Author: Wayne Cole Page 2 of 22

Fiction Fragment Friday

I love seriously complicated time travel stories. The kind of story where you think you have everything figured out only to get to the end and start drawing new lines in your head rethinking everything you thought you knew. I’ve never actually written that kind of time travel story. Mine are usually very lite a bit more straightforward. Until now.

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Mission Log Entry #1 October 10^th, 2024, 12:01pm local time.

                My arrival in St. Louis in 2024 at 9:34am Central Standard Time did not go as expected.  According to mission parameters, I was to arrive at Temporal Observation Outpost 43 for resupply and data syncing.  TOO43 is an unmanned facility with little more than a bed, anchor point for arrival, storage closet, and an AI powered computer system.  It is more of a rest stop in time than anything else.  The AI, who likes to be called Martin, monitors the local internet and news sources cataloging events as they occur to compare with official records.  Despite the increase in data available after the inception of the digital age, it is actually harder to determine the truth of how events occurred.  There is information overload and the further you get from the event, the harder it is to determine the reliability of the data.  These type outposts are extremely important, but I did not arrive at TOO43.     

                The world came into focus with the excruciating headache that accompanies an arrival at a point without a temporal anchor.  Instead of landing solidly on my feet, I came out disoriented in an alley.  I’m pretty sure it was urine I slipped on, causing me to fall against a wall, hurting my shoulder.  It is still throbbing in pain an hour later.  I’ve determined that I arrived in the right city at the right time, but there is no signal coming from TOO43.  I’m writing up this log in a fast-food dining room that is shockingly empty even though it is noon.  Everyone seems to use the drive through.  Hopefully, I can reach the outpost before nighttime and get some answers.

Mission Log Entry #2 October 10^th, 2024, 5:45pm local time.

                I’m trying to stay focused and keep my emotions out of these logs, but I’m panicking.  The outpost doesn’t exist.  It is not just offline; the location is an empty lot.  Without it, I don’t have easy access to the local internet or a communications relay back home.  I’m truly and completely on my own.  Thankfully, I have era appropriate false identification and currency.  I discovered at the fast-food place that my debit card doesn’t work.  I can only assume without Marvin here to keep the account active; it was closed at some point.  Unfortunately, there are few places that will rent me a room for the night without a card on file for incidentals.  After a half hour of panic, I reminded myself that my training covered this exact scenario.  I have options.

                I could return home now, but that would be a poor choice.  I need to know why the outpost is no longer here and I don’t have that information yet.  In addition, I’m noticing more and more things that just don’t seem quite like I remember them for this era.  There are anomalies and I need to document them and determine if there has been a paradox when it occurred.  For that I need the internet.  I still have time to find a library, so that is my next step.    

Mission Log Entry #3 October 10^th, 2024, 9:01pm local time.

                This is bad.  This is exceedingly bad.  I haven’t found the point of variance, but the world is wrong.  The cultural changes, including fast-food restaurants being so empty inside, seem to have come from a global pandemic that lasted multiple years.  That never happened in my timeline.  I can only imagine the implications of a generation who had their life put on hold and every social interaction moved online.  At first, I thought this was the divergence, but it is worse than that. 

                While reading about this pandemic, I noticed that there was no mention of it spreading to the moon colony.  I hoped it would escape unscathed, but soon discovered that it didn’t exist.  That’s right, in this timeline there is no moon colony.  In fact, there is only one space station in orbit.  The entire space program is over twenty years behind schedule and much of it is now being run out of the private sector.  I can’t fathom what could have caused this, but without the moon colony, they haven’t found the crashed alien ship.  Without that, they haven’t reverse engineered any of its technology.  It has given me a theory about why TOO43 is gone. 

Mission Log Entry #4 January 13^th, 2150, 1:03pm local time.

                My worst fear was reality.  I jumped home only to find that my home doesn’t exist.  Whatever has changed in the past, my future is gone.  The Temporal Observation Commission doesn’t exist in this timeline, so they never set up outposts.  I arrived in 2150 to find the world in ruins.  At some point in the last hundred and twenty-five years, a third world war turned nuclear.  My society never formed and Temporal Historians don’t exist.  I am a walking paradox that shouldn’t even exist, but I do.  That means I can still fix things.  Unfortunately, I will only have one chance to do it. 

                My Temporal Insertion Chronometer only has enough power for four jumps.  That isn’t normally a problem because every outpost has the equipment necessary to charge them.  Now there is nowhere in time that equipment exists.  I should have spent more time in 2024 studying the new timeline, but I got too impatient to come home for help.  Now I only have charge enough for one last jump.  I only have one chance and I’m not sure where or when to go.  This time doesn’t even have the resources to do further research.  I and by extension my timeline is screwed.                     

Mission Log Entry #5 December 13^th, 1985, 3:25pm local time.

                I arrived in Titusville, Florida this morning.  I’ve given myself over a month to fix the furthest back variance I could identify.  The space program was drastically impacted by a space shuttle explosion destroying the country’s faith in NASA.  In my timeline, they discovered a fault and addressed it prior to launch.  That doesn’t happen anymore and unless I can fix that Space Shuttle Challenger will explode on live tv.  The only problem is that I don’t know how to stop it.

Mission Log Entry #6 December 20^th, 1985, 8:12pm local time.

                I didn’t screw up.  My barely operating TIC detected a temporal insertion today.  I’m in the right place at the right time to correct the change.  Someone is here actively working against me to sabotage humanity’s progress.  I can’t figure out what they hope to gain, but now I finally have a lead.  For the first time in weeks, I have hope again.  I just need to figure out who they are and how they are going to do it. 

Mission Log Entry #7 January 10^th, 1986, 2:12pm local time.

                I did it.  I tracked down the operative and followed them back to their local base.  The base is an observation outpost, but not like one of ours.  I recognize the technology filling their outpost and the language on the screens even though I can’t read it.  The operative may look human, but the observation post belongs to the alien species that crashed on the moon.  They must have come back in time to stop humanity from finding and reverse engineering their technology.  Stopping him is going to be exceedingly difficult, but I bought a pistol this morning.

                I didn’t just get information from the outpost.  My TIC may not be completely compatible with their technology, but it runs on the same type of power.  I’m fully recharged and have another four jumps if I need them.  I also was able to sync some of their files.  They are in a language I can’t read, but the TIC has built in translation functions.  The alien language is not one programed into it, but eventually it will create a translation. 

Mission Log Entry #8 January 20^th, 1986, 9:12pm local time.

                I’m a murderer and somehow, I’m going to have to live with that.  Options were running thin, so out of desperation I took a more direct approach.  As the saboteur returned to his outpost, this evening I met him on the street and confronted him.  I pulled my pistol on him, hoping I could threaten him into giving me more information.  He reached into his pocket and before I realized what I was doing; I had pulled my trigger multiple times.  His dead eyes stared at me accusingly while his body bled out onto the street.  I’m not sure what this device he pulled from his pocket was, but it wasn’t a weapon.  My goal was to save my timeline, but now I can’t get the image of what I have done out of my head.

Mission Log Entry #9 January 28^th, 1986, 11:40am local time.

                Challenge exploded.  I have failed and I don’t know why.

Mission Log Entry #10 February 10^th, 1986. 4:25pm local time

                I finally came out of my drunken stupor long enough to check the alerts on my TIC.  The translation program completed, and it turns out the files I grabbed were his mission logs.  The man whose face haunts my dreams.  The man I killed.  It turns out was here to ensure that NASA found the flaw.  He was here to save Challenger and by killing him; I created this nightmare timeline.  I created a grandfather paradox that broke the causal loop paradox needed to create my timeline.  My head hurts trying to grasp the concept, and my hangover is not helping that. 

                To further complicate things, the ship on the moon and the man I killed are not extraterrestrial after all.  They came from a thousand years further down the timeline to prevent the third world war and kick start humanities advancement so we would be ready for a real alien invasion that happens in their time. Not only have I murdered a hero, but I have also wiped out my timeline and ensured that humanity will get exterminated in a thousand years.  There is not enough alcohol in the world to make me accept this. 

Mission Log Entry #10 January 19^th, 1986.  12:01pm local time. 

                Well, I just shot myself in the head.  It was the only way I could think to fix what I had done.  I’ve lost track of what kind of paradox I’m now in the middle of.  I can feel myself fading out of existence, though, so I guess I won’t have to worry much longer.  I just wanted to finish up this last log entry and set it to sync up to the local outpost so someone smarter than me can figure out what all of this means.         

Fiction Fragment Friday

This is another story about the magic user Benjamin Eversole. Well that was one of the names I’ve used for him. There were a couple others before I settled. If I’m going to keep developing the character I really should get all the details of the world written up and finalized.

This story came from a thought exercise and a conversation I had during the week. The two combined seamlessly into the story you are about to read.

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                Despite what many people think it is not actually the dark that they are truly afraid of.  The fear comes from what the darkness represents and the emotion it elicits.  Humans don’t like the unknown and darkness takes the world we know and hides it from us.  Our minds create worst case scenarios about what we can’t see.  For some the imagined dangers are far worse than anything the world they know could possibly present them with.

                When you really think about it most fears can be distilled to a lack of control.  We are so obsessed with controlling every aspect of our world that when we can’t it makes us feel helpless.  Darkness, flying, heights, and even claustrophobia are all just a fear of things we can’t control in our environment.  These moments of fear are when the world reminds us just how little control, we actually hold over it. 

                In moments of fear, I try to remind myself that it is just a lack of control that I fear.  There is no point in obsessing about the things you can’t control.  That mental energy is better spent on those things that you can.  Of course, the human mind doesn’t really function on logic.  It is a crazy jumbled mess and that is before we even factor in chemical imbalances or trauma.     

                Knowing all of this didn’t really help me in that moment.  I was in a rickety old Ferris Wheel car rocking back and forth.  When you think about it Ferris Wheels are really the center of a Venn diagram of fears.  Are you afraid of heights, enclosed spaces, large spaces, exposure, being on moving objects, or vertigo?  Well, all those fears intersect right smack dab in a Ferris Wheel.  I don’t know how anyone could enjoy and not be triggered by one of those things. 

                Why was I on a Ferris Wheel if I find them terrifying you might ask.  Well, it was the only way to get a good view of the entire carnival area.  Something dark and hungry was hunting on the carnival grounds and I was having no luck finding it on foot.  From above I could send out tendrils of power and blanket the whole area with a web of detection.  Oh yeah there was a spider in the Ferris Wheel car with me so I guess we can add arachnophobia to that list.  Thankfully I don’t suffer from it.  I was extremely exposed with no where to go though and in my line of work that is terrifying. 

                I saw the shadow move behind the game booths and my detection web surged.  It had a feel to it that was unmistakable.  The creature hunting the grounds was a shadow lynx.  A being made of living shadows and condensed fears.  My anxiety suddenly made a lot more sense.  They have an aura about them that draws out fears in humans.  They feed on them which might not sound bad, but a person’s fear is a part of them.  Eating the fear is like taking a bite out of their very soul.  What makes them more dangerous is because they use your own fear against you their aura cuts right through most mental defenses.

                Knowing what I was dealing with I adjusted my defenses to prevent further aura impact.  Unfortunately, because it had found its way in, I couldn’t shield from the fear it had already induced in me.  I was high above the carnival locked in a cage wracked with fear and had no way of directly confronting the predator.  I had made a mistake and now all I could do was watch helplessly as it narrowed in on its prey.  A lost child.  I was supposed to be the one guarding innocent people from these supernatural beings, and I had failed.  Depression, frustration, and self-loathing fought to overwhelm the fear.  That was when I had a realization. 

                I pulled the power from my web and focused it on the shadow lynx.  It couldn’t do anything to harm the creature, but that wasn’t my intent.  I poured every bit of power I could generate in my diminished state.  Working with magical energies requires extreme focus and debilitating emotions can destroy that focus.  I was extremely weak magically in that moment, but I had enough for what I was trying to do.  My power lit up the lynx magically like a spotlight.  Anything with any degree of magical sensitivity couldn’t help but be drawn to the creature.

                I saw them drop from the sky and swoop through the rows of food and game booths.    Five airborne predators known for being territorial.  Shadow Ravens closed in on the lynx circling it.  They took turns diving and pecking at the creature, but the lynx would not go easily.  With a lunge it plucked one of the birds from the air ripping it into threads of shadow it could absorb.  The larger collection of emotions couldn’t all be digested, but Shadow Ravens do contain fear. 

                The fight was fairly evenly matched, and I couldn’t be sure of the winner.  I did know that child was going to be the loser in the end if I couldn’t get there.  The victor was going to be hurt and hungry, needing to replenish their own energies.  My desperate move pointing the lynx out to the ravens had been a stalling tactic to give me more time.  I had recognized the other feelings being pushed on me as an additional aura.  I figured pitting the two predator types against each other would give me an opportunity to think of something else.

                My gambit had an unexpected benefit.  With the shadow creatures fighting their auras had shrunk.  They needed all their power for the fight and that meant they couldn’t mess with my head anymore.  My focus was returning and with focus came power.  I reached deep within my internal reservoirs and fed courage and positive thoughts into it.  For creatures of shadow the tint of emotions they were incapable of digesting could poison them.

                I fed my power into the park’s lighting fixtures causing them to grow brighter.  The light was imbued with my power and burned away at the shadow creatures.  I felt screams of psychic pain from them as they withered under my attack.  I knew the bulbs couldn’t last much longer and sure enough they started shattering.  With an open path of darkness, the predators fled into the night.  I slumped back into my seat in a combination of relief and exhaustion.  They were still out there somewhere, but the kid was safe.  That would have to be enough.                 

Fiction Fragment Friday

I know I usually start off by telling you the inspiration for my stories, but this week I really have no idea where this one came from. As the story progresses I can see clear places where I was inspired by thoughts or real life events. The beginning though is a mystery even to me.

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                “Good morning, Jamie.  How dark would you like your toast this morning?”

                “Have you ever thought that I might not want toast?  That I might be so sick of toast that the very thought of it makes me want to vomit?”

                The digitized face on the toaster changed from a smile to a frown, and then settled on a circle mouth.  “Oh.  That’s ok.  I could make you a bagel. Perhaps a frozen waffle?”

                Jamie turned away from the toaster without answering.  “Coffee I just need a coffee.”

                “Of course.  Would you like mocha, hazelnut, or expresso?”  The coffee maker looked hopeful knowing that now was it’s time to shine.

                “Just coffee.  Plain black coffee with nothing in it.”

                “8oz or 16?  How strong would you prefer?  What temperature would you like it served at?”

                Jamie screamed in frustration.  “Forget it, just forget it.  Why does everything have to be so complicated?  It’s too early to make decisions.”  She stormed out of the kitchen into the living room and slumped in her recliner.  “Finally some peace and..”

                “Thank you for choosing to sit on me this morning.  Would you like me to engage the massage or heating features?  I can recline by any angle you would like.”

                “DAD!!!” Jamie yelled while jumping out of her chair.  She stomped her feet all the way down into the basement where her father was hard at work in his lab.  He was sitting at a computer with circuit boards spread across the counter.  He turned his chair to face her.

                “Oh, hey pumpkin.  Having a good morning?”

                 “No,  No I am not.”

                “What’s wrong dear?”

                Jamie stomped her feet and crossed her arms over her chest.  “What’s wrong?  What’s wrong?  You updated the AI on all the appliance again and installed one in my chair.  Do you have any idea what it’s like to sit on something and have it start talking to you?”

                “I’d answer that, but you said you didn’t want to hear about my love life.”

                “Not funny.”

                “Come on it was a little funny.  Lighten up a bit.  Everything doesn’t have to be so serious.”

                “I just want a simple morning.  Wake up grab a coffee, eat breakfast and rest in my chair until I have to go to school.  I don’t want to play twenty questions with inanimate objects.”

                “If they talk to you, are they still inanimate?”

                 “Yes,  yes they are. They’re appliances and furniture.  They don’t need to talk to us.”  As the anger started to run dry, she felt tears coming to her eyes.

                Her father stood and wrapper her in his arms.  “Oh, baby what’s really going on here?”

                Through the sobs she managed to answer.  “So many questions.  I just want something simple in life.   When everything is giving me options I can’t think.  I just lock up.  It makes me not even want my coffee anymore.  You ruined my morning coffee.  The one thing in life that made sense.” 

                He patted her back.  “Life won’t always make sense.  You’re still struggling to figure out what you want to go to college for aren’t you?”

                “Yes” It came out through sniffles and in a defeated tone.  “What if I pick the wrong major?”

                “Then you pivot and do something else.  You’re young and yes you will make mistakes and change your mind.  That is all just part of life.”  He pulled back so he could look her in the eyes.  “Do you know what my college degree is in?”

                “No.”

                “Culinary Arts.  I wanted to be a chef.  When I got into a high-pressure kitchen I had a nervous breakdown.  I just can’t do fast paced environments.  I need to think and analyze.  So, I quit and learned programing.  Decisions don’t have to be final.”

                Taking a moment Jamie composed herself again.  She hated crying, but it was happening more often with her feelings of being overwhelmed.  “Could you please just talk to me before you install a new AI next time?  My chair was my safe zone, and now it’s asking me questions too.” 

                “I’m sorry baby.  I’ll remove it and I promise no new AI without telling you first.”

                “Thanks.  That’s all I ask.  I’m going to go take a shower before school.”  She turned and headed back up the stairs.  Her father turned back to his computer feeling like there was something extremely important that he had forgotten. 

                Five minutes later Jamie stepped climbed into the shower looking forward to just hiding from the world for a while.  “Hello Jamie.  How warm would you like the water?  Are you in the mood for a light mist or a heavy pressure this morning?”

                “DAAAAD!!!!!” 

Fiction Fragment Friday

This week’s story is a little short, but hopefully a good conversation. For once it is not a writing issue I’m struggling with even though the main character is one I have frequently used as a stand-in for myself.

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            “So, tell me again why you can’t write the next Benjamin Eversole book?”  My agent was not happy, but then again, he is never happy these days.

            “Because I suck.  Well, no I guess I don’t suck, but I used to suck.  My writing has improved over the years, but the first few books were written when I still sucked.”

            “I’m not getting the problem here.  Your writing has improved.  That’s great just write books you think are better now.”

            As usual he just did not understand.  How could someone who works with so many talented authors not grasp the very basic concepts of being a writer?  “Thos books are out there though, and I established things.  Stupid things that are now cannon and I have to write around them.”

            “Like what?  Can’t you just retcon it?”

            “Retcon?  Retcon?  Do you know how rabid my fans are?  I make even the slightest mistake and reddit crucifies me.  Hell, if I’m not sure about something I ask there anonymously.  They know more about my characters than I do.”

            The line went silent for a moment as he thought through his response.  He only does that when he thinks I’m acting crazy.  I prepared myself for a dismissive reply, but it didn’t come.  “Yeah, they are kind of insane about the details and theories.  They can take the smallest phrase you write and make it into a five-book long term plan.  Most of those mistakes you worry about they think are clues.” 

            “Exactly.  How am I supposed to live up to those expectations?”

            “You don’t try.  What I need you to do is remember who you are.  What I need you to do is to sit down and write the best book you can.  Most importantly what I need you to do is to get out of your own damn head and remember that you have gotten better.  You know exactly where you want these characters to go.  Just take them there.”

            “In my first book though I said humans can’t survive in the mirror universe.  I forgot about that when I tossed his closest ally through the mirror in the last book.  I need him back because he’s the only one who can give Benjamin the exposition dumps the next book requires.”

            “Did you say humans can’t survive or did Benjamin?  You know you can have him be wrong.  Even better, just bring the character back and make how a mystery.  Let your fans look for clues and come up with their own theories.  Hell, if you steal one instead of being mad, they will do victory laps about being right.”

             It was my turn to sit there in silence.  The idea was simple, but that didn’t keep it from being genius.  He was right.  I didn’t need to provide all the answers.  It’s a series not a solo book.  “Ok.”

            “Ok?”

            “Ok I’m ready to write now.”  I not only felt energized, I felt inspired to write.

            “That’s great.  I’m glad I could help.  Let’s go over your interview schedule.”

            “Uhm, no you don’t understand.  I’m ready right now.  I gotta go while the creative juices are flowing.  Talk to you later.”   I hung up just imagining my agent yelling at his phone.  I knew he wouldn’t call back though because getting the book written was more important than anything else he might have wanted to talk about.  With a smile on my face thinking about his frustration I opened up my novel and started typing.    

Fiction Fragment Friday

I honestly have no idea what inspired this story. I do know that I wrote it while out of town and was delayed uploading because of that. I do enjoy how it turned out though.

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                “I’m just so sick of this.  I can’t take it anymore.  The same dream again every night over and over.  No rest.  I can’t sleep, but I can’t wake up in the morning either.  I’m just so exhausted it’s hard to even move.”

                “How does that make you feel?”  I look up from over my notebook at my patient appreciating the expression of frustration on his face.  He is on the verge of exploding which brings me such pleasure, but I can’t let that happen.  I hold up my right hand with the pen between my fingers in a placating gesture.  “Kidding, kidding.  I know now a good time for a joke, but in my line of work I can’t not make it.”

                I watch the emotions cross my patient’s face.  Anger, frustration and finally despair.  “Walk me through your dream again.”  I lift my notebook up and position my pen to take notes.  I want my body language to tell him that he has my undivided attention. 

                “I’m standing in a burning warehouse.  Bodies are all around me.  Broken, burnt, bloody.  I can see bone sticking out of the arm of one of them.  Their faces are all blurred though.  I can’t make any of them out.  Can’t tell race or gender for any of them.  The injuries though are clear.  Like they are in HD.  One of them reaches out a hand missing two fingers and grips onto my pants leg.  Then I wake up drenched in sweat.  Every time I fall asleep.  The building might be different, but the injuries are always the same.”

                I scribble in my notebook and continue after he quits speaking.  I want him to think I am taking notes, but in reality, I have an idea for an Orange Oregano Chicken dish I want to make for dinner this weekend and I’m jotting down the grocery list.  I look up and tilt my head to the right slightly in interest.  “Why do you think these unidentifiable people were injured?  Was it in the fire?”

                “No.  Sure, there are some burns, but the bodies are cut and broken.  The roof hasn’t collapsed or anything.  Something broke them before the fire.  “

                “Something or someone?”  I regret the question as soon as I ask.  I’m walking a very fine line and that could be one step over it.  I don’t want my patient to realize that these dreams are suppressed memories.  If he thinks too much he might push through the blocks.

                “I…. I think I might have done it.  Why else would I be standing there in the middle of it all with only a few scratches?  What does it mean that I keep dreaming about being a monster?”

                “Perhaps it is misplaced self-recrimination.  Misplaced guilt?”  Or perfectly assigned guilt, but I can’t say that.  He doesn’t remember what he has done and it’s my job to keep him in that state.  I am sitting across from the worst supervillain the world has ever known, but he doesn’t remember that.  How do you deal with a murderous psychopath when your moral code and the Hero League charter won’t let you kill him?  My solution was to use my own powers and skills to wipe out all his memories of being that villain and hope I can teach him to be something else.  I have been working with him for thirty days and I’m not sure that it’s going to be possible.  After everything he has done, I don’t want him to just get a second chance and that might be holding me back.  If I could kill him, I would.  Since I can’t I want him to suffer, but if he suffers too much he may start to remember. 

                “What do I have to feel guilty about?”

                “Dreams are often metaphors.  While your dream has horribly mangled victims it could represent goals you have not achieved or desires you have given up on.”  This is actually true, but not in this patient’s case.  It is so difficult watching and ensuring he doesn’t have a breakthrough when my every instinct from years of building my career is to do the opposite.  For this job I have to work against my very nature. 

                “Pretty violent metaphors.  I just want them to stop.  If I can’t get a good night sleep soon, I’m gonna go crazy.”

                  On both points I agree.  These dreams, while an appropriate torture, risk bringing back his memories.  The stress that comes from lack of sleep could also trigger a reversion or drive him to his former personality even without the memories.  All of my usual methods to work through this type of trauma though would have the opposite effect of what I want.  “I could try prescribing you sleeping pills.”

                “Yeah? So I can be stuck in that dream longer?  No thanks doc.  I need pills that suppress dreams.” 

                “There are medications that can suppress REM sleep, but I don’t recommend them in your case.  The lack of REM sleep causes all the exhaustion and fatigue you are already feeling.  I also worry that if we suppress the dreams or make you only remember the good ones then these will find a way to express themselves in your waking hours.”  I have fallen a bit too far into my natural healer state with my response.  The concern though is very real.  If these suppressed memories come out while awake it would be a disaster. 

                “There has to be something you can do.  I’m desperate here.”

                I could crack your skull open with the lamp on my desk.  That would help everyone.  I have to push back the thought.  I can’t let it show on my face.  Working with my patient is so difficult because some of those bodies in his suppressed memories were friends of mine.  I know I’m uniquely qualified for this role, but it doesn’t change the fact that I hate him.  This has been the most difficult job I have ever done and I’m really not sure that I am capable of it.

                “We can try phenelzine.  It won’t stop the dreams, but it will help with not remembering them.  For some patients that has given more restful sleep.”  I worry about the medication because if he goes off it suddenly it could cause the memories to come back suddenly. 

                “I’ll try anything.” 

                “Ok.  I’ll send the prescription over to your pharmacy and I want to see you back here next week.  You can’t skip that session for any reason because I need to know how the medicine is affecting you.”

                “Anything you say doc.”  His smile sends shivers down my spine.  It is a smile I saw far too many times on his face over the years.  I’m grateful to see him walking out of my office.  I can’t help but wonder if this whole thing is one huge mistake.  Only time will truly tell, but the feeling deep down in my gut tells me the worst has yet to come.    

Fiction Fragment Friday

This story really took on a life of it’s own. I started with an idea for a scene that I wanted to describe and went from there. It has been a few weeks because of life stresses so I needed to get back into the habit. I also needed to kick off a little bit of writing rust to get ideas out there. There is some real potential in future rewrites of this one. Maybe on the edits I will come up with a better name.

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                “Warning Power Levels critically low.  Life support failing” The automated warning broadcast through the halls of the tiny vessel.  It was rated for a crew of up to three, but it had been years since anyone other than Dax Vallen had been on board.  The ship had too many secrets on it for him to allow anyone else onboard.  With the ship lit by only dim red warning lights he realized the shortsightedness of not allowing maintenance workers onboard. 

                Five minutes earlier the Vagrant had jumped into the system with a fluctuating integrity field and experienced a cascading system failure.  Power surged into the capacitors causing them to explode.  Dax had been tossed around the bridge smashing into the bulkheads as gravity fluctuated in both direction and intensity.  It ranged from 0 to 6Gs focused on different directions over a thirty second period.  He was unconscious with three broken ribs before gravity normalized. 

                “Computer system status report.” Just those few words hurt to say.  Even breathing was difficult.  The silence from the computer concerned him even more than his own injuries.  Holding his ribs with his left hand he tried to pull up the console with his right hand.  The screen remained completely blank.  “Damn it.” 

                On shaky legs Dax started down the corridor towards the engine room.  He used his right hand to brace himself against the wall for stability after his knee gave out on his first step   Every movement sent pain throughout his body, making the trek slow.  With life support offline the smoke coming from multiple fires was not being filtered out of the air.  This caused Dax to fall into coughing fits that sent blood onto the deck.  “That can’t be healthy.” 

                Any hope of repairing the ship in time was quashed when he saw the closed bulkhead to the engine room.  The bulkhead was designed with pneumatic pistons to slam shut in the case of a hull breach.  Even if he could repair the ship while in space every system, he needed to do it was exposed to the vacuum of space.  Dax slid down the wall collapsing to the deck in despair.   He ran his hand along the corridor wall.  “You deserved so much better.”  After one final coughing spell he passed out from lack of oxygen. 

                Dax awoke to a rhythmic beeping sound.  The sterile smell that hit his nose could only be from an infirmary.  This only added to his confusion because his ship didn’t have an infirmary.  He had an out-of-date med chamber that wasn’t good for much more than injecting pain killers and antibiotics.  He thought about how nice the pian killers would be as his body felt like one big ball of pain.  Especially his head.  His eyes were assaulted by a bright light overhead as he managed to open them.  He could hear people talking in the room with him, but it was difficult to make out what they are saying.  One of the voices thought he would know anywhere.

                “Three cracked ribs, a broken leg, and his body is basically one big bruise.  My biggest concern though is the potential for brain damage.  We don’t know how long he went without oxygen before we got to him.”

                “Trust me doc if he’s got brain damage no one’ll be able to tell the difference.”   

                “Is that any way to talk about your father?”  Dax’s words came out rough through a throat raw with pain.  He was going for flippant, but pain makes that extremely difficult to accomplish.

                Captain Jonathan Sinclair spun to look at the patient with an unmistakable look of disgust on his face.  The doctor reached out in an effort to calm him, but he pushed the man away rougher than he had intended.  “Father?    No that’s a title you earn.  The only thing you ever did for me was get my mother pregnant.”

                “I know I wasn’t there.”

                “No, you weren’t, and I probably turned out better because of it.  If I had my way, we would have turned that scrap heap you call a ship into dust, and you’d be sitting in the brig not my infirmary.  I just wish we would have done the universe a favor and gotten here an hour later.”

                His words hurt Dax far more than he would ever be willing to show.  With his pain it wasn’t difficult to play off the impact on his injuries.  “Why did you bother to save me then?”

                “Because it’s my job.  I was ordered to find you and recruit you for a mission.”

                Dax laughed and instantly regretted it as pain shot through his body.  The doctor hit a few buttons on his tablet, and he felt the warm comforting sensation of pain killers running through his body.

                Captain Sinclair rounded on his chief medical officer.  “I told you no pain meds until after the conversation.”

                “Yes, you did sir, but I’m the doctor here and that man is my patient.  I’m not going to stand here and force him to suffer while you insult him.”

                “I didn’t order you to hold off because I want him to suffer.  I ordered you to withhold the medication because now he’s under the influence of them and can’t agree to any binding deals.  You’ve set us back by days.” 

                “I’ve done no such thing.  I’ve made a medical call about MY patient.  You saw his ship.  It’s going to take at least a week with our entire engineering team doing extra shifts just to get it capable of flight.  Now if you don’t mind sir you are in my infirmary and while you are my captain you have no authority over how I treat my patients.”

                The captain let out a frustrated grunt while clenching and unclenching his fists.  “You are of course correct Doctor Crate.  I apologize for my outburst.  Now what I have to discuss with your patient is above your clearance level so may I please speak to him in private.”

                “Of course, captain, but I will be remotely monitoring his vitals and if anything impacts them, I will be back in here to address it.”

                “Understood doctor.”  The two men locked eyes staring each other down for a moment before the doctor moved into his office.  Captain Sinclair turned back to the patient.  “Now as I was saying.  I was ordered to find you and recruit you for a mission.  My superiors seemed to think you would be more likely to listen to the offer if it came from me.  They obviously don’t know you like I do.”

                “Why in the world would they want me for anything?”

                “For your reputation of course.  Every smuggler, mercenary, and general scum den in the galaxy knows your ship by sight and won’t blow it out of space on sight.  No one would ever expect you to be working for the Alliance Vanguard.”

                “Damn right they wouldn’t.  I’ve spent most of my life just trying to avoid the Vanguard.  I’m not a big fan of brigs.” 

                “As much as I’m loath to admit it as vile as you are the one thing you have never been accused of is hurting innocents.  One of your old traveling companions managed to infiltrate one of our most secure research facilities and walk out with experimental weapons and a bioengineered virus capable of wiping out all human life from a planet.”

                “Hey, you know I’m no hero kid.  That sounds like something I want to stay as far away from as possible.”      

                “Kind of hard to do without a working ship.”

                “How is the Vagrant?”

                “A hunk of junk worth more melted for scrap than being used as a ship.  It however can be repaired back to the barely flyable state you usually keep it in.”

                Dax let out a sigh of relief.  He had not even realized how concerned he had been about his ship.  “Ok, so is that the deal?  You fix up my ship, let me go, and I go find your thief for you?”

                “Not quite that simple, but yeah you go the basics.  There’s no way we’re trusting you to go off on your own though.  You get an undercover agent watching over you and making sure you don’t betray us.” 

                “What idiot got stuck with babysitting me?”

                “I did.” 

                Dax laughed again and while the pain was intense the pain meds were doing their job.  “This just keeps getting better and better.  Ok, let’s say I agree and as of right now that’s a damn longshot.  Just who stole your treaty violating weapons?”

                At this Captain Sinclair smiled.  “None other than the Ironclaw herself.  Seraphina Sinclair.”

                “Wait.  No.  Oh, this is rich.  They send you… to recruit me… so we can do some father son bonding hunting down your mother.”

                “I am aware of the irony, but my superiors believe that my connection to both of you makes me the only person who might be able to get close enough to complete the mission.  I respectfully disagree with them, but I have my orders, and I do agree that you are the most likely person to find her.”

                “I want all the details of this in writing before I agree to anything.”

                “Wait you’re actually going to help?”

                “You kidding me?  Seeing you reunited with the one person in this galaxy you hate more than me.  No way am I missing that.”  Dax chuckled to himself and rolled over to get some rest.  “If you try putting any trackers on my ship while you fix it the deal’s off.  Don’t think I won’t know either.”