BLOGS

My writing challenge for May, 30 Cubed, is OVER. 

You can partake of these stories here: https://storify.com/ebonstorm/30-cubed-speculative-fiction-for-the-month-of-may

30 stories in 30 days introducing 30 new characters has, as usually, been both grueling and gratifying. I also had four other writers who participated and I have watched their works improve every day. (You guys were great!)

For myself, I have completed 24 of the 30 days with a new or continuing tale of speculative fiction. As usual, I tried not to tackle low hanging fruit: no vampires, no werewolves, no zombies. To make it harder, I would not tell more than one tale of alien invasion (though I love them so). This month has netted me about 40,000 words, give or take.

I created or augmented four serials, one of which I will be entering into Jukepop this month as an ongoing story.

Serials (4)

Air Conditioning (Parts 1-5) - I always write a tale of alien invasion. In this story, the aliens are completely oblivious to the existence of Humans on Earth, since they never touch down on the surface of the planet and don't appear to notice Humanity at all. Humanity's reaction to the creature, however, varies wildly.

A Mistress in Thunder - The Spear of Heaven (parts 1 and 2) - Started as part of a serial I was writing elsewhere, I found the character of Radi, the Mistress in Thunder, warrior, titan and all around bad-ass, too compelling to not start more than one thread at the same time. I have three different points in the character's life and it has been a excellent story so far.

Apostate, Magus, Barbarian (3) I also added to the first Radi, Mistress of Thunder serial stream with the beautiful, fierce and oh so Black princess and her two future companions, Uriel the Magus, less than evil sorcerer of the Shattered Realms and Kom the Ukla who has a penchant for mega-violence and a love of fried human fingers...

More Tales of Tech Support: I added to the already over-the-top adventures of a technical support agent for Farnsworth's Monster Emporium and Death-Ray dealership, Todd. In this selection, Todd is winnowing down the candidates for the next hiring wave. Like everything Todd does, he maintains his aplomb under the most difficult circumstances.

Writing Prompts (7)

Five of the stories were writers prompts from other publications or contests with strict limits on what I could produce. Limitations force me to be creative and to envision stories I might not otherwise try. Writing prompts can make you grow.

1. Come Forth the Rising Tide required I take five random characters from a list on Chuck Wendig's site and weave them into a short story. (I will probably make something much longer because I had so much fun with the characters.)

2. Yearning was a photo prompt from SciFiIdeas.com which has become one of their featured stories when I was done. It can be found on their site.

These three stories were written for a UK short story contest of 500 words and a sensory theme. I will be submitting them on Monday.

3. Betwixt: An avenger of a South American tribe takes the battle to his corporate enemies after being empowered by two opposing mystic forces.

4. Bismillah: An Middle Eastern son of a sheikh loses his vision and discovers his senses and mind growing more acute to compensate.

5. Damned Decent: A Good Samaritan meets an unusual stranded vehicle on the side of the road and offers to help.

6. Can You Make Room for the Impossible? A biomech research officer, MX2 and Scoutship Pilot Alena Maximoff investigate a survey call from a planet with wildly conflicting data, unusual enough for a Scoutship to consider investigating. This story came from a writing prompt sent to me by a friend on StartYourNovel.com. I have written five other stories on his site, so we have become friends.

7. Adleiavde: A tale of a young man and his quantum-challenged feline, Addie who had a habit of appearing exactly as people wanted him to be... This was a writing prompt from my monthly writing group I participate with on LinkedIn Sci-Fi Readers, Writers, Collectors and Artists. I won the month of May with this short story and plan on submitting it to Daily Science Fiction for publication.

Clifford Engram, Paranormal Investigator (4) - Keeping Engram in my mind for his next adventures, I planted four seeds.

1. A Drink and A Smile: A rendezvous with an old girlfriend in order to get information on a case, leads to gratuitous violence, poison and death. Not a strange outing considering Engram used to date a Dweller-in-the-Dark.

2. With Just a Spot of Darkness - Introducing Ink, reveals another primary group of metaphysical entities who believe it is their duty to protect the human race by rendering judgement on it. Ink works for them but disagrees with the process. She and Engram are sure to butt heads in the future.

3. The aforementioned Betwixt, where Paulo harasses the megacorporation which destroyed the rainforest where his tribe once dwelled peacefully. Now Paulo living between all concepts exacts his cruel revenge.

4. How the Other Half Lives: A tale of a family whose patriarch is unable to come home and meets his family for the first time on a trip to a very far away beach. Clifford Engram will meet this family in the future. They will not invite him to the beach...

ONE SHOTS (6): Stories not related to anything else. They come, they go and blaze like meteors in a summer sky, brief but awesome.

1. The Moment of Truth: A knight on a long quest decides he has done enough for the world and wants to just go home free of predestined events. It is dark humor best suited for those who know a bit of roleplaying games and how gamemasters force players on adventures.

2. Sterlings: A hot-blooded scientist, after discovering a plant which can survive and transform water from saline to fresh, realizes he wants to try and woo his equally passionate wife back. His flower of choice is the sterling rose he created in his lab.

3. Sun Kings: A tale of aliens on a mission of mercy. They arrive near Earth to recharge within our sun and to inform us that an extinction-level-event is going to happen soon and there is nothing they can do to help us except...

4. Night Terrors and the Bears who Abet Them: A strange story of a legendary Teddy Bear and the Night Terror trained by him.

5. Humanity Redux: An alien intelligence watches Humanity as we go through a growth state without being aware of how far we've already come.

6. Uncovered: A writer has died and learned he was not quite good enough to get into Heaven. His only hope is for his work to be discovered in the future and inspire enough people to have his sentence changed. But almost all copies of his work have been destroyed after World War II...

What will I do after I come back from the brink of Madness?

Send stories to anyone and everyone who is interested. Retool my websites to account for these new stories and my latest work on Medium.com. I have written thirty stories there since the beginning of the year in addition to these.

Most importantly get my work out there. My social media work has paid off and continues to grow my readership. My blog/websites are slowly coming along and I hope the retool will increase my readers further. I will be extending several of my other serials as well, focuses on finishing them and putting them into print.

We are at the midpoint of the year and I had planned to sell 18 stories this year. I am up to number 10 and have eight more to go. It has been slow going but I am not about to give up now. We are going to INCREASE SPEED, not slow down.

LET'S KEEP WRITING. If you need a writing partner, look me up.

I have a writer's group on Facebook: 'Dammit, I'm a Sci-Fi Writer, Not a Doctor': and we are always looking for new voices of genre and speculative fiction to share ideas, blogs, and stories: https://www.facebook.com/groups/471829406194599/

You can find my speculative fiction at:

http://HubCityBlues.com
https://medium.com/@ebonstorm/latest
http://30cubedsf.wordpress.com

Words of Insipration (from Chuck Palahniuk)

The first step - especially for young people with energy and drive and talent, but not money - the first step to controlling your world is to control your culture. 

  To model and demonstrate the kind of world you demand to live in. To write the books. Make the music. Shoot the films. Paint the art."

            The artery carriage arrived in the Persian city of Isfahon at noon. It stopped at a station in the city’s commercial district for a half hour layover. Passengers disembarked and new passengers boarded.

Emma stepped off the carriage, strolling through the entry/exit tube connecting the carriage to the boarding platform. She told the conductor that she wanted to stretch her legs, although she needn’t have explained herself. In spite of the carriage’s comforts, those passengers who faced hours of travel after having put hours behind them reveled in the opportunity to be free of its confinement if only for a few minutes. Still, it didn’t hurt to allay possible suspicions with an innocuous comment here and there.

            Looming spires and majestic minarets greeted Emma when she emerged from the tube. Isfahon’s skyline stretched like a geometric cutout across the horizon. Airships of all sizes soared above and between the towers. The platform overlooked a wide avenue teeming with people attired in a mix of fashion, from Western top hats and spectacles to traditional sarbands and Buluchi dresses.

Emma soaked in the scenery for the benefit of whoever may have been observing her. Although not all of the attention with which she graced her surroundings was an affectation. She genuinely admired Isfahon’s exotic beauty. Locals seemed to be taken by Emma as well, African faces being a novel sight in Persia.

            Emma moved on, exchanging courteous nods and greetings with passersby. She entered the trans-artery office, approached the ticket window and requested the use of a telegraph. The clerk graciously directed her to an adjacent dispatch room where a telegraph operator relayed the message she verbalized.

To: Mary Thianne, Mandinka Republic, Freetown, Sierre Leone Province. From: Clarice Thianne: Hello, Mother. We just arrived in Isfahon, Persia. Will be leaving shortly. Percival and I are so enjoying this trip. China was fantastic. I have souvenirs that I’m sure you will like. See you soon. Love you.

            Emma departed after the operator confirmed her message’s transmittal.

            After a momentary pause on the platform, Emma returned to the carriage to find Oduwa in the refreshment section engaging in friendly chitchat with a couple of passengers. He excused himself after seeing Emma and held up a long stemmed wine filled glass. “Ah my dear sister, did you send mother a communiqué? I’m sure she’s fraught with worry in regard to our well-being.”

            “I sent it. Hopefully her worries will be put to rest.” 

            Emma and Oduwa headed to their cabins, both knowing that the coded message Emma sent had set gears in motion. There could be no turning back.

            A blast of steam issued from dispensers lining the inner conduit at the carriage’s rear. Two minutes of intense steam buildup provided the necessary push to send the carriage on its way. Dispensers every 20 yards added more propulsion to its momentum building up its speed until the carriage became the fastest object on the ground.

********

             Emma stirred to wakefulness and sat up in her cabin bunk. The gold colored clock with the gold colored hands embedded in the wall above her door said 8pm. She and Oduwa agreed to rendezvous in the cabin aisle at nine.

            She looked out her window, seeing nothing but darkness and her own reflection in the glass. Nerves started to set in. Emma had been on missions before. But this was the first time an assignment carried her beyond the African continent, and no mission she ever undertook had been this critical. She and Oduwa were to track down and kidnap a Chinese engineer who possessed a formula for new kinds of weapons; weapons her enthused superiors claimed would revolutionize warfare.

            More newfangled gadgetry, she huffed. She had analyzed first hand accounts, smuggled out of China, of the various types of weapons being tested that utilized this formula. The results chilled her. Being decidedly non-progressive had not impeded her ability to extrapolate many years down the road how truly monstrous, weapons fueled by this formula, could become. In the wrong hands this formula would have devastating consequences.

            Emma hopped out of her bunk and pulled the largest of her travel cases from the storage bin. She removed clothes from the case and opened a false bottom, revealing crossbow components a short sword, a dozen cross bow bolts, six palm size throwing knives, and a double edged dagger.

            Her nerves evaporated like morning mist touched by sunlight when she beheld all that fine steel at her fingertips. She took out the crossbow components and began assembling them into a deadly and efficient caster.

********

            Emma appeared in the aisle a minute before the appointed hour. She wore black slacks, black calf high leather boots, black leather short sleeve tunic, and a black headscarf to contain her flowing braids. A dark gray waist belt held her throwing knives and sword. A sheathed dagger hung off her left hip.

Oduwa emerged from the cabin across from Emma’s dressed in similar attire, minus the headscarf.

Their crossbows were notched.

            “Stunning as always, my dear,” Oduwa remarked wryly, giving his partner a smile and a wink.

 “Could you have picked a better time to flirt?”

            “I promise the next flirt will come your way on a more pleasurable occasion,” Oduwa replied with a grin. He led the way toward the far end of the aisle where Mao Li’s cabin was located.

            Suddenly, a huge creature bounded from around an intersecting corner ten yards ahead. It stood upright like a man, but bore the face of a beast. The creature’s appearance was lupine, its long mouth, hanging open in a wet snarl, revealing teeth perfectly suited for rending flesh. A pelt of brownish fur covered a body bursting at the seams with musculature. Its arms were outstretched, clawed hands poised to grab hold and not let go. A werewolf!

Physics arXiv:
Events and Controversies: Influences of a Shocking News Event on Information Seeking
The American Reader:
Paranoid Narcissism: What Dostoevsky Knew About the Internet
by ROSA INOCENCIO SMITH

Oduwa and Emma triggered their crossbows, sending bolts flying into the creature’s torso. The werewolf howled enraged pain, but the bolts didn’t seem to slow it down. It slammed into Oduwa on a current of momentum knocking him on his back.

 Emma leapt out of the way, just avoiding being hit and carried to the floor.

            Oduwa jammed a forearm beneath the beast’s chin in an effort to keep its snapping teeth from closing on his neck.

            Emma whipped out a throwing knife and hurled it at near point blank range.

            The multi-pronged blade penetrated an area above the werewolf’s forehead. The distracted lycan wagged its head to shake the knife loose, while attempting to dislodge it with its paw..

            Emma stamped a boot down on the throwing knife, driving it deeper into the werewolf’s head until the creature convulsed and became rigid. Over three hundred pounds of werewolf bulk collapsed on Oduwa, pinning him to the floor.

            “Uh…Emma…”

            “Hold on, Oduwa.” Emma grabbed handfuls of wolf pelt and pulled while Oduwa pushed up until the carcass was off of him.

            Oduwa let out a laborious breath as he rose to his feet.

            At that moment, the werewolf reverted to human.

            “I’ll be damned,” Emma whispered, recognizing the reposeful face of the Dutch Templar.

            “That was no ordinary Templar,” said Oduwa, scooping up his crossbow and notching it. “There’s an elite order within the Templars called the Wolves of Christ.”

            “More like Wolves of the devil,” Emma commented with disgust.

            She glanced down the aisle and saw curious faces peeking from cabins. “Everyone back inside, there’s nothing to see here!”

            An elderly woman screamed at the sight of a dead naked man sprawled on the floor.

            Emma immediately gave up on crowd control and concentrated on getting into Mao Li’s cabin  

            Oduwa kicked in the door and burst into the cabin with Emma close behind.

            Mao Li crouched in a corner of the cabin, next to his bed with a blade in hand, his face an incongruous mix of courage and fright.  Dressed in a dapper gray suit and matching bowler hat, Mao certainly did not have the look of a person about to retire for the evening.

            “Going somewhere?” Oduwa inquired, pointing his crossbow at the passenger.

            Mao Li dropped the blade and raised his hands. “Look, whoever you are, you have the wrong man…I’m just a business executive…”

            Oduwa grabbed the man by his lapel and pulled him toward the door. “Tell it to my superiors. Let’s go.”

            Emma took point down the aisle.

            Mao Li shuffled behind her, prodded along by a crossbow to the small of his back. “Move it,” Oduwa prompted impatiently.

            There was a partition ahead separating passenger cabins from the scenic chamber. Emma and Oduwa planned to nab Mao Li and make their way to the carriage operator’s booth. From there, they planned to hijack the carriage, bring it to a halt and get picked up by a Mandinka Republic airship. Werewolves had not factored into the planning for this operation. Nor had the flint eyed Zulu standing resolutely at the other of end of the scenic chamber, wielding a wide bladed assegai.

            Emma laid eyes on Bongani Mndeni and bit off a curse under her breath.

            “You’re not acting like a diplomat, Mr. Mndeni,” Oduwa called out, holding Mao Li by the back of the neck while directing his crossbow upon Bongani.

            “Step aside, Mr. Mndeni,” warned Emma. “We have no quarrel with you.”

            “As long as you have that man in your custody, I will beg to differ.” Bongani shook his assegai twice. The blade glowed red, becoming brighter until it was enveloped in a translucent coating of flame. Thin jets of steam vented from small holes at the bottom of the iron plated assegai shaft. “Release your prisoner to me and I will allow you your lives.”

            Emma chuckled her disbelief. The arrogance. She released a bolt without warning, hoping to do away with this haughty Zulu in quick fashion.

            Bongani’s spear arm blurred inhumanly fast. The crossbow bolt deflected off the assegai blade inches from the Zulu’s heart and pierced the ceiling.

            Oduwa fired and Bongani swung his flaming assegai in a clipped backhand, knocking the bolt into the chamber’s glass, cracking the window.

            Bongani bellowed a war cry and lunged, his weapon reared back to taste enemy flesh.

            Oduwa shoved Mao Li aside and he and Emma whipped out their swords.

            Emma met the Zulu’s charge, sidestepping an assegai thrust. She attempted a slash to Bongani’s chest. He blocked Emma’s blow with his blade shaft and delivered a brutal straight kick to her gut.

            Bongami batted Oduwa’s sword with such force that it nearly flew out of the latter’s hand. He brought his assegai up and Oduwa jumped back, narrowly avoiding a stab beneath his rib.  

            A wash of intense heat from the fiery blade blew across Oduwa’s face like a bellow’s breath.

            Bongani positioned his assegai for a thrust, but whirled it about at the last second to block the throwing knife Emma pitched in his direction. The assegai carved the airborne knife in half, sending both segments twirling on either side of the chamber.

            A werewolf crashed through the partition door as Bongani swung his blade at Emma.

            The Mandinka woman parried the blow then witnessed the werewolf reach out a rangy arm toward the Zulu.

            If Bongani was surprised by the beast’s presence, his icy calm betrayed no indication. He ducked beneath the lycan’s long arm and buried almost the entirety of his assegai into the monster’s belly. The werewolf’ swiped with his other arm, managing to rip out the Zulu’s throat with a clawed hand.

            Bongani fell in one direction the werewolf in the other. The Zulu died first. The werewolf’s life withered away seconds later and the beast soon transformed back to a man. The German Templar.

            Oduwa grimaced in pain from the near contact with the Zulu’s blade. He felt like a layer of his facial skin had been scoured away by a hot coal.

            Emma gripped his arm. “Mao is gone! Come on!”

            The artery carriage arrived in the Persian city of Isfahon at noon. It stopped at a station in the city’s commercial district for a half hour layover. Passengers disembarked and new passengers boarded.

Emma stepped off the carriage, strolling through the entry/exit tube connecting the carriage to the boarding platform. She told the conductor that she wanted to stretch her legs, although she needn’t have explained herself. In spite of the carriage’s comforts, those passengers who faced hours of travel after having put hours behind them reveled in the opportunity to be free of its confinement if only for a few minutes. Still, it didn’t hurt to allay possible suspicions with an innocuous comment here and there.

            Looming spires and majestic minarets greeted Emma when she emerged from the tube. Isfahon’s skyline stretched like a geometric cutout across the horizon. Airships of all sizes soared above and between the towers. The platform overlooked a wide avenue teeming with people attired in a mix of fashion, from Western top hats and spectacles to traditional sarbands and Buluchi dresses.

Emma soaked in the scenery for the benefit of whoever may have been observing her. Although not all of the attention with which she graced her surroundings was an affectation. She genuinely admired Isfahon’s exotic beauty. Locals seemed to be taken by Emma as well, African faces being a novel sight in Persia.

            Emma moved on, exchanging courteous nods and greetings with passersby. She entered the trans-artery office, approached the ticket window and requested the use of a telegraph. The clerk graciously directed her to an adjacent dispatch room where a telegraph operator relayed the message she verbalized.

To: Mary Thianne, Mandinka Republic, Freetown, Sierre Leone Province. From: Clarice Thianne: Hello, Mother. We just arrived in Isfahon, Persia. Will be leaving shortly. Percival and I are so enjoying this trip. China was fantastic. I have souvenirs that I’m sure you will like. See you soon. Love you.

            Emma departed after the operator confirmed her message’s transmittal.

            After a momentary pause on the platform, Emma returned to the carriage to find Oduwa in the refreshment section engaging in friendly chitchat with a couple of passengers. He excused himself after seeing Emma and held up a long stemmed wine filled glass. “Ah my dear sister, did you send mother a communiqué? I’m sure she’s fraught with worry in regard to our well-being.”

            “I sent it. Hopefully her worries will be put to rest.” 

            Emma and Oduwa headed to their cabins, both knowing that the coded message Emma sent had set gears in motion. There could be no turning back.

            A blast of steam issued from dispensers lining the inner conduit at the carriage’s rear. Two minutes of intense steam buildup provided the necessary push to send the carriage on its way. Dispensers every 20 yards added more propulsion to its momentum building up its speed until the carriage became the fastest object on the ground.

********

             Emma stirred to wakefulness and sat up in her cabin bunk. The gold colored clock with the gold colored hands embedded in the wall above her door said 8pm. She and Oduwa agreed to rendezvous in the cabin aisle at nine.

            She looked out her window, seeing nothing but darkness and her own reflection in the glass. Nerves started to set in. Emma had been on missions before. But this was the first time an assignment carried her beyond the African continent, and no mission she ever undertook had been this critical. She and Oduwa were to track down and kidnap a Chinese engineer who possessed a formula for new kinds of weapons; weapons her enthused superiors claimed would revolutionize warfare.

            More newfangled gadgetry, she huffed. She had analyzed first hand accounts, smuggled out of China, of the various types of weapons being tested that utilized this formula. The results chilled her. Being decidedly non-progressive had not impeded her ability to extrapolate many years down the road how truly monstrous, weapons fueled by this formula, could become. In the wrong hands this formula would have devastating consequences.

            Emma hopped out of her bunk and pulled the largest of her travel cases from the storage bin. She removed clothes from the case and opened a false bottom, revealing crossbow components a short sword, a dozen cross bow bolts, six palm size throwing knives, and a double edged dagger.

            Her nerves evaporated like morning mist touched by sunlight when she beheld all that fine steel at her fingertips. She took out the crossbow components and began assembling them into a deadly and efficient caster.

********

            Emma appeared in the aisle a minute before the appointed hour. She wore black slacks, black calf high leather boots, black leather short sleeve tunic, and a black headscarf to contain her flowing braids. A dark gray waist belt held her throwing knives and sword. A sheathed dagger hung off her left hip.

Oduwa emerged from the cabin across from Emma’s dressed in similar attire, minus the headscarf.

Their crossbows were notched.

            “Stunning as always, my dear,” Oduwa remarked wryly, giving his partner a smile and a wink.

 “Could you have picked a better time to flirt?”

            “I promise the next flirt will come your way on a more pleasurable occasion,” Oduwa replied with a grin. He led the way toward the far end of the aisle where Mao Li’s cabin was located.

            Suddenly, a huge creature bounded from around an intersecting corner ten yards ahead. It stood upright like a man, but bore the face of a beast. The creature’s appearance was lupine, its long mouth, hanging open in a wet snarl, revealing teeth perfectly suited for rending flesh. A pelt of brownish fur covered a body bursting at the seams with musculature. Its arms were outstretched, clawed hands poised to grab hold and not let go. A werewolf!

Physics arXiv blog:
Deeper Than Quantum Mechanics—David Deutsch’s New Theory of Reality

            The artery carriage arrived in the Persian city of Isfahon at noon. It stopped at a station in the city’s commercial district for a half hour layover. Passengers disembarked and new passengers boarded.

Emma stepped off the carriage, strolling through the entry/exit tube connecting the carriage to the boarding platform. She told the conductor that she wanted to stretch her legs, although she needn’t have explained herself. In spite of the carriage’s comforts, those passengers who faced hours of travel after having put hours behind them reveled in the opportunity to be free of its confinement if only for a few minutes. Still, it didn’t hurt to allay possible suspicions with an innocuous comment here and there.

            Looming spires and majestic minarets greeted Emma when she emerged from the tube. Isfahon’s skyline stretched like a geometric cutout across the horizon. Airships of all sizes soared above and between the towers. The platform overlooked a wide avenue teeming with people attired in a mix of fashion, from Western top hats and spectacles to traditional sarbands and Buluchi dresses.

Emma soaked in the scenery for the benefit of whoever may have been observing her. Although not all of the attention with which she graced her surroundings was an affectation. She genuinely admired Isfahon’s exotic beauty. Locals seemed to be taken by Emma as well, African faces being a novel sight in Persia.

            Emma moved on, exchanging courteous nods and greetings with passersby. She entered the trans-artery office, approached the ticket window and requested the use of a telegraph. The clerk graciously directed her to an adjacent dispatch room where a telegraph operator relayed the message she verbalized.

To: Mary Thianne, Mandinka Republic, Freetown, Sierre Leone Province. From: Clarice Thianne: Hello, Mother. We just arrived in Isfahon, Persia. Will be leaving shortly. Percival and I are so enjoying this trip. China was fantastic. I have souvenirs that I’m sure you will like. See you soon. Love you.

            Emma departed after the operator confirmed her message’s transmittal.

            After a momentary pause on the platform, Emma returned to the carriage to find Oduwa in the refreshment section engaging in friendly chitchat with a couple of passengers. He excused himself after seeing Emma and held up a long stemmed wine filled glass. “Ah my dear sister, did you send mother a communiqué? I’m sure she’s fraught with worry in regard to our well-being.”

            “I sent it. Hopefully her worries will be put to rest.” 

            Emma and Oduwa headed to their cabins, both knowing that the coded message Emma sent had set gears in motion. There could be no turning back.

            A blast of steam issued from dispensers lining the inner conduit at the carriage’s rear. Two minutes of intense steam buildup provided the necessary push to send the carriage on its way. Dispensers every 20 yards added more propulsion to its momentum building up its speed until the carriage became the fastest object on the ground.

********

             Emma stirred to wakefulness and sat up in her cabin bunk. The gold colored clock with the gold colored hands embedded in the wall above her door said 8pm. She and Oduwa agreed to rendezvous in the cabin aisle at nine.

            She looked out her window, seeing nothing but darkness and her own reflection in the glass. Nerves started to set in. Emma had been on missions before. But this was the first time an assignment carried her beyond the African continent, and no mission she ever undertook had been this critical. She and Oduwa were to track down and kidnap a Chinese engineer who possessed a formula for new kinds of weapons; weapons her enthused superiors claimed would revolutionize warfare.

            More newfangled gadgetry, she huffed. She had analyzed first hand accounts, smuggled out of China, of the various types of weapons being tested that utilized this formula. The results chilled her. Being decidedly non-progressive had not impeded her ability to extrapolate many years down the road how truly monstrous, weapons fueled by this formula, could become. In the wrong hands this formula would have devastating consequences.

            Emma hopped out of her bunk and pulled the largest of her travel cases from the storage bin. She removed clothes from the case and opened a false bottom, revealing crossbow components a short sword, a dozen cross bow bolts, six palm size throwing knives, and a double edged dagger.

            Her nerves evaporated like morning mist touched by sunlight when she beheld all that fine steel at her fingertips. She took out the crossbow components and began assembling them into a deadly and efficient caster.

********

            Emma appeared in the aisle a minute before the appointed hour. She wore black slacks, black calf high leather boots, black leather short sleeve tunic, and a black headscarf to contain her flowing braids. A dark gray waist belt held her throwing knives and sword. A sheathed dagger hung off her left hip.

Oduwa emerged from the cabin across from Emma’s dressed in similar attire, minus the headscarf.

Their crossbows were notched.

            “Stunning as always, my dear,” Oduwa remarked wryly, giving his partner a smile and a wink.

 “Could you have picked a better time to flirt?”

            “I promise the next flirt will come your way on a more pleasurable occasion,” Oduwa replied with a grin. He led the way toward the far end of the aisle where Mao Li’s cabin was located.

            Suddenly, a huge creature bounded from around an intersecting corner ten yards ahead. It stood upright like a man, but bore the face of a beast. The creature’s appearance was lupine, its long mouth, hanging open in a wet snarl, revealing teeth perfectly suited for rending flesh. A pelt of brownish fur covered a body bursting at the seams with musculature. Its arms were outstretched, clawed hands poised to grab hold and not let go. A werewolf!

The trans-artery was a technical marvel. Essentially, it was a cigar shaped carriage, 80 yards long, ten yards across. The carriage moved inside a glass conduit, propelled by a current of compressed steam shooting out of pipe-like dispensers. A popular mode of transport, trans-artery lines spread rapidly in the short period of their existence. Developed in Canada, parts of Europe, Africa, and Asia quickly boasted trans-artery lines.

            The Western European Alliance and the Magreb Sultanate had begun collaborating on the construction of a line spanning the Mediterranean. Presently the longest line, the Greater Asia Express, wound from Egypt through India and China all the way to the tip of the Korean Peninsula.

            Emma Ade’ sat in her guest cabin gazing out the window. So silent and smooth was the carriage that she could have fooled herself into believing she was stationary while the world beyond her window zipped by at a rapid pace. While Emma reveled in the thrill of the ride, not to mention the luxurious amenities a carriage had to offer, her attitude in regard to lines differed very little from likeminded critics. Tran-arteries were a wasteful extravagance. Airships and trains performed the same task of ferrying passengers for half the cost.

            A citizen of the Mandinka Republic, Emma was thankful her country had not wasted a lion’s share of its budget on such a frivolous project. She couldn’t say the same for the handful of African nations that did abuse their budgets accordingly.

            A knock on her cabin door drew Emma’s attention from the window. “Come in.”

            A tall, ebony dark man in a long, richly patterned robe entered the cabin.

            Emma refrained from rolling her eyes. Oduwa Lunde was addicted to technology and made it a point to study every latest invention and innovation with ogle-eyed fascination. That was an oddity given that he was in his early forties, while Emma hovered a shade below thirty. Shouldn’t she have been the eager technophile and Oduwa the staunch advocate for all things old fashioned?

            “Good morning, dear Emma. I trust your first night in an artery carriage was to your liking.” Oduwa shined a knowing smile.

            Emma tried her best attempt at severity and failed miserably. “I won’t deny its comforts,” she admitted, straightening in her seat. “That doesn’t negate the impracticality of these contraptions.”

            Oduwa tossed up his arms in mock defeat. “Hopeless as always. Come, breakfast is about to be served in the dining section. We’re going to be in some very interesting company.”

            Emma’s brow elevated. “Lead the way.”

********

                        Gold, red, and black were the dominant colors in the dining section. Black carpeting, red walls accented with gold streaks, and gold laden platters resting on an oval black table layered with a flaming red table cloth.

            Seven passengers, six men and one woman, were seated at the table. The men stood when Emma and Oduwa entered the dining section. They inclined their heads in Emma’s direction and didn’t return to their seats until Oduwa started off the introductions. “I am Percival Thianne, my sister Clarice. We’re from the Mandinka Republic.”

            A passenger in a white suit and spectacles with a handle bar mustache spoke. “Pleased to meet you. I am Jean Matise, citizen of France. Matise indicated two hulking men on either side of him. They wore blue dress military uniforms with silver colored stylized crosses embroidered on the shoulders. “Captain Erik von Heidal and Lieutenant Jon Smoot.”

            Emma eyed the soldiers. A German and a Dutchman. Different nationalities, same uniform. “Knights Templars?” She inquired.

            The German’s stern expression softened. “Indeed we are, Madame Thianne.”

            “If only I could claim so august an association,” bemoaned Jean. “Unfortunately, I am but a simple businessman mired in the business of profit.”

            Emma pretended to be charmed by Jean’s self-deprecation, while studying the others at the table.

            The remaining guests introduced themselves. Prince Abdul Ibn Hajj of Arabia. Bongani Mndeni, a Zulu diplomat, Mao Li, an executive at a major Chinese firm, and the only other woman in the room besides, Emma, Sachini Udal, a Sri Lankan university professor.

            “I take it you were at the Peking Trade Symposium,” Jean Matise inquired, his eyes darting back and forth between Emma and Oduwa.”

            Emma raised a complimentary brow. “Very perceptive, Mr. Matise. Yes we were.”

            The Frenchman leaned back with a self-congratulatory smirk. “Mandinkas are accomplished traders and there’s plenty of trade to be had in China. You should be very successful.”

            “If the mandarins have their way, China would have nothing to do with foreigners,” Mao Li declared with a hint of venom. “The last emperor was foolish enough to listen to their xenophobic whisperings and as a result forbade our airships from traveling beyond our skies.”

            “It does not seem that your current emperor is lending a favorable ear to any suggestions of isolationism,” said Abdul. His attention was fixed on Mao, but he snuck a fierce glance or two at the Knights Templars.

Emma noticed the looks, could almost feel the acrimony radiating from the Arab’s eyes like desert heat. Christians and Muslims still contested a patch of dirt in the Mideast widely known as the Holy Land. She wondered if Abdul had an inkling to open up a new front in that conflict in the dining section of an artery carriage.

            Mao’s pessimism slackened. “There are some things my emperor remains close minded about. But overall, he is better suited to these times than the one who preceded him.”

            “And what times are these?” Sachini inquired, her tone brimming with contention.

            “The opening of the world,” replied Jean with hands spread to symbolize his point. “To new ideas, new possibilities, to progress!”

            “Progress bears an ugly face,” Sachini countered, unconvinced. “Under its glare, the class divide widens, wars proliferate and insecurity is rife.”

            “Hear hear,” Emma voiced. She and the Sri Lankan shared looks of agreement.

            “Progress does not come cheaply,” said Bongani. “Yet come it must.”

            “Hear hear,” agreed Oduwa with equal fervor.

            The look Emma gave her partner would have frozen a candle flame.

             Oduwa brought his hands together in a topic-changing clap. “Why do we all sit here, our food untouched? Shall we eat?” Without waiting for a response, he reached over and grabbed a biscuit from a nearby platter.

            The rest of the passengers eagerly followed Oduwa’s lead.

********

            “How much are you willing to wager that not a single person we dined with is not really who or what they say they are?” Emma ventured dubiously.

She and Oduwa departed the dining section ten minutes earlier and were currently lounging in the scenic chamber, a section of the carriage designed for recreational viewing of the outside.

            “Is that really so surprising, Ms Thianne?”

            “Granted,” Emma admitted in a grudging concession.

            “Of course I don’t doubt the Templars,” said Oduwa. “There’s a hard bitten look about them that makes their vocation undeniable. Although their stated reason for being in China is not entirely convincing.”

            “It’s bald faced lie,” Emma cut in, stripping to its bare bones the euphemism in Oduwa’s remark. “A religious pilgrimage to the Great Wall to visit the grave of a Franciscan missionary?” She snorted derisively.

            “At least we know for certain that the one who calls himself Mao Li is our target,” said Oduwa.

            “When do you want to take him?” Emma asked.

            “Tonight.” Oduwa’s expression hardened. “We take him tonight.”

The TVV convoy cut a straight line through a rocky desert toward Routh. Hooper and Tunnel rode in the lead vehicle.
Hooper sat in the passenger compartment caressing, squeezing and gently pulling at the SD suit with the eagerness of a child obsessed with a new toy. The suit had a spongy, rubbery feel that was almost soothing. Hard to believe so much killing power could be generated from such innocuous looking material. “You know, at first I treated this Lowtower like a threat. Now, seeing how well he acquitted himself against everything I threw at him, he’s become my opportunity.”
“Let me be the first to congratulate you, then” Tunnel said with a grudging edge in his tone. “You might be the only person to have ever taken a suit off a live SD.”
“Or a dead one.” Hooper held up a portion of the suit, closely examining it.
“I can think of a dozen major players off the top of my head who’ll pay a fortune for that suit. Your opportunity will pay off in a big way.” Tunnel leaned in. “Just remember who put you in contact with Lowtower.”
“You’ll get a bonus, Tunnel. I’ll even be generous enough
not to subtract from your cut the cost of damages Lowtower inflicted on my property. And by the way I’m not selling this suit.”
Tunnel stared gape mouthed at the crime lord. “What?”
Hooper draped the suit in the seat beside him and picked up the weapons bracelet. He hefted it, marveling at its feather lightness and turned it over in his hands. “I’m getting the best engineers my money can buy and I’m going to have this thing studied inside out. Then I’m going to have it replicated. Your major players will be buying more than one of these apiece from me.”
Unease wormed through Tunnel. “Hooper, you’ll be putting yourself in the Coalition’s crosshairs for sure if they catch wind of what you’re doing. SD armor is no trivial tech. They won’t let you proliferate it.”
“They won’t let me if they catch me.” Hooper arched a brow. “And I don’t intend to get caught.”
Tunnel shrugged. “Fine. Your mind’s made up. At least let me have Lowtower. I have a score to settle with him.”
“In due time.” Hooper sat back. “I’m going to have him studied too. I want to know all about that special steroid in his system. I might learn more from him alive than dead. When I’m done with him, he’ll be yours to deal with as you please.”
Tunnel bit down hard on his frustration. “I’ll be waiting.”

It was the largest building in Routh, reaching as high as five stories and roughly shaped like a ziggurat. Its patchwork surface indicated that the building, like the others around it was a temporary assemblage. Indeed, nothing aesthetically eye catching existed in the settlement. Everything advertised cold practicality, from drab passenger transports that rattled up and down dusty avenues to clunky fixtures affixed to buildings to provide lighting at night. Lack of decorations may have reflected the residents’ reluctance to put down permanent roots in the face of possible discovery and eviction by a Coalition patrol.
Routh was Hooper’s criminal kingdom. The ziggurat building was his seat of power, a place where his decrees were issued and the wrath of his judgment implemented. At present, it was within the dank bowels of this structure where a very special prisoner resided.
The detention area existed two basement levels below the first floor. Dern sat in the corner of a cell so small his head brushed the ceiling when standing. Neither could he fully stretch out when lying on the cell’s only furnishing: a splotched foamlike mattress nearly as hard as the corroded surface it rested upon. Interlacing metal bars covered one side of the cell. The bars proved strong enough to contain the powerful prisoner. But for good measure, Hooper posted an armored guard just outside the cell block.
In the three hours Dern had languished in this dark confinement, he replayed recent events over and over in his mind. Where did it go wrong? What could he have done to prevent Alita and her crew from being captured? He dissected every minutiae of strategy and flailed himself for his failure until his head throbbed.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor leading to his cell. Dern looked up and self-recrimination transitioned to hot, blazing hatred at the sight of Tunnel.
The hijacker stood just within arms reach of the cell bars. “Enjoying the accommodations, Lowtower?”
“Go to hell,” Dern growled.
“That’ll be your destination,” Tunnel shot back. “That’s where I’m going to send you when Hooper is done with you. For now you get a reprieve.”
“Reprieve?”
“Yes. He wants to study you and your suit.”
“Where are the others?” demanded Dern.
Tunnel glared. “Alive. Under Hooper’s custody they’re likely to remain that way. And if you cooperate, their stay here will be a tad more comfortable.”
“I’ll cooperate if it’ll keep them safe. There are some things I know about my suit’s inner workings but not all. He’ll need an SD support engineer to pump for information. But even if he did have full knowledge he doesn’t have close to the resources required to build a replica.”
“That might be the only point of agreement between us.” Tunnel shook his head. “Of course Hooper believes otherwise because he thinks any challenge can be overcome if you throw enough money at it. I say some challenges are best overcome with a flachette between the eyes.”
Tunnel’s lips parted in a malicious grin. “I have one with your name on it.” He backed away slowly, turned and departed the cellblock.

A month went by. When Dern was not idling in his cell feeling himself go to rot, he was in what passed for a clinic on the other side of the settlement, being poked and prodded by quacks posing as physicians. Hooper put out the call on whatever illicit network he used to communicate with his criminal peers. He needed doctors with far more advanced backgrounds than the ones currently in his employ. Doctors who were qualified researchers, but lacking moral scruples. They would, after all, be conducting their research on an unwilling patient.
Word came to Hooper from various sources that several such doctors were on the way, as well as a couple of engineers specializing in anthropomorphic armor technology. Six to eight months was the estimated time of their arrival.
Hooper told Dern this and the latter scoffed. “Bring all the specialists you want. The SD suit is the pinnacle of armor development. It took a decade to create it, four or five years to refine it using the most advanced facilities the Coalition had to offer. All I can say to you is good luck.”
All Hooper could do in rebuttal was offer a scathing clenched-jaw stare before ordering the prisoner out of his sight.

“You don’t need him alive,” Tunnel had tried to convince Hooper at another time. “You already have enough blood samples from him to fill a vat.
“Perhaps not,” said Hooper. “But it’s likely the doctors I sent for will need a live subject to work on. I want to know what makes Lowtower tick. Whether he’s alive and kicking or being sliced apart on an operating table, I will know that answer!”
Detecting a whiff of something in Hooper that Tunnel strongly suspected was madness, he decided not to press the issue.

In the meantime, Hooper’s quack doctors continued to take blood samples from Dern. On occasion, they ran him through a battery of tests, assessing his strength, speed and agility. One day a volunteer from Dern’s militia drank a vial of Flare extracted from Dern’s blood. The man keeled over and became instantly comatose. He died a week later.

Two months later the medical scientists arrived. Two from Coalition space. The first, a disgruntled lecturer from a first class university, lured to Routh by the prospect of getting more pay in a year than he would have earned in a decade of thankless toil at his previous position. The second, a fugitive, on the run for developing and selling dangerous narcotics. The third doctor came from the Periphery Worlds Compact, a Coalition rival. Hooper didn’t know if the Periphery doctor accepted his offer out of personal greed or on behalf of a government deeply interested in what a close examination of a rival power’s super soldier would yield.
Frankly he didn’t care. He put the doctors to work immediately.
“I want Lowtower analyzed down to his atoms,” he told them emphatically. “I want the secret of his biology unlocked!

After returning to his cell, Dern collapsed on the floor in exhaustion. Hooper had supplied the doctors with the high tech laboratory equipment they requested. The machinery was not as advanced as they were accustomed to, but it served their purpose. Dern knew the equipment intimately, having been exposed daily to a range of bio-scanners, sample extractors, and chemical injectors. The doctors never spoke a civil word to him. Among themselves they chattered frequently about him in their complex scientific jargon as if he were no more than a spare fixture in their makeshift lab.
Today they gave him a sedative and ran him through a serious of drills to measure his body’s performance in less than optimum condition.
The sedative had not entirely worn off by the time he entered his cell. On the contrary it seemed to have soaked into his bones and turned to stone. That’s how heavy with fatigue his limbs felt. He rolled onto his mat and started to drift off, when a scuff snapped his eyes open.
Alita stood outside his cell, dressed in coveralls that looked to be made of worn sackcloth.
Dern blinked and rose to his feet so quickly his head swam. He shook away wisps of disorientation and gazed at her. Except for drawn eyes and a grim expression, she appeared healthy enough…
“Dern…I asked Hooper to let me see you.” Alita’s mouth twitched in a hopeless attempt at a smile. “I guess he was feeling generous.”
“How are you and the others doing?” asked Dern.
Alita glanced partially behind her. Dern’s armored minder was out of sight, but close enough around the corner for her words to carry. She lowered her voice. “We’re as well as can be under the circumstances. He’s not mistreating us.”
As long as I play my role as a compliant guinea pig, Dern thought bitterly.
“How about you?” Alita asked.
Dern walked over to the bars. “As well as can be. So where is he keeping you?”
The guard stepped into view, filling the narrow corridor. “Time’s up.”
Alita’s eyes hardened to flint. “We’ll get out of this somehow,” she whispered and walked away.
Dern watched her leave and dropped his head. “Somehow.” He gripped a bar and squeezed until the metal’s squared edges left deep, crimson impressions in the palms of his hands.

The guard arrived the next morning, rapping on the bars with an armored forearm to wake Dern up. But Dern wasn’t asleep. He moaned irritably, feigning annoyance at the guard’s racket.
“Rise and shine, Lowtower,” the guard announced with cruel mockery. “You don’t wanna miss your doctor’s appointment.”
Dern hoisted himself to his feet, rubbing fake sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?” He queried with fake grogginess.
Laughter exploded like a crack of thunder from the guard’s voice projector. “It’s whatever time you’re suppose to be up. What? You were planning to sleep in? Perhaps you’d like breakfast in bed, a media tablet to peruse while you’re eating?”
Dern managed a fake smile. “That would be nice. Perhaps you can arrange that for me?”
The unamused guard thumbed a button on the cell door. The lock mechanism clicked, springing the door a sliver. The guard pulled the door fully open, stepped back and leveled his Tanner on Dern. “Let’s go, Comedian.”
Dern had spent most of his time in captivity studying the guards’ armor, eventually discovering a possible chink.
Typical modern armor was sealed at the joints by malleable, yet super impervious smart coagulants. Old armor like the guard’s Series A5 used latches or magnetic interlocks.
Dern guessed simple latches for the Series A5. Taking on the guard in direct combat would have been a kiss of death for Dern. In his suit, the guard possessed ten times the prisoner’s Flare-enhanced strength.
However…
As soon as he stepped outside the cell, Dern knocked the guard’s weapon aside, wrapped both arms around the latter’s helmet and twisted. Cracks and pops echoed off the walls followed by the seething hiss of releasing air. The helmet was off before the guard could overcome enough shock to offer struggle. But it was too late. His mobility stiffened. Without his helmet, the armor lost its buoyancy, and its full dead weight pressed down on the guard like a bull riding his back. His legs buckled, Tanner dropping from a weakened grasp.
The guard started to topple forward. Dern tossed the helmet aside and caught the man before he split his head on the floor. He turned the guard over, noting how so vulnerably human he looked when not hiding behind a black faceplate.
Eyes ablaze with fright the guard stammered. “Pl…pl…please…”
Dern reached down and picked up the guard’s blaster. His muscles strained from the weapon’s weight.
“Come on, Man! Please! I was just doing my job…nothing personal!”
Dern let the weapon’s muzzle hover over the man’s forehead, his finger softly caressing the trigger. “Well this is very personal for me. Tell me where your boss is keeping his prisoners and you may yet live to serve me that breakfast.”

Image Source: Link Below

Quanta Magazine: Physicists Prove Surprising Rule of Threes

Caged Free
“I do not see how a man can work on the frontiers of physics and write poetry at the same time. They are in opposition.” Paul Dirac, a founder of Quantum Mechanics

© 28 May 2014, the Griot Poet

Like a hit to the gut
And knife plunged to its hilt and twisted,
The news of your transition struck me, moved me…
Saline and histamine tracing its trail of tears down my cheeks,
I work nights…I needed to sleep (but could not).

You’d settled from Missouri to my hometown of Winston-Salem, NC
Taught at the namesake School of Fine Arts and Wake Forest
I met your beautiful niece (your twin) in Austin, Texas when she was a student at NC A&T
I had a squandered opportunity to meet you I’ll forever regret
As you make your way into the pantheon of greatness with Alex Hailey, Langston Hughes, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Shirley Chisolm, Henry Thoreau, Walt Whitman, and Albert Einstein

I thank you

For singing past your muted silence,
For flying from your cage to freed verse,
For turning your pain into poetry
It made my own similar abuse – met out by an “uncle” – more tolerable.
Like you, I scribed my emotions and blues and songs and sonnets which I’ll wistfully esteem you now write on the tails of comets

Gone is our literary apothecary
Cursing to you was so undignified, and evidence of a lack of vocabulary

You could dress someone down with the boom of that distinctive voice
Dance with Amiri Baraka in memory of Langston Hughes…
Address poetry venues and presidential inaugurations “On the Pulse of Morning”
You qualified “our stories” as significant, despite countless debates of whether or not for reparations
The repair of our souls was in the courage you had to speak the truth of our history despite its harshness; its ugliness or the blowhards that labeled you “feminazi”
You met misogyny with dignity – ignoring the idiots as insignificant to your “phenomenal-ness”
Most deserving of medals, honors and accolades

Know this, like no other:
May is a bittersweet month for me
As in twenty days and five years space
I have lost
Two mothers….

Argonne National Laboratories: Link Below

Nano Letters: Link Below

Argonne National Laboratories:
Flexible, transparent thin film transistors raise hopes for flexible screens
Nano Letters:
All Two-Dimensional, Flexible, Transparent, and Thinnest Thin Film Transistor

Legendary Author Maya Angelou Dies

(CNN) -- Maya Angelou, a renowned poet, novelist and actress whose work defied description under a simple label, has died, her publicist, Helen Brann, said Thursday.

She died at her home in Winston-Salem, N.C., Brann said.

A professor, singer and dancer, among other things, Angelou's work spans different professions. She spent her early years studying dance and drama in San Francisco, California.

Click For The Entire Story

     Its just the beginning of a series of ads designed for my upcoming art book in the fall.

      I wish to thank Jarvis Sheffield and William Hayashi for their inspiration in the making

       of this book.

           More, Soon.

ISS Robot Arm - Space Daily

Round 2 on the way! Don't worry: we'll hit 'em with "intelligent design." They'll never see it coming... 

1. Space Daily: Russia develops manned space program to replace ISS, Saint Petersburg, Russia (Staff Writers)
2. Huffington Post Science: Russian Space Program Will Launch Manned Mission From Own Soil In 2018, Putin Says, Denis Dyomkin

Read more at http://www.iflscience.com/technology/solar-roads-could-power-entire-country#feX48VfbL4mvYe5C.99, Justine Alford

Pando Daily

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