behind the desk was trying, subtly, to get his attention. Tram made eye contact, then glanced at the man's hands, which had been raised above the desk as if he were about to rest his chin on them. One finger pointed to the timepiece on his wrist, then the opposite hand flashed three fingers then clenched. A ghost of a smile, a ghost of a nod, and the man behind the desk went back to being a study in attentive non-communication. Tram tried not to sigh gratefully as he digested the information. Unless he completely misread the man, he had roughly thirty minutes further to wait. Not enough to get the real sleep he so desperately needed, but perhaps enough to rest his eyes and take stock of how close to the edge he had pushed himself. He closed his eyes, folded his legs up under him on the chair, and laid his hands across his knees. The position wasn't the most comfortable, especially on the hard plastic chair, but he'd learned the hard way that one didn't sit on the floor anywhere on the world of Penance, and despite extensive practice he'd never quite mastered the skill of meditating in any position he found himself. He brought his breathing under control then relaxed all but those muscles holding him in his chair. Next he began a count of heartbeats, and let a corner of his mind keep count. All of it was both difficult, due to the distractions of his failing body, and frighteningly easy, perhaps due to the same cause. In the privacy of his mind, he took stock of his situation. He'd had no food since his first day on Penance, which his faltering time sense told him was some six days ago. More pressing, he'd had no water since two days before. Worst of all was the lack of sleep. Since he left Astori, he'd not truly had any sleep, although during the transit there was ample time to meditate. He'd meditated expecting to sleep once he arrived on Penance. Even if he couldn't afford a temporary residence, as a wandering Protector he'd often enough slept on the ground. His surprise at the ordnances forbidding any such activity was only equaled by his surprise at the fact that they were quite strictly enforced, and transient lodgings on Penance went at rates that made Tram's eyes widen quite abruptly. Given the nature of his business, he carried as much portable wealth as could be secreted on a human body, but Penance was not a world that catered to visitors. More accurately, it catered to them quite thoroughly, and based on the advertisements he had seen, in any fashion they so desired, so long as they no lack of funds to spare. Despite his hidden wealth, Tram didn't have any to spare. He knew that what he carried would only be a down payment, and that a fairly small one, for the services he looked to purchase here. So he did without sleep, catching short rests like this one while awaiting meetings with the companies he sought to employ. The same thing held true for sustenance, only more so. Thus far only the first company Tram visited had actually supplied their prospective customer with a meal during negotiations. He suspected that after that first meeting, word had been spread in advance of his arrival that he wasn't a well-funded customer, and no more meals were forthcoming. Three companies since then had at least been polite or generous enough to provide water at the meetings, but not all had, and walking, even in Penance's generally cool evenings and mornings, hadn't been without its cost in sweat. Things were looking up, though. After the first few meetings, which Tram had arranged with companies with enough fame to have been heard of even back on Astori, his tactics had changed. Instead of negotiating directly and ardently for the services he was seeking, he instead made a polite inquiry as to the cost of those services and then, when the answer inevitably came up higher than any amount his people could afford, he had asked if the company could recommend someone more suited to his budget. Twice that had gotten him ejected forcefully from the compounds, and more often than not, his request for information was denied. But for whatever reason some of the company representatives felt his question was worth answering. He'd gradually moved down the list, from the famous, through the infamous, and on down until he hit the level he had privately labeled ‘just competent enough to remain alive in a deadly profession'. Thus far he had spoken with two such companies, neither of whom had quoted prices far out of his budget. Unfortunately, while neither company flat refused to work for the prices he mentioned, or with the conditions his situation required, neither had the resources available to assist him. Both of them had recommended a third, however, and that third was where he now waited, hovering on the edge of starvation, dehydration, and well beyond the edge of sleep deprivation. A nagging thought caught his attention, and his eyes snapped open on the thirteen-hundredth heart beat since he began. The receptionist, who had just opened his mouth to speak, was unable to stifle a slight grin as Tram unfolded himself and stood a moment before he was prompted. "The Captain will see you now, Mr. Do-Shire." "Thank you. You have been a most gracious host." *** Tram strode past the amused receptionist and through the indicated door. He stumbled slightly as he caught sight of his reflection in the door. His normally sandy hair had been bleached by Penance's harsh sun, and his skin, normally the color of wild clover honey, had been tanned to the color of age darkened amber. The contrast with his pale green eyes was shocking. He adjusted his clothing to cover his delay then continued through the door. The reception area had been, compared to most he'd been in recently, quite Spartan. The conference room continued the theme, but with more of an air of practical reuse than simple frugality. The long table in the center of the room quite obviously did double duty as a desk, and from faint smells in the air, conferences frequently included food or the room doubled as a dining room. Well cushioned, equally well worn chairs were rolled back against the walls on all sides of the room, and a quick glance upward showed the ceiling to have the telltale marks of a recessed projector. Given the lack of any corresponding marks for a screen, Tram assumed the whiteboard at one end of the room was the typical projection surface. The man seated on the far side of the table was of a piece with the rest of the room, attired in a uniform that was well cared for and clean, but obviously not new or expensive, with hair graying at more than the temples, and a face worn by responsibility and time. As Tram entered, he looked up from signing the last of a stack of paper documents. All of this registered in a flash, and if Tram felt dismay at how primitive the equipment appeared to be compared to the truly amazing multimedia setups he'd been exposed to recently, an equally strong feeling of relief hit as he realized that here he had found a company which might be employed without beggaring his people. His quick survey of the room had not, however, gone unnoticed by the man on the far side of the room. "Good day, son. I'm Captain Olton. I hear you have a proposal for O'Malley's Company. I also have heard through the grapevine that you're polite to a fault, but I'm not the sort with time to be complimented by every potential client who walks in off the street. Either we'll take your work or we won't, just spit it out." Tram swallowed the greeting he'd been about to reply with. After a moment to gather his thoughts, he decided that simplicity was his best option. "Captain Olton, I wish to employ O'Malley's company to defend my people from invaders and, if possible, drive them from my world." "Well. You can follow orders if they're clear. That's good." Olton snorted, as if suddenly amused by something. "On the other hand, ‘if possible'? Son, that's got to be the oddest request I've heard in a while. For one thing, most requests I hear of put the driving off first and the protection second, at least in cases where the opponents are already on the ground. For another, we work in absolutes. Do or do not. People don't pay mercenaries for a good effort." "So I have been given to understand. My first priority must be to the defense of my people, however. Goods can be replaced, homes can be rebuilt, and if need be, new neighbors can be tolerated. My people have done all of these things and more in the past. They cannot, however, bring the dead back to life." Embarrassingly, Tram's voice failed on the last word. The Captain looked at him a moment, then pressed a button on the phone on his desk. "Canteen, send a cadet up to my office with a pitcher of water. The negotiations are making me thirsty." He nodded to Tram. "Go on." "Thank you sir," said Tram hoarsely, "but if I could wait until the water arrives, I will be much more able to continue." "Didn't say it was for you, did I now? In fact, I'm betting that cadet only brings up one glass. Course, if you're rude enough and desperate enough to drink straight from the pitcher, I'm probably not going to be all that offended, seeing how trying to sort out what you're saying is causing undue strain on my poor old ears." Tram stood stunned for just a moment then forced his face to stillness. Shock at the implied insult gave way to curiosity as to the odd generosity of his host. For a variety of reasons, not the least of which that it had actually become slightly painful to talk, Tram held his peace until the pitcher arrived. Once the cadet had poured a glass, set it in front of the Captain, and left the room, Tram waited for the Captain to raise his glass. "Negotiating sure is thirsty work, no? I imagine you're quite familiar with that phenomenon by now." Upon seeing the Captain drink, Tram reached across the table with deliberate slowness to lift the pitcher. Somewhat to his surprise, he needed both hands, as it was a rather large pitcher, obviously designed to provide water for a full conference room at need, and it was near full of iced water. He lifted it to his lips, drank a small amount, and pulled an ice cube into his mouth. For a moment, both the slight at being forced to drink from a pitcher and the embarrassment of being forced to attend to his physical condition were forgotten in the combined shock and pleasure of the cold, clear water and the crunch of the ice. Refreshed, at least to some small degree, he carefully set the pitcher back down on the table in front of himself. The Captain smiled. "Cocky, but not so full of yourself that you can't suck down your pride rather than dropping from dehydration. Son, let me ask you a few things, just to make sure I'm sure of what you're asking. That will save your voice and, if I'm right, save us both some time." Tram nodded his assent, still not quite sure of his voice. "Well then. First, I've heard through the grapevine that there is a young man traveling about Penance alone and on foot looking for a mercenary company to defend his home world from an unspecified invading force. That would be you, correct?" Tram nodded, then, out of ingrained impulse, said "To the best of my knowledge there are no others that fit that description." His voice was a bit scratchy, but coming back nicely. He lifted the pitcher again for another sip and another cube of ice. "Second, based on those same inquiries, that force has already landed, controls the only spaceport on the planet, and instead of following normal operational patterns for raiders, has emplaced a permanent garrison?" Tram nodded again, and again spoke to clarify. "There have already been multiple ships sent off world with a variety of goods. It is possible troops were rotated as well." "Meaning?" Tram realized he'd fallen into a position of parade rest while addressing the Captain. He shrugged and continued, suddenly not caring if it made him appear the supplicant. The display fit the reality, and that fit his basic, truthful nature. "We're uncertain how stable the garrison size is, only that there are always troops on the surface holding the port." "Ah. Understood. Now, third, you understand that O'Malley's is not an assault unit? In point of fact, we're not even really what you might call combat troops. We can and have stood off pirates before, but our specialty is and has always been low-risk protective details. Going in to that kind of mission isn't something we're terribly well equipped for." Tram began to feel the first tendrils of despair reaching up from his gut. Despite his attempt at control, something must have shown through on his face, because the old man on the far side of the table relented. "Son, I'm going to level with you. I know how much you've offered other units to try this, and I know how much it would cost us to ensure we could liberate your world from what you've described there. We could do it, although it would be right on that fuzzy borderline of profitable. But we've done charity work before too." At this point the Captain's face, previously quite animated for a negotiator, had simply closed off. "But due to considerations entirely separate from economics or merit, I cannot commit men under my command to this task." The Captain's face softened slightly and a wry grin tilted one corner of his mouth. "Tell you what, son. You can't help your people back home. Not here, not now. Maybe not anywhere, maybe not ever. Certainly not with the pittance you're carrying on you. But I'm impressed with what I've heard about you over the past week, and I'm even more impressed by what I've seen today. Answer a few simple questions for me, and maybe I can do something for you." "I shall endeavor to answer any questions to the best of my ability, as any aid you can provide is more than I have received from most of the Companies I have visited." "Height? Weight?" Tram paused, confused momentarily by the questions. Cursing his condition mentally when he understood the simple nature of what the Captain was asking him, he spoke while calculating rapidly. "I am six feet tall and weigh one hundred seventy five pounds." As the Captain looked at him quizzically, he finished his rapid conversions and spoke again. "That would be roughly one hundred eighty four centimeters in height and roughly eighty kilos. The weight may be off slightly, I have not been able to work out since I left Astori, and have had little food since then." The Captain made a few notes, and then continued, "Any combat experience?" "I have been trained in several forms of combat, and have had reason to use most of the particulars of my training at one time or another." Olton set down his pen and gave Tram a wry look. "Son, I gotta tell you, I'm a mustang myself, came up through the ranks. You used one too many oblique references in that answer for me to follow. Care to try again?" Tram blushed at the older man's tone, took a moment to think then replied. "I have been trained to use man portable linear accelerators, to fight with knives, and to fight without weapons. I have used that training in life threatening situations against both men and animals. I have not taken part in large unit actions, so I cannot honestly say I have battlefield experience." "Ever killed someone with that training of yours?" "I have only done so when there were no other options available." Olton made a few more marks on the paper in front of him, reviewed it silently for a moment or two then nodded as if satisfied by what he saw on the paper. "Ok, son. Sounds like whatever you were back home was more a cop than a soldier, but that's not a bad thing. Most of what O'Malley's does is MP work, which is why we have minimum height and weight requirements. Given what I've seen today and what I've heard over the past week, I'm willing to sign you on right now." Tram smiled ruefully. "I cannot abandon my people. I have sworn oaths, and I would not be the man you want to hire should I break them." Olton grunted acknowledgement of the point, then continued doggedly. "True, but with the determination you've shown, I'm willing to bet that within a few years, you could be in a command slot or hired away from me by one of the real combat Companies. Save all your pay, including the danger pay that jobs with the combat Companies inevitably bring, earn enough favors from enough people, which isn't hard to do in a high risk Company, and in a few years beyond that you'll be in a position to launch a real expedition. Heck, if you can keep up the pace you've kept up for the past week, you may even be able to work up a small unit of your own by that point." "I am afraid my people do not have the luxury of that amount of time. I thank you for your kind suggestion and thank you again for sharing your water with me…" "You took that, it wasn't shared. Still, no hard feelings. I'm really not all that thirsty, and it would be a shame to make the cadet carry that thing back to the mess hall." Tram, a bit mystified, reached out and lifted the pitcher once again. Seeing the barest of nods from the old man, he drank. He drank slowly and deeply, hoping to avoid making himself ill, but unable to turn his back on the unexpected gift. As he drank, he realized the water wasn't as pure as he'd first thought. There was a slight citrus tang to it, and the faint metallic taste of mineral supplements. As he lowered the nearly empty pitcher he raised his eyebrows. "If you're sure you won't sign on?" "I am certain, sir. I thank you for your offer, however." "Well then." He pressed another key on his phone. "Duncan, arrange for a taxi to return Mr. Do-Shire to the city." "Thank you, Captain, but I'm certain I cannot afford such extravagance." Olton's face darkened briefly, "Not a problem, son. On me. Consider it a last attempt to bribe you into signing up, or maybe an apology for wasting so much of your time today." He stood and reached out a hand. "Thank you again, then, and thank you for your time, sir," said Tram as he grasped the Captain's hand. "Should I fail to find a Company able to take my contract before I reach the end of my means, I may be forced to take you up on that offer." Despite his words, as Tram turned to leave, he was certain of two things. First, that no matter if he starved to death waiting, he would not stop until he had found the rescuers his people so desperately needed, and second, that no such rescuers existed on Penance. (Comment on this)
8:49 pm	Notes on the Novel posts Heyla. Before I post the first Novel snippet, a few notes. First, I'm going to be posting sections of around 2500 words at a time, I think, with cutoffs at the end of scenes. Second, I'll try to post something every day, but I may get waylaid some days. Third, any post with 'Music' listed means it's music I directly relate to that scene. Were I doing a movie, that's what music I'd put in that scene. Anyhow, please feel free to comment if you see something you like. Please feel even more free if you see something you don't. Current Mood: nervous (Comment on this)
Monday, December 3rd, 2007
9:33 pm	P.I.N.K. P.I.M.P... I'm back again, i know y'all missed me... Sorry, I like that song. Now, where was I? Oh, right. Been a LONG time since I posted, because my new job has a 'no blogging from work' policy, and LJ counts. Since otherwise it's quite the cool place to work, I abide. Does cut into prime LJ time for me though. I finished NaNo again this year, Ordinal, the sequel to XLI, is well underway. I'm going to start posting sections of XLI (then Ordinal) for perusal, the way I SAID I was going to long, long, long ago. Let me know if you like, or don't like. All critiques or encouragement welcome, since I'm trying to make a go of this. Oh - on a side note, if anyone out there is or knows an artist who would like to illustrate yon beastie, please let me know. I'd like to do a graphic novel version of the story, but while I can do words, pictures just are not my forte. Anyhow, novel sections should start tomorrow-ish, and I'll try to have one up every couple days. Ta for now. Current Music: Cuz I Can, Pink (Comment on this)
Sunday, April 15th, 2007
9:11 am	Comparing Genders and Traits... Something I've recently poked two people of the female / writer / intelligent persuasion about is bothering me. It's also bothering me that neither of them have responded, but it's distinctly possible that I'm worrying too much about having offended them with the nature of the question. Of course, I do tend to fret a bit overmuch at times. In any case, the question, worded differently each time, was essentially whether there are great differences between strong female and male characters. Are there qualities which are seen as admirable / strong in a woman and seen as neutral or weak in a man? Assuming that there are, is the distinction justifiable, or based entirely on prejudice of one stripe or another? Ok, in one case the discussion also ranged across the topics of mysogyny, polyamory, and promiscuity, and I was more pedantic than is my wont. Any of those three might be likely to cause some deep thought, possibly even offense. I mind that former not at all, the latter is a cause for concern. The more I've thought about it recently the less I can find a character trait which is legitimately a sign of strength in one gender and a sign of weakness in another. I'm hard pressed to even find a trait which is a sign of strength or weakness in one and neutral in the other. As an example, a common complaint I hear is that when women 'act like a man' in terms of aggressiveness, men say the woman is bitchy. I think that stems from a common misunderstanding about aggression on the part of both men and women. There are personality types that thrive on taking charge, on being confrontational, on using aggression as a constructive tool or as a problem solving technique. I've seen both men and women like that. Something else I've seen is when a person who isn't confrontational by nature decides that in order to succeed, they have to be aggressive. In both genders, this frequently results in a bully rather than a leader. When a woman does that, both men and women will refer to the woman as 'bitchy'. When a guy does, the term differs, but he's still not admired. Faked or clumsily applied aggression isn't 'good for men and bad for women'. It's bad no matter who does it. So I guess what I'm asking is does anyone know of a trait that really does differ in a meaningful way because it's expressed by a man or woman? I'm really wondering. Current Mood: curious Current Music: None (Comment on this)
8:57 am	Interest is interesting... Well, the post about strong female characters got more interest than I think I've seen on any other post. Curious, that. I'm intrigued by the whys and wherefors human behavior, and I'm wondering if it was particularly well written, particularly passionate, or just a random kind of thing. Probably the last, but then I'm often my own worst critic. Not even harshest, as that might occasionally be useful. Just worst. I don't even know what I'll like of my own creations when time has distanced it enough that I'm not still surrounded by the afterglow of creation. Of course, I'm also somewhat tired at the moment. I'm waiting for my amanda to wake up from her nap before I collapse, hoping that she'll be able to keep the Tiny Man from waking me back up prematurely. Current Mood: tired Current Music: none (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 20th, 2007
9:14 pm	An uncommon blessing... ...unreasonably low expectations on the part of my employer and coworkers. Actually, I'm a bit appalled at my coworkers' description of my predecessor. I'm only in my second day, and have begun doing what I consider minimally acceptable work. I have received three glowing, almost gushing compliments from my coworkers, of whom there are two. My boss, on the other hand, has repeatedly interrupted himself, saying "Once you're up to speed and doing , I'll show you... Oh, wait, you did today. Right, I'll show you now then." Now, while the commute isn't fun, and there are a few other minor gripes (specific policy against blogging from work, even a little), I actually feel... Appreciated. Weird. Current Mood: tired Current Music: Sesame Street (Tiny Man has the remote) (Comment on this)
Monday, March 19th, 2007
12:10 am	New Job! Hallo and thank you to all who tried or offered to help with my recent involuntary permanent vacation. I've found something, I start tomorrow, I'm quite excited and nervous about it. I'll be doing things I've done before, but in a new environment, with new people, and expectations have been set very high. Part of me knows I can do it, but another part is worried that I won't. On a purely pragmatic level, the job is around 60 miles from my house, and I'll have to commute daily. Ah, well. With any luck, my novel will sell to someone within a few years, and I'll be able to do what I'd like to do for a living (writing) rather than what I'm presently force by circumstance to do for a living (project management). Current Mood: anxious Current Music: Advent: One Winged Angel (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 18th, 2007
10:56 pm	Strong Female Characters... I was recently reading through the archives of DM of the Rings author Shamus Young's blog, and in the discussion here the following byplay sparked my interest: Cineris - "Isn’t it interesting how “strong female characters” doesn’t mean females with strong character, but rather females who are capable of beating up men twice their size? Not that I have the feminist-credibility to leverage such a critique but this valuation of “strong female characters” is sexist itself." Shamus - "I have noticed this myself, and it is a pet peeve of mine." ... "If by accident you were exposed to the latest Blade movie, you would have seen the very embodiement of this idea: A female character with no witty lines, no personality, nothing interesting to say, and who can beat up huge men (in bodyarmor no less!) with her bare hands. It’s so grating and preposterous that even within the context of a vampie movie it seems hopelessly farfetched. This sort of thing is all too common and I’m willing to bet that it comes from mostly male writers who desire to establish that elusive “feminist credibility”." Now, the point is one that I tend to agree with: far too often when fiction creators try to make a 'strong woman', they wind up with a 'Strongwoman' - someone who would be perfect lifting weights in a circus sideshow, but has no business being a role model, except perhaps for aspiring female weightlifters. A strong character is one with a defined personality. Dishwater cannot, by definition, be strong. A strong character needs to be internally consistent, and to some degree self aware. A flighty character cannot be strong. A strong character needs to be able to do what they feel is right even when they believe it will result in adverse results for themselves. A character who caves in on moral issues is not displaying strength of character. Finally, strong characters should be able to survive adversity, whether it is physical or mental. A strong character does not go to pieces when catastrophe overtakes them. The trouble, as noted, is that media (print and screen) both tend to veer down side roads when they are trying for strong female characters. One of those is the aforementioned 'Weightlifter / Special Forces' strong, whereby strength is measured by who you can beat up. Buffy is one good example of this. Amusingly, River Tam is another, even though the character doesn't find real strength until her second to last scene in the movie. Another, seen more often in serious mainstream dramas, but also seen in some genre fiction as well, is more insidious, and often gets to me worse than the Street Fighter Strong Woman model. There is apparently a belief that to be 'strong', women must be confrontational, abrasive, and just generally no fun to be around. Thing is, this is just the emotional equivalent of the earlier problem - instead of beating people up with fists, these are women who beat people up with socially unacceptable behavior. Another line path to failure is the a character who is of such density of skull that even repeated self injury does not change their basic assumptions about the universe. These are often angst ridden characters who have no real ability to deal productively with crisis, yet are labelled strong. This is often combined with 'Physically Strong' and called a 'strong woman'. The worst recent example I can think of this is Anita Blake. I have also seen it combined with 'Emotionally abusive', which winds up with the worst of all worlds, an abusive person with no real redeeming characteristics who is then posited as a role model. What really annoys me is that I have known strong women, both in person and online. My Lil Sis, my wife, and shadesong come to mind. I've also seen them created as characters, both in print and on screen. Honor Harrington and Ripley from Aliens are the two who spring to mind. While both are 'action heroes', I'm not referring to their combative skills. I'm referring to the fact that both of them remain level headed in crisis, take responsibility for their own actions, and generally work to produce good resolutions to bad situations whether they are responsible or not, and do all of this with a minimum of whining. I'm not as big a fan of drama, but then I find far fewer strong characters in mainstream drama than I do in genre fiction in general. Oddly, 'strength' for both genders is often defined by dramas to be the emotionally confrontational personality I described earlier, which I find extremely offputting. The reason this all gets my attention is that several of the stories I'm writing have female protagonists, and in some cases I'm trying for a strong female lead. Since I worry that I'm falling into the same traps that I've seen others fall into, especially with so few good examples, does anyone have any ideas of well written strong female characters? Current Mood: chipper Current Music: XLI Soundtrack (29 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, March 10th, 2007
10:11 am	On Drunk Posting vs Drunk Dialing The advantage of Drunk Posting is that you are extremely unlikely to awaken anyone out of a sound sleep at 2 AM. You are also unlikely to post on entirely the wrong journal. Calling the wrong phone number and waking someone? Pretty likely. The advantage of Drunk Dialing is that very few people have their phones set up to record every conversation, which means that it's terribly transitory. Drunk Posting, on the other hand, stays up (typically) until at least after the hangover is over, by which point it is pretty unlikely anyone is going to forget that you put a lampshade on your virtual head, called a random in guam, and told them that you loved them. A dear friend recently eMailed me with condolences, which was nice. I recently did have a bit of tragedy in my life, which would be the reason why I got completely, utterly plotzed Wednesday night. It's not quite far enough in the past for me to share details yet, but I'm feeling a lot better now. However, that same dear friend was lead to believe by my spontaneous eulogizing of Joe Cavill that the tragedy was his death. While his death was indeed a personal tragedy, that particular event happened quite some time ago (November of 2003, to be precise). I was just moved by alcohol induced maudlin to post a eulogy that's been bouncing around my head since he died. There are slim connections between that event and the tragic one that occured, but only slim ones. My thanks to those who offered condolences and / or emotional support, however. It really does mean a lot, and I do need it. An interesting side note on my personal stages of grief. Somewhere between 'denial' and 'acceptance' comes 'get blind stinking drunk'. Thus I wind up with lots of issues that get stomped down into 'on hold land' until I've got an opportunity to do so. My wife counted up and realized that in the thirteen years we've been together, I've gotten wiped like that roughly three times. I really need to learn to let things out a bit more evenly. As a final fun note, when I drink, I'm a hard liquor kind of guy. My mother-in-law is a wine person, and keeps bringing over (and leaving) bottles on approrpiate social occasions, because she knows my wife and I do imbibe. Now, those two things came together this time to really mess me up in the 'afters' department. You see, if you open a bottle of 70 proof gin, drink some, close it back up, reseal it and put it back on the shelf, it will last a good, long time. Long enough for me to finishe it off, which means, typically, the better part of two years. When I realized that we had many half-bottles of wine hanging around, and I had a powerful need to be not-sober, I figured I'd polish them off then hit the leftover brandy. What I didn't realize is that left on the shelf long enough after being opened, wine will go bad. In the 'no longer safe for human consumption' kind of way. Thus I was, for most of the day Thursday, and even into Friday, suffering from stomach-flu like symptoms, because I friggin poisoned myself. Well, I always wished that stupidity was painful. I just never figured that it would, you know, be painful when I was stupid. Gah. In any case, I'm more or less fine now, thanks for all the condolences, and, one more time because he deserves it, Semper Fi! Current Mood: embarrassed Current Music: None gotta remedy that (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 8th, 2007
3:43 am	To a true American hero My son's name is Lucien Joseph Roman. His middle name is from his Step-Grandfather, who all of his step-grandkids (those who remember him) refer to as pop-pop Joe. This, in case you're wondering, is a drunk, way late, but terribly well deserved eulogy for the noteworthy in question (my step father in law). He spent the early portion of his life in Wilkes-Barre (pronounced wilkes-berry, for those outside the region) Pennsylvania. For those who don't know, that's coal mining country, and from the tales Joe told, his father was a coal miner, and he fully expected to be. Instead, in the late 60's, early 70's, he joined the USMC. Given the nature of the times, he found himself in Viet Nam for a disproportionate amount of that time. While he lived, he regaled me with tales of the others in his platoon. It is typical of the man that while he noted that when his platoon had no indirect fire support, he began carrying a M79, he was quick to note that he was a poor replacement for proper fire support or a skilled mortar operator. After Viet Nam, he entered the Reserves, where he trained others to defend their country. That was his view of his activites, and given the nature of our discourse, I'll take him at face value. During this period, he joined the police force in New Jersey. He was a beat cop for a disproportionate amount of time in Newark, New Jersay. He eventually worked his way to a desk, but shortly therafter retired and joined the ranks of the United States Postal Service. He served his fellow Americans for the bulk of the remainder of his days by delivering their mail. While he would have preferred to keep working as an officer of the law, or even a soldier, terminal physical and psychological damage had rendered him incapable of doing either of the above. When he was 64 years of age, the US Marine Corp finally acknowledged that he had been permanently disabled by physical and psychological injuries acquired during the Viet Nam conflict, and as such granted him the appropriate Veterans' benefits. Within the month, he became eligible for retirement from both the NJ Police and the US Postal Service. Less than a week before Joe's 65th birthday, he went in for a standard checkup. His doctor told him that one of his arteries was occluded to an unacceptable degree, and checked him into the hospital for bypass surgery. The surgery was a success. The patient, sadly, died. Joe meant a lot to me. He was a patently earthy man, who nonetheless did not dismiss higher thought as meaningless. He was the kind of man who could rue that he, as a chess player, was ranked in triple digits. Note, he was RANKED. Out of six BILLION people on the goddamn planet, he was one of the top thousand. This from a man who never had the benefits of any education beyond a rural high school. To Pop Pop Joe, AKA Gunney Seven. We love you, we miss you, we will never forget you. Semper Fi. Current Mood: drunk Current Music: XLI soundtrack (1 Comment |Comment on this)
2:29 am	Blargh. Death death death ph34r me! Hallo. For anyone I might offend or put off in the next 24 to 48 hours, I apologize. I've recently received some rather upsetting (sad) personal news, and am seriously intoxicated as part of the grief process. Ok, I got upset and got piss drunk, and am maintaining that drunk for as long as pragmatically possible, because I'm way too inhibited normally to let the grief out, k? K. In any case, on the good side, I may have a job offer coming to me on Friday. Wish me luck. Also, the first 6 chapters of the second draft of my novel are up on the Baen Bar, check it out if you're up for some sci-fi / action / romance. Ok, ta for now, gonna go drink some more, because, well, I feel like it tonight, and I don't have to be sober until Tiny wakes up. BTW - good hangover prevention technique - drink one glass of water for each shot. Works like a charm. Dammit, I'm drunk, not sick. Need Better Emotion Icons. Current Mood: drunk Current Music: None. Rectifying that now. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 14th, 2007
10:06 am	Snow? I'd love some nice snow... Down here in sunny Delaware we only got a few inches of snow. Since I was out anyway, I shovelled it during a lull, hoping that we either wouldn't get more or that the head start would make whatever else came down easier to deal with. On the one hand, we didn't get any more snow to speak of. On the other hand, it did start raining ice. Too dense to be called proper snow, too small to be hail, just little flecks of ice. Which then proceeded to melt and refreeze. We now have a one to two inch covering of ice over everything. I went outside with a hammer and a chisel and chipped some off just to see. As noted, I'd love this much precipitation as snow. Of course, this means I can watch people fall over and slide to their doom down the slope that normally isn't worth noticing. It's just enough that when you're walking on wet ice, you're going to wind up at the bottom. In the drainage ditch that used to be a stream. I'm evil, but it's a happy, shiny kind of evil. Current Mood: amused Current Music: Teletubbies (Tiny Man has the remote) (Comment on this)
Saturday, February 10th, 2007
1:12 pm	Popfiend made me do it Ok, he didn't hold a gun to my head, but I thought it was interesting, and I hate following HALF of the instructions, even when half of the instructions are marked 'optional', so... Please leave a one-word comment that you think best describes me. It can only be one word. No more. Then copy & paste this in your journal so that I may leave a word about you...that is if you want. Current Mood: curious Current Music: XLI mix (1 Comment |Comment on this)
4:55 am	Teaser This is the first one page section I'm thinking of suggesting as a teaser for my novel - my preferred publisher asks for suggested teasers, so I'm trying to see which of them people like. *** “Ok, last bit of my price. Ready to sign away your soul?” “My soul belongs to God. All else I freely give to defend my people.” “Ooh. Yummy. That’s third then. You.” “I beg your pardon? I don’t understand. Me?” “Did I stutter? As the third price for saving your people and world, I want you to do with as I wish for as long as you last.” Her boot came off of his head. “You will obey any command I give to the best of your ability, without hesitation or sophistry.” Her fingers laced themselves into his hair and lifted his head from the ground. “You will strive in all ways to anticipate my desires and to fulfill them as completely as you are able.” Her other hand cupped his jaw, and with a strength that startled him she began lifting him to his feet. “You will continue to do so as long as you draw breath. You will be mine.” She set him on his feet, having to reach up to do so. He realized with some surprise that she was at least a full head shorter than he was. “You will belong to me.” There was a question in his eyes, and he was relieved when she guessed wrong. “Tenly will own Tidbit. Capice? Versteh? Do you understand?” “Understood, but... Why would you want me?” “You get no questions at this point, Tidbit. You answer yes, or you answer no. You answer yes, your people walk free and happy under whatever colored skies you’ve got. You answer no, and you go starve on the street. You answer anything else and you go back onto the street with whatever damage I see fit to inflict.” Tram stared into her eyes, and despite the caustic mockery in her voice, he felt himself slipping again. He closed his eyes, considered her words, considered the tone of her voice, considered the absolute confidence in her bearing, considered the look in her eyes that said without words that all that was saving the invaders from gory death was his word. He took a deep breath, and in that moment, the faint smell of burnt plastic, spent cordite and powdered plascrete decided him. Opening his eyes again, he let himself fall into her eyes. “Yes.” Somewhere outside the world of her eyes, ivory lips curved into a grin he could only have described as impish. He began to sag, but her hand was still twined in his hair. Wincing, he straightened. One of her eyebrows raised just a touch, the grin widened, and her tongue flickered over her lips again, like a snake taking a scent. “I’ma play with my new toy now.” Tram hadn’t time to register surprise. Her lunge carried her into him, and carried him into the observation window, and his world went black to match the eyes at the center of it. *** So, what do you think? Good? Bad? Indifferent? If this were that one page blurb inside the cover, would you toss it on your stack of books at the bookstore? Look through it further? Shove it back on the shelf? Inquiring minds want to know. OK, actually just one mind, but I'm really, really curious. More bits for comparison later as I get to them. Current Mood: bouncy Current Music: XLI Playlist (2 Comments |Comment on this)
4:26 am	ARGH Why? Why do I find it so easy to do things when someone tells me they're impossible? More importantly, why do I find it so impossible to do things when someone tells me they're routine? ARGH! Sorry for the angsty, all. Lost my job a few months ago, and it just struck me that I'd both made the impossible happen multiple times AND totally f'd up several routine things shortly beforehand. As I realized that, I also realized that it's a pattern with my life. The more difficult I'm told something is, the less problems I have with doing it, and the more I'm told that something is a easy, the more (and worse) I screw it up. Of course, this fills me with both joy and dread. Joy because I've got a wonderful son to whom I wish to be a good parent, and everyone tells me that parenting is hard. Dread because, well, I like breakfast cereal, and given my behavioral pattern thus far, I will somehow, at some point, incinerate myself while preparing it. Seriously, has anyone out there got any advice they're not using? Preferably applicable, but any will do. Current Mood: confused Current Music: XLI playlist (Comment on this)
Sunday, February 4th, 2007
2:26 am	Sick. Yuck. Meh? Hallo I'm right at the point of sick where nothing's working quite right. Unfortunately, that means I can't sleep right now, even with the application of significant amounts of various OTC sleeping aids. I'm still a bit stunned by the compliment about my story though, so being sick isn't all bad. It's kind of giving me a week long delayed 'massive compliment' high, at the end of which I'll start the rewrite. One of the things I'm working on along with my rewrite are teasers, cover treatments, and a dedication page. The first I need feedback on. The second I need to find someone with some visual artistic talent to help me with. The last I really have to cull. Were I to thank everyone I wanted to, my dedication would run to more than one page, and that just won't do. I'm gonna cross post some of the better one page outtakes from my story here, see which ones you guys think make the best teasers. Current Mood: sick Current Music: none (gotta fix that) (Comment on this)
Friday, February 2nd, 2007
11:04 am	Part of me is still staring at the screen... Got a comment on the sections of my novel I posted on the Baen website that just floored me. ***** First; I must say, "Well done!" You actually made me put down /Stars At War II/ to finish your story. I look forward to reading more from you. Second; the only real thing I could say would be to slow down a bit in part 7. It could be fleshed out to 2 parts. That would probably solve 75% of the unintended unanswered questions. ***** I've been reading David Weber since I was back in college. Whoa... Current Mood: accomplished Current Music: Backyardigans (my son's watching TV) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 31st, 2007
2:24 am	Anyone looking for a PM? *sigh* I'm out of work. If anyone knows a company looking for a good Project Manager (specialized in IT, but can do other stuff) in the Delaware / Philly / South Jersey / Eastern Shore area (I don't mind commutes) could you poke me with a stick? Thanks! Current Mood: awake Current Music: Shakira - Tango (4 Comments |Comment on this)