Young Mad Scientists in Love: "The New Team" - Part 3

Part 3 – Not for Love, But Maybe for Money

Doctor Braun Verne was a good looking man and he knew it.  He had a debonair about him, a flash, a swagger that just drew women (those who liked men), and men (those who liked men) alike.

Three women stood around as he lay under another woman’s car.  The owner stood next to the car worrying her fingers while the other three stood back far enough to get the view they wanted.

"What's he doing?"  Gladys, a full figured accountant asked Eloise, the woman whose car was being possibly upgraded.

"Who cares?"  Marge, a woman in a power pant-suit said.

The women admired Braun's faded blue jeans and cowboy boots sticking out from under the car.  In a fluid movement he pulled himself out and lifted himself up to a standing position.  Braun lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lips.  

“There Eloise, next time you gas up your tank should be the last time you need to,” he ran a hand through his thick, wild hair.  The women unconsciously but audibly sighed.

“I don’t know what it is about him.  I mean, I can’t stand smokers,” Gladys whispered to Marge.  Braun heard them and siddled up to Gladys.  She thought he smelled so good and, "manly.”

“This is no ordinary cigarette.  I get my smokes from a friend of mine, Fred Neal.  They’re vitamin and pheromone cigarettes.”  He exhaled smoke past her ear.

Mary, the youngest and newest admirer leaned toward Eloise, “Isn’t this the janitor?”

Braun leaned toward Mary and flashed one of his thousand watt smiles, “Stationary Engineer actually.”

"What's that accent, French?"  Marge asked Gladys.

"German I think."

"Are you Australian, Mr. Engineer?"  Marge asked.

"If you'd like," Braun smiled at her and started to walk away.

"What did you do, exactly?"  Eloise asked, though Marge gave her a hard nudge for making Braun turn around.

"I can't tell you exactly, and I would certainly never tell you a tall tale about cold fusion."  He lifted his sunglasses and winked, then returned them and left.

"Cold fusion?" Eloise muttered.  The four women turned and approached the car.  It was just the opening Braun was waiting for.  He pressed a button on his tool belt and was instantly transported to his basement work room.

"Mr. Verne!"  Bob Ellgie was standing by the workbench with a device in his hand when the transportation alcove flashed like a lightning bolt party celebrating new years and roared like a train crashing into another train that was at the same time being crashed into by an airliner.

Braun stepped out of the cloud of steam the alcove had generated, his clothing and hair crusted with frost, "That’s new"

"What is that contraption?"  Bob roared.  Bob was a large man in height and girth.  He had been an NFL offensive lineman before his knee went.  He was the hair-trigger tempered regional manager in the office.

"What?"

"That thing with the lights and noise and smoke."

"That's not smoke, it's vapor.  I know what you're thinking, is vapor really safer than smoke.  I mean, they say it is, but aren't they just trying to sell you something and wouldn't they-"

"What are you talking about?"  It really looked like Bob's tie was going to pop right off his neck.

"Oh," Braun suddenly realized what Bob had in his hand when he noticed the big man's squeeze getting tighter on it.  "You really don't want to be squeezing that."  He stepped forward and gingerly tried to pry it out of Bob’s hand.  Their finger war was brief, but it gave Bob enough time to calm down.  Once his rage passed Braun was able to get the device loose and slipped it away.

“What was that?”

“What brings you down to my humble work area, Mr Ellgie?”

Bob didn’t know where the device had gone, but he knew enough that if Braun didn’t want him to touch it, it was probably something incredibly dangerous, and Braun would be verbaly as slipery as a greased pig if he tried to ask about it.  He let the matter slip and focused on the reason he was down there.

“You’re fired.”

“Wh-, wha-, what?”

It was the first time Bob had ever seen Braun speechless.  He savored it a moment and chuckled under his breath.  He rarely got the better of Braun with words and had never knocked him on his ass like this.  He felt a moment of pity.

“That’s not actually true.”  Braun relaxed his shoulders and gathered himself to rise again.  Bob realized he had to keep the initiative.

“You are let go, your position has been eliminated.  The company has decided to outsource the engineering, maintenance and housekeeping functions.  It was all done several levels over my head and is strictly financial in nature.”  His rapid fire sentences peppered Braun keeping him from getting to his rhetorical feet.

“Bu-”

“As soon as I found out I called everyone I knew and called in every favor, but it was too late.  I’m sorry Braun.”  He crossed his arms in finality.

Braun nodded and ran his tongue around his teeth.  He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"You can't-"

Braun held up a hand, took a long drag and blew out the smoke, "I'm a victim of my own success."  He shrugged and looked around the room.

"Upper management does feel that everything is running so smoothly they can hire an outside vendor to keep it at this level for a third the cost of-"

"Of me.  I get it."  He nodded.

"I am sorry to have you leave.  As much as you were a pain in my behind, I can tell that you were the one responsible for lowering operating costs 75%."

"How long do I have?"

"Today will be your last day.  You have until close of business to collect your things and leave."

"My things?"

"You will have to leave all company property of course.  You can take any personal tools, but you signed an intellectual property clause."

"Meaning anything I designed and built for the company is company property."

"Anything you got a patent for yes. It would technically be the company's patent."

Braun nodded broadly and dragged on his cigarette, "You have no idea what that is?"  He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the transportation alcove.

"A steam-"

"And that device you had in your hand; no idea?"

"No."

Braun smiled cautiously.  He pulled out his cell phone and called his friend, "Hey Fred, Braun here.  About that job offer…"

Braun patted Bob on the upper arm, "I'll be out by lunch.  I'll just have to say goodbye to some of the ladies."

Young Mad Scientists in Love: "The New Team" - Part 2

Part 2 – Congratulations Doctor Neal You Do Not Get Tenure

”Doctor Neal, may I speak with you?"

Fredrick Neal was standing in his lab, examining a microscope.  He was well built and athletic without being bulky.  He had perfect skin, perfect teeth and a fantastic head of hair.  He looked up with his glorious golden eyes and smoothed his magnificent mustache.

Cassandra Jones was thin and tall, not thin and tall like a wire guided antenna, but more like Seattle's Space Needle.  Her exoticness extended to her voice.  It reminded Neal of a predatory bird's scream or a German dive-bomber.  The woman made him flinch whenever he heard her voice.

"Yes, Ms Jones," Neal shuffled on his stool, fear obvious in his voice. 

"Doctor Neal you may be the most intelligent person in the university, and that is saying quite a bit," she sauntered toward him.  For a moment his fear took a back seat as he marveled at the giraffe-ntile way she moved.  The pendulous swing of her legs was almost hypnotic.

"Well, thank, thank you very much, Ms Jones."

"Oh please stop calling me that."  She took a few steps to stand across from him and leaned over the table like a cantilevered crane.

"What would you like," he said as she put a finger on his chest, "What would you like me to call you?"

"You know, you are really the most adorable little man, perfection in miniature."

"It's more efficient, and adds in life extension.  I, uh designed the treatment myself."

"I could just eat you up," she licked her lips and he hopped off the chair backwards.  Though this left him a straight-line view just below her breasts, it also made use of the stool as a barrier.

"It is a rather complicated procedure.  It involved genetically modifying virus RNA, not just to cause the desired effect in the patient, but to modify the behavior and propagation of the viruses.  If you would like I could-"

"Cass," she said as if she were putting a finger over his mouth with only the word.

"Um, excuse me?"

"You asked what you should call me. You should call me Cass."

"Oh, um thank-"

"Often, and immediately."

While his mind worked at that she held out a long hand and helped him back onto his stool.

"I would love for you to give me, the treatment.  That's not why I came down her though." She turned away and hung her head.  He said nothing as she took a few steps down the table to retrieve her clipboard.  She looked at it and composed herself.  When she turned back to him she couldn't fight the smile that spread across her face.

"Oh, you are just too adorable the way you shrink back in terror like that."

"You're a very-"

"Stunning?"

"Intimidating woman."

"Yes, power can have that effect."

"Right, power, that's exactly what it is."

"I mean, as the Dean and head of your department I hold a lot of power over you."

"Yes."

"Like I could come in here and tell you that you don't have tenure and you won't be getting it," she forced a chuckle and batted at his shoulder, feigning playfulness.  He was quite surprised she could reach that far as she was several steps away.

"Wait, are you telling me I'm fired?"

"Let's call it an opportunity for us to take our relationship to a more personal and maybe intimate level."

"What?"

"Well, as the head of your department I am your boss so it would be conflict of interest and maybe sexual harassment for us to, I don't know date."

“So I’m fired, after all this time.  Thank you very much.  How long do I have to get my stuff and get out?”

“You’ll have to finish teaching your classes.”

“The whole rest of the semester?”

Jones opened and closed her mouth twice.

“Well, Ms Jones, you know what?  You can just screw yourself.”  He stepped off his stool as dignified as anyone could and stormed off.  Actually, given his size it was more of a gentle sun-shower.

At the door he paused and looked back at her.

“But-”

“Screw yourself.”  He slammed the door.

“But that’s what I wanted you to do.”

Young Mad Scientists In Love: "The New Team" - Part 1

Whew, that's a long title.  The first part is the series title, the next is this story title and then I've broken this story up into six parts.  I hope you enjoy.

Young Mad Scientists in Love

"The New Team"

Part 1:  Guard, Guard This

“Nic, I know you're new here so I want to show you some tricks I've picked up over the years," John Smith was a round bald man who's patchy mustache was his pride and joy. 

"Yes, John," Adrian Nicomedia had only been working for Consolidated Securities Inc. for a week, but Smith's script was already starting to replay sections.  They were part of the night shift and were walking their rounds at Acme High Tech Industries.

“When you’re patrolling the grounds you gotta be on your toes."

Nicomedia was internally saying, “Blah blah blah.”

Acme was a huge company with a wide campus of several buildings and their own network of roads.

"You gotta look in every nook and cranny.  Someone could break in and be hiding in every or any shadow.  I mean a burglar could be,” he shrugged and swept his flashlight over the sidewalk and over the curb into the shadow there, “hiding in the shadow of the curb right there.”  The flashlight shined on a young man lying in the shadow.  “Like that one!”

The man leaped to his feet, waved at someone in the shadow of a nearby building and ran off.  The man in the shadow was a huge hulking mountain of a man who could easily hide in the shadow of a multi-story office building, but not a curb.  He lumbered off in the same direction as the smaller man.

“Freeze!”  Smith shouted and let loose two shots after both men.  They seemed to have no effect.

"Get the big one," Smith said as they began the pursuit.

The smaller man kept looking back as he ran to check on the big man. 

“Yes sir.”

Suddenly the big man darted right.  The smaller man sensing they were going their separate ways slipped up a few gears and flew off straight up the street.

Nicomedia turned to follow her man, “Don’t lose yours,” she said.  Smith groaned at his choice and tried to pick up his pace.

The big man ran to a nearby building, Nicomedia followed.  Inside the first door was a second door with a key card scanner.  The man turned to face Nicomedia with his hands up to fight.

“Crap,” she breathed.  “Come with me quietly now, sir.”

In answer he gave a massive roundhouse.  She saw it coming and ducked under it.  Bent over she took the two steps the vestibule afforded and hit him in the gut with her full weight.  He staggered back until he was against the inner door and folded.

She took a step back and said, “Come quietly with me now, sir.”

He started to rise, fists held out in the ready.  She knew if he got up and was able to land a few good punches he could finish her in no time.  As he lifted his head she had to make a split second decision.

She slammed her right fist into the side of his face.  He groaned and his head fell.

“Will you come along quietly now, sir?”

Up he came again, hands and head rising.

She gave him another massive shot.  He flopped back down.  Her hand hurt.

“Come quietly now, sir.”

He grunted louder, more angry and started to rise.  She hit him with her left hand.

He flopped back down, this time to his knees.  She hit him again, “Stay down.  Put your hands behind your back and lay down.  Sir.”

He collapsed completely.  His arms flopped at his side and he grunted quietly in a high pitch.  Nicomedia was breathing heavily; she looked down and saw blood all over the back of the man’s shirt.  She bent down and pulled his shirt up.  There, just above the belt was a gunshot entry wound.

He whimpered on the floor.

“Did you get shot in the back?”

He nodded with snot and tears running down his face.  He moved his mouth but only noises came out.

“Sir, are you alright?”

He shook his head and tried to talk again.

“Can’t you talk?”

The man whimpered and slowly shook his head.

“Oh shit,” she grabbed her radio and called for help.  Eventually Smith and the ambulance showed up.

“What the hell happened?”  Smith asked bewildered.  Nicomedia was tall and broad.  She was older for a new hire because of prior military service.  Still Smith was surprised the thirty seven year old amazon could take the mountain of a man.

“Seems one of your shots hit home.  When I pushed him against the inner door the handle pushed the bullet against his spinal column.  Every time he tried to surrender he could only lift his hands a little and couldn’t rise above waist level.”

Smith guffawed, “So, you beat the crap out of a paralyzed man?”

“How was I supposed to know, wait, where’s your guy?”

“I’m calling the boss,” Smith pulled out his cell.

Later that day Nicomedia and Smith sat outside the guard commander’s office awaiting their fate.  The Duty Sergeant, Lieutenant and the commander had been talking for ten minutes before they called her in.

“Adrian Nicomedia,” the commander began, “Twenty year Army MP veteran, several tours of Iraq and Afghanistan, Purple Heart and Bronze Star.  You are a natural for this job.”  She closed the personnel file and opened a file containing a single sheet of paper, the beginning of the report of the night’s activities.

“Two men compromised the security of our facilities, stole highly sensitive data as well as several small but very valuable pieces of equipment.  You and your partner lost one of the men and you assaulted a badly wounded man, further wounding him,” she looked up at Nicomedia, “I had such high hopes for you.”

“Had?”

“Well.  Mr. Jones, the wounded man you beat senseless, has already begun proceedings to sue our company.”

“He’s suing us?”

“This is true.  Unfortunately you know what else is true?  John Smith is the nephew of Consolidated Securities CEO, Matilde Smith.  He’s also the grandson of the chairman of the board of Acme High Tech Industries Inc., you know, the company our company is guarding?”

“I know who they are.”

“Look, Adrian, I like you.  I think you should be working for a guard company somewhere, that’s why I’m sending in a recommendation to a headhunter that contacted us about you for a company they are working for, MSL Inc.”

“You want me to be working somewhere?”

“Someone has to go down for this, you do understand?  We need a goat.”

“Baa.”

All I Want for Christmas is Stephen Fry for Doctor!

First of all, Merry Christmas to you all and Happy Boxing Day!

When I started writing this post I had only recently found out that Matt Smith is ending his stint as the Doctor on Doctor Who at the end of this current "series" (in US parlance it's called a season).  Last night I watched several episodes of Doctor Who and a special regarding Matt Smith's tenure on the show.  I saw most of "The Time of the Doctor" which is Matt Smith's last episode.

This begs me to finally finish this post and put it up.

Peter Capaldi is the next Doctor, but I want to go on record as strongly endorsing Stephen Fry as the Doctor.  I think he would be a brilliant choice.

Mr. Fry has criticized Doctor Who as being a children's program, which it is.  I have no problem with that and he said he thinks it is fine as much as occasional fast food is.

This very attitude goes very far to explaining why I think Steven Fry would be the best Doctor, and what I think is wrong with New Who.

With Steven Fry you always get the feeling that there is something more, something behind and above what you see; what he is presenting.  I get a feeling of a much larger world when I listen to or watch Steven Fry.

Steven Fry has taken up the colors of techno-champion and knight of the endangered from the fallen Douglas Adams, and I find his approach more subtle and light hearted.

I have three problems with New Who.  The most prominent is how flashy, polished, expensive, orchestral and grandiose it is.  At first I thought that was my problem, that I was just pining for the old, campy, synthesizer, cheap Who of my youth.

In fact I've realized that it is not glitz vs camp, but see vs imagine.  The thing that made those old campy, cheap episodes so great was that it was very clear that there was much more out there in the universe than you saw, there had to be.

I'm a big fan of Old Time Radio and audio dramas in general.  I love how you have to bring something to it yourself.  It challenges the audience to "see" what is happening in the story.

I think the cheapness of old Who did that in many ways.  It almost made you want to close your eyes and imagine the universe, or at least try to understand what they were trying to represent by the quarry or the abandoned hotel.  The way the show was, it challenged you to pretend with it that they weren't running back and forth down the same hallway.

They've taken that away for the most part with New Who.  They've committed to trying to show you exactly what things are supposed to look like.  Once you start doing that then you have told the audience to sit back and watch because you are going to do everything for them.

I get the feeling when I listen or watch Stephen Fry that he is challenging us in some way.

The second problem I have is probably the smallest one: the phone.  New Who bends to our current need for constant instantaneous connection.  The companions can call and talk to the Doctor in real time, with no delays no matter where or WHEN he is.

This is just pure magic and bursts the suspension of disbelief faster than a poorly made costume or badly build TARDIS wall.  I don't know how Fry could fix that.  Maybe they should just get rid of it.

My final objection to New Who is that he has saved the universe, how can they top that?  In old Who he would land somewhere random (mostly), find a local problem, help them fix it and gallivant off again.  The whole of New Who starts off with the notion that he destroyed Gallifrey and the Time Lords to save all of time and space.  They left themselves no room to go up.

I think that was somewhat okay with Christopher Eccleston because he seemed a bit of an outlaw and almost seemed on the lam at that time.  Tenant took that feeling away.  I'm not sure Smith brought it back, but the threats to the Doctor's life did make it seem a bit more focused and less hyperbole (maybe why I like Smith better than Tenant).

I get the feeling that Fry could really do that in spades.  Even if the grand gestures and the universal saves continue I would get the feeling that the small stuff mattered, that those pockets of problems are out there and they need to be dealt with as well.  Fry is capable of showing you the improvements in technology but never letting you forget the environmental and social struggles that are still out there and very real.

I know he won't be the next Doctor.  I know Peter Capaldi has already started, but I can still wish can't I?  Isn't it the season for that?

PS:  Every time I watch Doctor Who I want to write a Doctor Who type story.  Stop it!  Stop flirting with my muse Doctor, she's supposed to be helping me finish my horror novel; leave her alone.

Writing Conversation Part 4 and Poll Results

The Muse poll is over and I only really got one vote.  The vote was to share my ideas as well as full stories.  It looks like there are two votes, but the other one is mine.

Based on the very very few that voted the rest of you will have to put up with my sharing all my ideas.  If those of you who don't want that, and want to let me know, I'm open to that as well.

The next poll will be to ask if you actually read the stories, and how many.

Back to my conversation with Mac.

"3. If you do write sci-fi, I wouldn’t be too concerned with making the science too real, that’s why it’s called fiction, make it up. Sometimes the made up science can be the real driving force in the story. Or take “Starship Troopers”, really has no science, just a good story with good characters."

I dabble in Fantasy and I dabble in SF, but it is one of my biggest pet peeves when the two are crossed.  Science Fiction is SCIENCE based.  My SF, by the nature of my training and inclination is Soft SF as opposed to Hard SF, but that doesn't mean it is less science based.  I think Mac is confusing Soft SF with Fantasy.

From Analog's submission page:  "...we publish science fiction stories. That is, stories in which some aspect of future science or technology is so integral to the plot that, if that aspect were removed, the story would collapse....The science can be physical, sociological, psychological. The technology can be anything from electronic engineering to biogenetic engineering. But the stories must be strong and realistic..."

Miriam Allen deFord says (by Aldiss and Wingrove, op. cit.), "Science fiction consists of improbable possibilities, fantasy of plausible impossibilities."

"The major distinction between fantasy and science fiction is, simply, that science fiction uses one, or a very, very few new postulates, and develops the rigidly consistent logical consequences of these limited postulates. Fantasy makes its rules as it goes along...The basic nature of fantasy is "The only rule is, make up a new rule any time you need one!" The basic rule of science fiction is "Set up a basic proposition--then develop its consistent, logical consequences." "
-- John W. Campbell, Jr.

Introduction, Analog 6, Garden City, New York, 1966

 "Science fiction is something that could happen - but you usually wouldnt want it to. Fantasy is something that couldn't happen - though you often only wish that it could." (emphasis original)

--Arthur C. Clarke. 2000.

"A handy short definition of almost all science fiction might read: realistic speculation about possible future events, based solidly on adequate knowledge of the real world, past and present, and on a thorough understanding of the nature and significance of the scientific method..."
--  Robert A. Heinlein (author of Starship Troopers) from: Science Fiction: its nature, faults and virtues, in The Science Fiction Novel, Advent, Chicago:1969

Where WAS Deckard Going?

In the movie, "Blade Runner" there is a scene that always made me wonder.
Deckard is in Sebastian's place and he's hunting Roy, just after he had killed Pris.

Roy punches through the wall and grabs his hand.  He takes the gun away, breaks two fingers (one for each of the Nexus 6 females he has "retired") and puts the gun back into Deckard's hand.

Then for quite a while Deckard seems to be going somewhere.  He's not really hunting Roy after a while because he is clearly afraid of him and he loses the gun.  He climbs up a bookcase, through some rotting ceiling and out on to the roof.  Somehow he is in a bathroom next where he sets his fingers and ties them off.

Roy surprises him by putting his head through the bathroom wall.  Deckard hits him with a pipe and goes out the window.  He tries to climb onto the roof.

Roy leans out the window and finally asks him the question I had been wondering, and the question I ask you.  Roy said, "Where are you going?"

Eventually Roy saves Deckard from falling off the building and tells him about tears in rain, then dies.

I never understood Deckard's thinking at the time.  Was he hunting or running away?  Was he hiding, or trying to confuse?  Was he just out of his mind or did he have a plan that just wasn't working out?  Was he trying to bide his time until he could get to Roy, get away from him, or until Roy died?

What do you think?

I'm not going to put up a poll because I don't think this is a multiple choice question.

Investigator Marshall Team 199

This is the first scene of a story I just started working on. I've been thinking about it a bit, and a recent L&O, CI got me to thinking about my Dad's carreer as a Chicago Cop. BTW 199 was his Captain star number in the CPD.

"I don't think you're particularly wanted here Marshall." Vega Iggallos folded her massive arms and looked down at the uniformed man.

The holographic face on the blue and red box on the man's left lit up and turned to the Amazon, "Technically, his title is Senior Investigator, and his name is Harris Cerwin, Leader Iggallos."

"That is KUC-42-LAGY, or Lagy for short, and this is EJB-82-RECO or Reco for short, and they are the only things I'm senior to. You're world is a signatory of the Asteroid Belt Conglomeration Accord, gaining the benefit and burden of the Conglomeration Security Marshalls."

Iggallos' neck veins pulsed and the overdeveloped muscles in her jowls tensed. "We expected that the Marshalls would police the SPACE between worlds. The whole point of ninety percent of the worlds in the Belt is for the people of those worlds to live the way the want without the interference or judgment of others."

Cerwin, in his formal navy blue uniform betrayed no fear of the woman who stood twice his height and six times his mass. Neither his firearm nor his uniform provided any real protection, the knobots who were his partners were some protection, but it was really his knowledge that a calm demeanor, reason, and dedication to purpose were enough to persuade all but the furthest gone psychopath.

Showing no fear and having no fear were two very different things though. Cerwin had to fight hard to hide the fear in his throat and the pounding of his heart. His efforts to meet the intensity of the Leader of the Amazons with his own cold, professional, law enforcement intensity were hampered not only by her overwhelming power, but also by the fact that Iggallos wore only a loin cloth, and despite her muscles she was the most feminine person he had met in over a year. In fact, she was absolutely a stone cold hottie.

Her skin and hair were perfect, her muscles, though massive were well proportioned and gently curving rather than angular. Her face, far above his, if he could see past her massive, naked chest, was heart shaped with natural color and a button nose that managed to somehow seem not incongruous with the size of the rest of her. There were some Amazons who looked like a badly cropped photo of a model's head onto a male bodybuilder's body, but not Iggallos. Her blue-green eyes sparkled from her lovely face, even when she was at her most intimidating, like when she was staring down the new Marshall sent from "The Glom."

"Ms Iggallos, I did not choose to come here, nor, I assure you, did the Marshall Service intend to interfere with internal governmental functioning. My presence here, as with most single Investigator Marshall Team's is to provide additional resources for you use and to ensure that Conglomeration are upheld."

"What was that noise?" Cewin turned toward the apparent sound of gunfire.

"Rifle fire." Reco stated, Lagy concurred instantly. Iggallos looked embarrassed.