White Gold Part 1 - Week 2 Writing Group

Recap: Paleontologist Saderick Lake was finishing off a dig when his laborers turned on him and rose away with his finds.

I didn’t stand around or wait. I needed to move quickly, if I expected to come out this clean. Back where our camp had stood, I took a quick inventory. The brutes took the supplies with them, but neglected to nab my notebooks or my FTL transmitter. The latter combined with the signal frequencies held in my neural drive and I could call for help.

Brainless morons didn’t think this through. I grabbed the transmitter, intending on calling my lab in Dubois, but groaned when I saw the broken panel on the back.

At some point, Turncoat or one of his barbarian friends had removed several critical components, including the internal FTL uplink. The coordinates in my neural drive were useless without it. I had bullets but no gun.

The transmitter’s radio barely worked, and from my judgment, scarcely sustained a signal over two-hundred kilometers. Dubois was nearly five-hundred. There wouldn’t be any rescue missions from Dubois.

Hoping there was someone within range of the radio, I activated it. Poachers, prospectors, other fossil-hunters, and numerous other explorers typically sprinkled the landscape. The screen blinked to life, displaying the surrounding area. Beside the point marking myself, I only located two more dots.

The nearest, slowly gaining distance from me, was Turncoat and friends. The next closest sat a hundred-and fifty-kilometers to the south and was labeled Blackburn. Meri. I couldn’t call my former student. Beyond the humiliation, she’d likely berate me for several hours on one thing or another.

Since we’d split, she’d ventured off to make her own mark on xeno-paleontology. I’ll have no part of your idiot feud, she’d told me. I’d watched, just to see what happened. She’d restricted her excavations far away from me and Doniel, out in the unproductive wilderness.

For all of her old-fashioned ‘ethics’ they did her little good. In the past few months, she’d published a single paper and I’d discovered she sat on the brink of losing her funding. If she’d stuck with me, financial support wouldn’t be a worry. Private collectors paid well. Museums didn’t. Calling her was a dead end.

The last dot sat almost two-hundred kilometers east, and Turncoat looked to be heading into a rendezvous. My blood boiled when I saw the name. Doniel. I jammed my finger onto the dot, calling his transmitter.

As soon as the green light lit up, signaling someone accepted the call, I gave the barbarian both barrels. “Doniel, you worthless Californian troglodyte. I demand to know the meaning of this!”

“Saderick, my dear friend,” Doniel said. “Why are you calling me? Did you lose something?”

His words dripped with enough haughtiness; I thought the transmitter’s speaker would curle into a smirk.

“You damn well know what’s going on, Doniel. I demand an explanation for this egregious assault.”

“Egregious? Do you even know what that means?” He laughed. “I’m only doing what you would have done, if you had the imagination. Your man, Turner, expressed displeasure with his current employer, so I offered his crew a better deal. Check the UN records, you’ll find I possess their indenture.”

“And meanwhile, you discard me here, while pilfering my fossils?”

“Leave you out there?” His voice betrayed mock astonishment. He’s obviously practiced acting astonished. He was probably trying his best not to chuckle. “One moment.”

He came back about a minute later. “It seems Turner was overzealous in his career change. Believe me, I don’t want you dead.”

“You mean, if I die, you don’t want to be proven accountable. You’ve been after me since you altered the name of the Stelladon newyorkii on our research proposal.”

“Believe what you want. I told Turner to abandon you outside DuBois.” Yeah, you’re a perfect Saint. “And the name is Stelladon californii. Ask anyone on the Committee, they’ll confirm it.”

That. Was. Not. The. Name. Right then, I knew could murder another human being. I’d been Doniel’s comrade for years, since before we were graduate students. I’d told him my plans for the newly discovered Lockhart, the first known planet with life beyond our own. We’d write a new chapter in the book of paleontology and become the first xeno-paleontologists with genuine training. With our first discovery on Lockhart, he revealed his true colors by sabotaging our paper.

Doniel continued speaking. “Regardless of what you think happened, leaving you there weren’t in the plan. You just sit tight, and I’ll pick you up in a few.”

“No doubt after you finish pillaging the rest of my field.”

“Your find? This territory belongs to the UN. Awaiting anything’s removal from the dirt, it ain’t no one’s property.”

The mongrel. I’d been more than happy to avoid Doniel until he began bribing fossil hunters to ship finds to him rather than me.

“You won’t prevail, Doniel.”

He laughed. “You’re finished Saderick. It's been unavoidable since you began intercepting my papers and spattering ‘em full of errors.”

Errors? I’d done no such doctoring. For truth’s sake, I intercepted his papers and fact-checked them. He loved to embellish finds, making himself into a paleontological Marco Polo. And the imbeciles at his California Academy of Natural History lapped up every tall tale.

At my American Museum of Science, we’d tolerate no such nonsense. Doniel should be thanking me for sparing him the humiliation he’d no doubt receive when his colleagues learned the truth.

I had to stop him. The Craggy Cliffs site sat behind me, open to the world. Paleontologists dreamed of perfect settings like this. Doniel claimed he’d “be by in a few”, probably after finishing his current dig.

White Gold Part 1

First part of 6 or 7.

White Gold

Nesseritas frieda contained fifteen different bones in its right hand. Far over the norm for Lockhart fauna. I jotted a note down in my notebook as I looked back at the Craggy Cliffs digsite. This sample of Nesseritas proved further the value of this find. And I found it before that detestable Doniel Jacobs. I felt giddy as an undergrad.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up,” I yelled to the half-dozen brutish laborers scuttling about the slopes. My excavation drones sat silent in the back of the hoversled, two of which held massive scorch marks, having burned out earlier today. An acceptable loss. My choices were work them overtime, or delay.

Almost five-thousand kilos of fossils sat in the hoversled behind me. The proceedings of my investigations should yield enough information to bury Doniel Jacobs, turning him into a footnote in Lockhart’s history.

And the Craggy Cliff find would serve as his epitaph. Many species undiscovered still lay beneath the shales surrounding me. Maybe I should hold off the demolition.

“Ready?” I asked my foreman, a big oaf named Turner or Turnsky or something like that.

“Charges laid, Professor,” Turnsky said. Maybe it was Turner. I had no gift for names and hadn’t bothered to upload any to my neural drive. Besides, every muscle-for-hire on Lockhart was cast from identical molds, and I needed the drive space for images.

“Well, there’s no sense sitting around. Let’s get to it,” I said, pulling out the trigger linked to the R37 explosives above the find. Anything I didn’t take my former colleague, Doniel, would. I needed another grad to deal with these problems. Demolition wasn’t my style. My last grad, Meri Blacburne, separated from me months ago to pursue her own career. Said I was an “intolerable imbecile”. I’d noted the lack of anything pertinent from her since.

“Whoa, hold up, professor,” Turnover said, reaching over and sheltering the trigger with his hand.

“Pardon?” I said. “I told you, I’m not paying you per specimen. Grabbing more samples won’t garner you anything further.” These laborers were a bunch of uncultured troglodytes, like old miners panning fanatically for gold. I wouldn’t be surprised if their pockets are lined with fossil fragments.

Perhaps comparing fossils to gold was accurate. Lockhart fossil cost more per cubic centimeter than gold. It had become my chief source of financial backing following a funding decline from the America Museum of Natural History. If this find panned out, I could return and excavate the ruins. The explosives should destroy just the top meter and leave the subsurface intact.

“No, it’s a good haul, and we’re stretching the weight limit,” Turnovsky said. “It’s just one last thing.”

I turned to rebuke the oaf, just as the brute slammed into me. I stumbled backwards and my foot caught on a rock, spilling me hard into the dirt.

Even with my head clouded and my spine feeling like the patient of a Brachiosaurus chiropractor, I was still lucid enough to see Turnover reach down and seize the detonator.

“Sorry, Professor. Ain’t nothing personal. Professor Jacobs made us a bigger offer. Far better than yours. He said he’d pay our full indenture if we got him these fossils.”

“Doniel?” I sputtered. “That honorless dog! I thought you a principled man but you’re nothing more but a greedy miser, you turncoat!” That was his name. Turncoat.

“Sorry, Professor,” he said as he walked to the hoversled. I stumbled onto my feet, and hobbled after him.

“You’d just leave me out here, you beast?” I said. “One of Doniel’s orders?”

“No, Jacobs wanted us to ditch you outside Dubois. But between your constant belittling and your calling my wife a harlot…”

Oh, so he heard that conversation. Damn. I followed him until one Neanderthal on the cart aimed an old sidearm at me. I decided not to press the sociopath’s chaotic anger.

Turncoat jumped into the hoversled, which then roared away with my fossils inside. As they faded into the distance, I heard Turncoat yell out, “If you’re still here when Professor Jacobs arrives, maybe he’ll give you a ride!”

That hoodlum. That treacherous, arrogant… bastard! Leaving me to rot was cowardly, but selling out to Doniel? He was a treacherous snake, and an affront to all xenopaleontologists.

Soon the hoversled was a mere speck on the horizon. No matter how much I cursed the louts, they never turned back and within ten minutes, they’d vanished.

Tentative steps toward a novel.  Your contributions might include: What's strongest about this writing?  Weakest?  What do you look forward to learning?  Where were you most entertained?  Most bored?

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Although this was the second summer that alien life had tried to take root in its black soil, Hopewell still had the feel of raw, wary innocence. The last days of the dry season sat heavily in the parched, heavy air. In the occasional creek bed, the last drops of glacial run-off had long ago been taken by the dry wind, but in their place, a gentle trickle found its way down into the forest bearing the promise of storms in the mountains. The buzzing of tiny wings returned to fill the air between dappled shadows of high boughs. The beasts of the forest began to stir from their shady hiding places to carefully go about the business of living.

On the forest's edge, where the ground began its long, slow ascent to the highlands, the dry harvest stood quietly in expectation of a breeze (any breeze) that might rustle its dry stalks and relieve the heat—or better yet, to be relieved by the blade of an automated machine, to lay low and be swept up and out of the merciless gaze of two suns. Four combines gathered the stalks, rolling across the yellow fields in straight lines, like enormous ants preparing for nature's inescapable fury.

Overseeing the fields and their robotic laborers from the height of thirty-meter stilts, Hopewell Colony Prime stood like an island of trees. From the center of its main deck, the narrow tether of its space elevator rose all the way into the sky. One half of the stilted buildings stood firm and clean in the evening sun, attached to each other by free-standing enclosed corridors. The other half sat apart, waiting for the limited attention of busy repair teams. Inside the various functioning wings of the colony, some of its women and men worked frantically to finish preparations for the abrupt end of the season. Others watched the skies for signs of deliverance from the oppressive heat.



By degrees, the sky was taken up by billowing patches of black clouds. Their work lamentably left unfinished, the automated combines made their way to the safety of the colony. A hot wind finally gusted across mostly naked fields with the sense of angry inevitability. Lightning flashed in the dark distance. Within minutes, the wind had changed, the sky had filled, and the first drop of precious water made its descent from above, to be greedily devoured by the earth. So too the next disappeared, and the next, and the next—but then the hiss and drumbeat of uncountable droplets filled the air and cooled it with its grace. In the trees, and under the trees, the cries of beasts and the patter of rain created a cacophonous hymn to living.

The chorus was short-lived, and the beasts eventually retreated to the safety of their hiding places. The soil drank its fill and water flowed almost everywhere, first in trickles, then in streams. Wind thrashed the high boughs and rain crashed like waves on windows. The evening fell to night and grew very dark.

Vasco stood in front of his window peering into the dark night. The roar of the rain and the creaking of the colony left him surprisingly melancholy, and work seemed now out of the question. Like the soil, all that Vasco could do was to soak in all of the storm he could, this storm which brought both destruction and opportunity.

Although the colonists had been aware of the hurricane's approach for a few days, it had arrived hours early, leaving them unprepared to finish the harvest. Much of the experimental crop would surely be lost as this and other storms left the ground impossibly wet for the next several months. Given the shocking violence of the storm,Vasco anticipated a great deal of repair work ahead as he and the other repair specialists searched out and replaced the inevitably damaged recorder units out in the field. It seemed the wind howled and the thunder rumbled as if to particularly threaten special efforts at destruction. Vasco turned away from the window.

A reminder wafted in above his desk that the Hopewell Coordinating Council was about to begin in Wing D. “Where did the day go?” Vasco muttered as he ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He was not in the mood to sit through the same four disputes he had endured each of the previous three weeks of his term. Truth be told, he was certain that more than one of the disputants was holding out until his term ended in two weeks, which made the thought of listening to their bickering all the more galling. Vasco toyed with the idea of going home and feigning a headache—what he really wanted to do now was sleep through the storm—but today was supposed to be Alma's first meeting, and she might be disappointed if he didn't show up. He smiled and shook his head at his presumption that she would even notice. Even so, he was out the door and partway down the corridor before he realized that he hoped it was true.

The storm raged in the dark windows, but the corridors from his room to the Convention Hall were well lit. A few colonists stood staring out into the night, much as he had, but the majority were moving back and forth as they normally would. Vasco took some pleasure in this subtle reminder that the colonists' painstaking work to restore the southern wings of the colony before the rainy season had produced such clean results that one could walk down the corridor feeling safe and sound, virtually ignoring the tumult outside. Although the colony's infrastructure had suffered decades of neglect, they had achieved a great deal in a very short period of time, and certainly by next summer the whole colony would be up and running and ready for more. He also took pleasure in the thought that his work on repairing the maintenance memory systems was a large part of the colonists' current feeling of security.

As Vasco approached the doors of the Convention Hall, he noticed the regulars milling about outside. As he passed by, he nodded at Marie and Kolongo, for whom he would have decided weeks ago if it weren't for Martel's refusal to accept settlement, insisting that the two were talking about him behind his back. Marie smiled and Kolongo nodded, and they went back to discussing something in low tones. After waving to Eric, a biologist he knew from working on some observation stations in the field, and Gordon, who didn't look up, Vasco took a deep breath and looked into the Convention Hall.

Larger than any other room in the colony complex except the dining room, the Convention Hall could seat three hundred people, plus five seats in front for those serving on the Coordinating Council, more seats than there were colonists. Generally speaking, life on Hopewell passed without the necessity of intervention. However, when a dispute became more serious, or if complicated work had to be organized and performed, the matter could be brought before the Coordinating Council, who would facilitate a resolution. The nature of the Council's work made the meetings awfully boring to everyone but those intimately involved, so its meetings were seldom well-attended. Furthermore, Hopewell's bylaws were based in the philosophy of Voluntary Consent, meaning that no decision could be forced upon any of the colonists without their acceptance—also meaning that disputes could rage on as long as the participants chose to show up. In the rare instance that a dispute came before the council at all, it had a tendency to languish in petty arguing for weeks until one side or the other just gave up and made amends. Some of the colonists, like Vasco's friend Zhou, had a knack for resolving Coordinating Council business quickly and to everyone's satisfaction, but since the terms were rotated every four weeks, certain councils had already proved more effective than others. Some had been floating the idea of allowing those who actually liked the Coordinating Council to serve consecutive terms, but most colonists simply shook their heads and trudged on to serve their terms out of a commitment to the success of the colony and a sense of civic duty. Others didn't bother showing up.

Scanning the room, Alma wasn't there yet, and although he noticed Martel scowling out the window in the far back corner, and a new pair of appellants in the corner farthest from. The large room seemed otherwise empty. Loathing the idea of sitting in a room with Martel unprotected by conversation, Vasco turned around to look into the corridor to see if any of the other Council members were on their way. He noticed Yuri down the corridor, who was fortunate enough to be finishing his term today. Yuri was gesturing frantically at Vasco to come with him into the conference room he was leaning out of, and then he was gone.

Thinking this was strange, but not knowing what else to do, Vasco looked around at the other people in the corridor, put his hands in his hip pockets, and warily walked down to the conference room. Given the prospect of trying to resolve Martel's dispute one more time, Vasco half hoped that Yuri was inviting him to ditch the meeting with him and go to dining room. Yuri loved to play and to tell a good joke, and he was good dinner company—especially after he had had a few drinks. Yuri claimed to have chosen his name in honor of the first man in space, Yuri Gagarin, but Vasco had more than once suggested his friend's choice had more to do with a love of vodka than an admiration of a great pioneer.

Peering into the conference room, Vasco took a deep breath. Not only Yuri, but Alma, Bela, and Ahmed were waiting for him—the whole Council. Their faces looked bleak, and Yuri especially looked agitated. Alma watched Vasco intently, her dark eyes expressing serious concern. Vasco attempted a smile, then broke eye contact and sat down around the room's small conference table.

“I can't say I'm disappointed to meet in a smaller room,” he said halfheartedly, “especially if Martel won't fit in it.” Ahmed was the only one who nodded to acknowledge the joke.

Vasco winced. “You all look like bad news. Sock it to me.”

All eyes went to Yuri, who was apparently too anxious to sit. “Well,” Yuri said, looking back at each of them in turn, “I guess I have to say it again, then.” He took a deep breath and sat down. “Vasco, I have some bad news. We're almost certain that Liz is dead.”

Vasco sat in silent incomprehension for several seconds. His heart began racing and it felt as if his stomach dropped out. He looked frantically from Yuri to Ahmed, to Bela, but not to Alma, whom he couldn't bear looking at. He tried to clear his throat, but his voice caught. “You mean—”

Yuri sighed and leaned back. “Yeah.”

“Elizabeth—not someone else?”

“No, certainly Elizabeth.”

“Dead... Are you sure?”

“No.” Yuri would not meet Vasco's intent stare. “What we do know is that Hadrian and Liz were caught out in the storm and that Hadrian came back alone.

“How? Why? That's impossible! She can't be dead, no one can be dead—”

“Please try to control yourself,” Bela said mildly, but her eyes betrayed little softness. “This is hard on all of us, but unfortunately, the lot fell to each of us to figure out what to do next.”

“It's just impossible,” Vasco said, shaking his head as he covered his face in one hand. This was in part to hide the tears that suddenly threatened to break loose.

“There hasn't been a death since we left Earth, but we all knew it was a possibility when we came down from Ark,” Yuri said quietly. “If confirmed, this would be the worst disaster to date at Hopewell. But we don't have the right to keep the information private. We'll have to call a general assembly and decide as a colony what to do about it.”

“I still don't understand what happened,” Vasco said, trying to mask a sniffle and the persistent catch in his throat. “What do we know?”

“Get a hold of yourself, we already told you everything we know,” Bela said, a little more impatiently. Vasco felt a surge of rage flow through him, and he slammed his fist down on the table. Yuri was at his side and had a hand on his shoulder before Vasco could speak. Tears now streamed down his face unrestrained. Bela looked shocked.

“Please, this is hard enough without a fight between us,” Yuri said coolly to Bela.

“I am sorry to cause hurt,” Bela mumbled in apology.

Vasco struggled to relax back into his chair. His chest was tight, but he took a few deep breaths and felt a little better. “I am sorry to cause embarrassment,” he said. There was a momentary pause. “But we have to know more than that. How could they have got caught out in the storm when What did Hadrian say?”

Yuri returned to his seat, but kept shifting uncomfortably as he spoke. “Well, this is second hand from Osman, who was on watch and brought Hadrian into the medical wing, but as he explained it to me, Liz and Hadrian were out this morning on a maintenance run to the observation deck at East Bend.”

Vasco shook his head. “Why were they out there before a storm like this?”

Yuri shrugged. “Hadrian was asked to do the repair, and Liz had been out there earlier this spring, so she volunteered to navigate. According to their schedule, they had plenty of time to get back before the storm was supposed to hit, so that all checks out, and the weather group had hoped to have it ready to observe the storm, so that's the reason for the rush.”

“Seems like an unnecessary risk to me,” Vasco muttered angrily. Hadrian—Hadrian was responsible for this. . .

“Now we know that,” Ahmed said sadly. “Hindsight sees clearly, of course.”

Yuri paused uncomfortably, then continued. “Anyway, on their way back, Hadrian says she slipped into a gulley and injured herself, maybe broke her leg. While he was trying to find a way to get her out, the storm hit, and the gulley filled up with water pretty quick. She was washed downstream, and he came back here to get help.”

“Why didn't he go in after her?” Vasco shouted. Bela opened her mouth to say something, but closed it and let her eyes give the warning. Vasco, scowled. “I don't care who hears me, why didn't Hadrian go in after her?”

Yuri paused a second, giving Vasco time to cool, then leaned back in his chair. “Be reasonable, Vasco. That would have most likely resulted in two dead colonists instead of one. And if you had seen the state Hadrian's in right now, you'd cut him a little slack. It's a miracle he could drive back here at all the way he's shaking and flinching, let alone in a storm like this.”

Vasco imagined poor obnoxious Hadrian a nervous wreck, but all that did was to fill him with more violent disgust. “I am clearly in no state to handle this,” he said finally. “What do you propose we do?” he said, staring down at the table.

“Finally. Yes, let's talk about what to do,” Bela said, her arms folded tight.

Ahmed cleared his throat. “If I may, Yuri. We don't have the right to keep this information secret, and there's still the possibility that Liz is still out there.”

“Oh, come on, Ahmed! In this weather?” Vasco shouted. Ahmed held up his hands in defense.

“There's always a chance. And if there's nothing we can do to help her, at least we can bring her back to the colony and give her a proper burial.”

“If we can even find her,” Bela said darkly.

“If we can find her, right,” Ahmed said. “But the point is, we need to do something. Leaving her out there...”

Ahmed paused, apparently lost in thought. No one else made a sound. Vasco sat slumped and unmoving in his chair.

“I suggest that we call a general assembly now,” he began again, looking up, “and let some members volunteer for the search party. The storm should die down tonight—we should be able to leave in the morning. We could take something like thirty people on the hovercars and canvass the area in which Hadrian last saw her. If we don't find her by evening, we can try again the day after.”

“A good idea, but let's leave at least one hover car behind in case of emergency,” Bela said. “That means twenty-four people, plenty to begin a search.”

Ahmed nodded. Yuri sat up a little straighter. A little of the fear had gone from his eyes, as had some of the lines around his mouth. “Well, at least we have something to recommend. Let's adjourn for twenty minutes. We'll convene the general assembly in the Convention Hall, explain what happened as best as we know, and collect volunteers for the search party. We'll also need some extra field meals, so Alma, could you find out who's on duty at the dining room before the meeting convenes and see if anyone's willing to work a little late tonight? Good. All right. OK.”

“I'll send out the call to general assembly,” Bela said, standing up and briskly walking out the room before anyone else could volunteer. As she left, Yuri also stood. “I don't know about you guys, but I'm parched. Anyone want to join me for a quick drink?”

Ahmed almost chuckled as he rose, but it ended up sounding more like a wheeze. “Now don't you come addled to your own meeting, you alcoholic.”

“The best way to ensure that is to come with me, I think.” Although he was clearly aiming for a joke, Yuri's eyes betrayed an alarming duskiness that suggested that, left on his own, he might actually not make it.

Ahmed sighed and shook his head. “Let's go, then. You guys coming?” he asked, looking at first Alma, then briefly at Vasco before returning his gaze to Alma.

“No, I... I think I need to hit the sack,” Vasco said, rubbing his face. “I've got a headache and I want to sleep it off so I'll be ready for tomorrow morning.”

“You wouldn't ditch the general assembly, w—” Yuri started, but stopped as Alma tugged on his jumper sleeve and shook her head. His shoulders sagged just a little more. He cleared his throat, then went for the door. “Ahmed, are you coming?”

“Yeah,” Ahmed said, walking around the table behind Vasco and squeezing his shoulder as he went by.

Vasco half hoped Alma would leave too so he could just uncork the pressure in his chest in peace. The other half of him was relieved when she came and sat next to him, so close she was almost touching him. When her presence made his heart rate pick up, he felt a strange mix of confused . He looked up into her clear, round face. She was looking at his hands.

“I guess this is pretty hard on you.” She paused, and Vasco couldn't figure out how to respond, so he started looking at his hands, too. It was like they were someone else's hands, or like watching a movie of someone else's hands. Alma continued, but her voice also sounded distant. “I guess it's hard for all of us, you know, the first death and all. But you knew her, didn't you? You knew Liz?”

This was not exactly the conversation he wanted to be having right now. How could he look into her black, bright eyes and explain this, whatever it was? Right when she was reaching out to him, he was least in a position to open up.

“It's—no, not really,” he finally managed in a husky voice. He cleared his throat without looking up. “I knew her once, a long time ago. I'm just surprised, I guess. And this headache isn't helping,” Vasco took a deep breath and released it heavily. He rubbed his eyes in what he hoped looked like a casual way, concealing the fact that they had begin to water over. He was finally in control of his emotions enough to stand and hold the door for Alma on their way out.

They walked together in silence to the Conference Hall. Her presence at his side made his heart turn somersaults—not comfortable somersaults, but the kind that left him feeling all knotted up inside. She paused at the doorway, as if waiting for a signal. Vasco cleared his throat again, but it came out more like a cough. “Well, I'm—uh—I'm sorry to miss the general assembly,” Vasco said.

Alma grimaced a little and shrugged apologetically. A few strands of her black hair fell from behind her ear. She pushed them back into place, but said nothing right away.

“Well, I think I'll go get some rest,” Vasco said to fill the silence.

“Yeah, go on. Feel better soon,” she said, but then she just stood there looking at the floor just behind him.

More knots formed in Vasco's chest. What is she waiting for? he wondered.

A couple tried to slip into the Conference Hall behind Alma. She moved out of the way, but standing there was awkward. Vasco retreated a step, although part of him screamed that was not the right thing at all. He felt like an awkward child. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he put them in his pockets. They were a little too high to be comfortable, so he let them drop. “Well, good night,” he said.

“Good night,” she said. She half turned into the room and then turned back. “Hey, did you want me make sure to volunteer you for the search party, then?” Her searching eyes finally met his, which meant he had to break the contact by looking down the hall.

“Um—yeah, I guess you can do that, since you're a member of the council this week. Yeah, please. Thanks. That would be good.” She looked a little flustered. She nodded and headed into the room.

She was slipping away. “Alma, hey—” Vasco blurted out. “Hey, are you coming?”

She turned again to face him, her hand resting on the door frame. Her face was blank. “I don't think so,” she said, her gaze suddenly unbearably calm. Vasco felt the urge to bolt, but instead he just nodded, waved, and started stiffly down the hallway.

The water continued to wash down either side of him as Vasco walked down the corridor connecting the Conference Hall with the dining room. People were beginning to pour out of the exit just as he was approaching it, but the tension in his chest wouldn't let his feet stop moving. A couple of men were talking excitedly and bumped into Vasco as they went by. Vasco's temper flared, and he turned toward the perpetrator, who seemed unaware of his crime. Vasco imagined going up to the man, who was no taller than he, and demanding an apology—but because he was no longer paying attention, he bumped into a woman a head shorter than he. “Watch it!” she muttered impatiently as she moved around him. His temper lost its focus. He pushed his way through the stream of people and on down the hallway, deliberately taking the long way to avoid anyone he knew well.

He passed others headed to the general assembly, some talking excitedly, some laughing, some rushing on by themselves to the Conference Hall. Vasco avoided eye-contact, and although some looked puzzled at the direction he was taking, no one stopped him. How can they laugh? he thought angrily. Look at them, smiling their moronic smiles, thinking this is some sort of game! A woman is dead! You can all die too, you heartless, murderous idiots! He marched on through the bright corridors imagining gruesome deaths for the unwitting offenders, growing angrier with every step.

Finally he was alone at his door. Everyone else would likely be at the general assembly by now. He unlocked the door and shoved it open, slamming it first against the wall and then in its frame. The loud noise was frustratingly inadequate. The lights came on. “OFF!” he shouted, and plunged himself into darkness. He took a few blind steps in the dark and tossed himself face-down on the bed. He pounded the soft mattress with his fist, then again, and again. Then he was weeping as all the anger poured out of him, leaving a howling emptiness that shook him. He kicked the mattress, but weakly now. He was exhausted.

He dreamed he was back in Los Angeles. It was 1948, and the radio was playing, and he could hear Liz banging around in the kitchen. All he could see through the doorway was her long, curly red hear running down her back, contrasting with the knee-length blue dress he had bought her. Then she was gone, but he could still hear her moving, breathing. All he wanted was for her to come in to him and breathe softly as she slept next to him. Her breathing was so soft when she slept. He was tired, dead tired, and he realized it was late at night and it was dark, and now she wasn't making noise anymore. Didn't she know what time it was? Why wouldn't she come to bed? He was angry. He wanted to get out of bed and tell her he had to work tomorrow, he had a case to crack, and wouldn't she turn that stupid radio off and come to bed? But he couldn't get out of bed. He was stuck face down in the mattress. Why did she stay up listening to that radio? Why wasn't she with him? Why wouldn't she come in the room? She was dead. His wife was dead. She was dead dead dead dead.

He woke up gasping in a sweat. His neck ached from the awkward angle he had fallen asleep in, and he tried to crack it as he sat up to catch his breath. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he realized that he was in his room in Hopewell Colony. It was just a dream—it was just a faded memory of a time when he had played a detective in virtual reality, in a scenario, in a life before this real life. That wasn't real life—it had always been a dream. That was the cruelty of the colonists' journey, and it was why no one had been down here when Ark 12 arrived in orbit. Vasco had chosen to escape virtuality, to join this little band of colonists, to come down to live a real life on Hopewell. He had chosen real life with real consequences, to prepare a new world for a new humanity, and to find out what it really means to be human himself. Let the sleepers uselessly dream on: they have no future, and they are losing their past.

Virtuality wasn't real, even if it felt real. It was just a way to pass the time between Earth and Hopewell, between Earth and a real home. Nothing that happened in virtuality really meant anything in the world of quarks and light and genes and life.

So why was he bent over and weeping again? Why was he shaking and sobbing in the dark for the woman he had never married, for the end of a life he never lived?

Heads up! Just posted a review of the Hobbit trailer. Head on over to In a Hole in the Ground to take a look!

In a Hole in the Ground

Hey gang,

I have a confession to make: my excitement over the Hobbit movies has reached an embarrassing level. And, in honor of that, I've started a new project on a little blog of my own. I'll be posting over there from time to time. Feel free to check it out:

In a Hole in the Ground

Later . . .

White Gold - Outline

I'm currently looking for input on an outline for an upcoming Writers of the Future piece.
Orson Scott Card says look for feedback on the following:

- Oh Yeah? - Does it seem correct to you? Any flaws or holes? Anything that makes you think "that wouldn't happen." ie Plot holes.

- Huh? Confusion or misunderstanding - Anything I left out? Or something not seeming clear?

- So What? Why should I care about this? How is this relevant? Does it seem intriguing?

And of course, anything else you have comments about.

LINK

Colton's Dieselpunk Thingy

Alright, it's been noticed before that I like to reuse settings. For NaNo, I've been trying some experimentation.

Basically, I'm looking for both how character backstories pull the story together, as well as the worldbuilding itself.

Here's the link to the document.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mZq9FoaH9-jkO3MYuhyVOa4nVn48HL1J12QL6YTvsHM/edit

My question is more a request. At the end of the document is several characters. I'm looking for backstory ideas on them. Likewise, I'm just looking for feedback on worldbuilding, technology, or even other characters you think would be awesome.

Dark Empires: Prologue

Sorry for posting twice-in-a-day. Just wanted to let you know a prologue is now up on my Dark Empires document over on GoogleDocs. Take a look when you get a chance. Specifically, I'm wondering if it makes any sense at all. Its meant to be a little mysterious and disorienting . . . but I'm worried it goes a bit too far.

How are you guys liking making the comments over on GoogleDocs? It seems to work rather well, IMO, but what's your opinions?

Heres the link again, in case you need it:

Dark Empires: Prologue

Epic 1

Ok, its taken forever . . . but here's the first EPIC cartoon strip. Now, I'm dissatisfied with a number of things with this first strip, but I wanted to get your general reactions to it. I need to work out a way to digitize the line drawing better, cause the way I did it looses too much detail on the panes that are more "zoomed out". And I think I'm gonna try coloring the next one in Photoshop instead of Illustrator. I also want to go for a bit more detail than I did in this one, both in drawing and coloring. But my biggest question is this: is this thing even remotely funny? Let me know!

If you click on this image it should take you to a larger version of the comic.

Later . . .

P.S. Anybody going to the release of Alloy of Law tomorrow?

Dark Empires: An Outline in Progress

So, Travis inspired (and Jesse prodded me) into trying this NaNoWriMo thing  . . . I can't promise I'll be 100% more productive than I have been the past few months, but I'm gonna give it a shot. Also, while I'm at it, I'd like to try something new: instead of posting my stuff right here in the post, I'm gonna give you guys a link to a google doc that has my new stuff. I've added all of you to the document so you should be able to post comments to it. I think this'll be a better system cause you'll be able to select particular sentences/paragraphs/lines that you want to comment on, and then by adding a comment it'll highlight that specific line and point to the comment. That way when you do comment on somebody's work, they'll be able to see right where you're commenting.

For those of you who haven't used googledocs, to make a comment you simply highlight the piece of text you want to comment on, then go to the Insert menu and select Comment. A comment box will pop up and you'll be able to write your thoughts up. I'll provide an example on the googedoc.

So, here's the link to my outline for the scifi novel I'll be writing:

Dark Empires