Announcement: Haitus

Yeah, it's only been a week, but I feel like I should spend some time reformulating exactly what I'm going to do with this. I've been feeling like my writing is more and more forced, and while that's part of the point of this exercise, I feel like my inspiration is stretched too thin, and there are multiple technical flaws, many exacerbated by procrastinating the stories to later and later at night. Furthermore, perhaps I have not given it enough time and exposure, but I am getting extremely little critical response.

So, in short, I am not going to be posting daily stories at the moment. I may change up the "rules" a bit to fit more with my personality and writing styles, so it enhances my writing, instead of detracting. I will continue to post short stories to this blog, but more at my leisure. This is going to be an interim status, and I hope to get back to daily stories.

But so far, as it is, it is not working.

Comments and discussion are of course welcome. Very welcome.

Story: Exploration (June 4th, 2011)

Clover was bored one day. She was a mid-level student at the Wizard school, and there was a short break from classes after exams. She was resting in her dorm. There was a slow drip in her room, roughly hewn out of the compacted dirt and stone, and she watched each drop form slowly, building up, finally reaching to heavy of a weight to be held up, and then dropping to the floor, probably to fall down again in whoever's dorm was below hers. She mentally traced the drops route, eventually falling into one of the labs, possibly into some forgotten bit of glassware. Then, she realized that this was all unspeakably boring, and she really had nothing else to do.

Clover took out one of her blank spell sheets. Most of the time, magic was work to her. She was in school, learning how to be a Wizard, so it was homework and classwork that made up the majority of her spells. Why was she learning to be a Wizard? Well, her parents did, and her parents before them, ever since well before the Wizards were kicked out of the King's palace. Ever since well before her ancestors came over on boats, explorers and colonists of a new land to the south. She presumed that even before recorded history, her family were Wizards. It was what they did.

Clover was in the ripe age for some teenage rebellion, but that wasn't her style, and she was a more thoughtful type than she immediately seemed. Sure, she was impulsive, but she had the taste and the knack for magic. She might not have been of the mindset to blindly go with something she hated because of the tradition, but she certainly wasn't going to move away from thousands of years of tradition so hard to prevent her from doing something she liked.

She thought she liked anyway, she corrected herself, because really, she hadn't felt like she'd done it, really. She had made magic for school, and for practical concerns, but was that really a way to determine if she'd liked it? She wanted to be doing something she liked, so she wanted to test herself and her desires. She wanted to know if this was something she'd be able to have fun doing.

Clover started off small, just a little fire spell. She drew it carefully, and like she had done many times before, mainly for exams. She laid it down on her floor, and gave it energy, and a small camping fire arose from the paper. It did not consume it, but rather it fed off of the energy that Clover was feeding to it. This gave Clover an idea.

Well, maybe she couldn't do it with this spell, like it was, but she thought, maybe she could tie the energy of the flames in with her energy. She knew that if she could do this carefully, she would be able to have some manipulation over the shape of the flames.

She spent an hour thinking, scratching runes into the claylike soil, testing out combinations in her head. Eventually, she thought she had something. She drew up another circle, carefully, this time with a slightly different set of runes. She activated it, and flames leapt out again, in the same small campfire shape. She had a bond with the fire though, and she used it, stretching the flames out into shapes, making streamers and snakes. Nothing terribly practical, as it was slow, and very difficult to manipulate, but in a way, it was fun, and Clover experimented to see what she could do until she nearly ran out of energy.

Clover rested for a while to recover her energy, she got nearly a complete night's sleep at midday. She woke up at some weird hour of the night. She quickly got up, and became excited. She repeated her previous experiment with a pot of water she had, guiding the water up into silly and intricate shapes. It was actually easier to move than fire for her, and she made a note of it.

This time, Clover stopped herself, and saved her energy for more ideas. She grabbed the rune scroll from her shelf. The rune scroll was a scroll with all the known runes and their rough translations, possibly one of the most important items owned by any Wizard. Laboriously copied by each Wizard when young, and inspected, marked, and corrected by teachers several inevitable times before being accepted, it helped ingrain the units of magic into young Wizards minds.

Clover had thought that perhaps the list of runes was incomplete. Opinions went both ways among the Wizards. No new runes had been discovered in hundreds and hundreds of years, probably since before the original Wizards came from across the seas. Many felt that, since there didn't seem to be anything that wasn't covered, and there were no new runes discovered in so long, that none existed. Furthermore, no one even remembers how a rune was discovered. Clover didn't have a strong opinion either way.

Clover did, however, have a feeling. Perhaps enhanced by her recent mode of discovery, and the late hour and her inconsistent sleep and food schedules, but Clover felt compelled to enter a trance. She felt her mind entering a place of calm, and an image went into her mind, a simple, angular character, new, vibrant, full of life. Like that, she had discovered a new rune.

Clover wondered on that for a little while, but the answer seemed to be inside her head as well. She asked, why her? Why was she so important? Sure, she was intelligent, she recognized this, and just a bit bold, but something happened to her that hadn't happened for a thousand years? Strange.

She considered writing it down in her rune sheet, but she grabbed a small scrap of paper, and wrote it down. It was probably burnt inside her mind anyway, but it helped to have a written record, as one never knows.

She knew that there was a reason that she had been gifted this rune, it was something beyond her, and some role she had to play in the future. Something that was, to some degree, fated, but she felt like this fate was just a loose script, and only her role was determined, not how she was going to fulfill it. Anyway, these sorts of things could be worried about later. She daren't share this rune yet, but she felt that there was no harm in using it.

A new rune. Transformation. A new power that could be tapped. And Clover, while recognizing her role in things to come, was certainly not above having a bit of fun with it first.

Story: Untitled 4 (Jule 4, 2011)

Note: The following is incomplete. I have tried to complete it, but inspiration was slow, and it is quite late. I am tired. It will be written tomorrow.

Clover was bored one day. She was a mid-level student at the Wizard school, and there was a short break from classes after exams. She was resting in her dorm. There was a slow drip in her room, roughly hewn out of the compacted dirt and stone, and she watched each drop form slowly, building up, finally reaching to heavy of a weight to be held up, and then dropping to the floor, probably to fall down again in whoever's dorm was below hers. She mentally traced the drops route, eventually falling into one of the labs, possibly into some forgotten bit of glassware. Then, she realized that this was all unspeakably boring, and she really had nothing else to do.

Clover took out one of her blank spell sheets. Most of the time, magic was work to her. She was in school, learning how to be a Wizard, so it was homework and classwork that made up the majority of her spells. Why was she learning to be a Wizard? Well, her parents did, and her parents before them, ever since well before the Wizards were kicked out of the King's palace. Ever since well before her ancestors came over on boats, explorers and colonists of a new land to the south. She presumed that even before recorded history, her family were Wizards. It was what they did.

Clover was in the ripe age for some teenage rebellion, but that wasn't her style, and she was a more thoughtful type than she immediately seemed. Sure, she was impulsive, but she had the taste and the knack for magic. She might not have been of the mindset to blindly go with something she hated because of the tradition, but she certainly wasn't going to move away from thousands of years of tradition so hard to prevent her from doing something she liked.

She thought she liked anyway, she corrected herself, because really, she hadn't felt like she'd done it, really. She had made magic for school, and for practical concerns, but was that really a way to determine if she'd liked it? She wanted to be doing something she liked, so she wanted to test herself and her desires. She wanted to know if this was something she'd be able to have fun doing.

Clover started off small, just a little fire spell. She drew it carefully, and like she had done many times before, mainly for exams. She laid it down on her floor, and gave it energy, and a small camping fire arose from the paper. It did not consume it, but rather it fed off of the energy that Clover was feeding to it. This gave Clover an idea.

Well, maybe she couldn't do it with this spell, like it was, but she thought, maybe she could tie the energy of the flames in with her energy. She knew that if she could do this carefully, she would be able to have some manipulation over the shape of the flames.

She spent an hour thinking, scratching runes into the claylike soil, testing out combinations in her head. Eventually, she thought she had something. She drew up another circle, carefully, this time with a slightly different set of runes. She activated it, and flames leapt out again, in the same small campfire shape. She had a bond with the fire though, and she used it, stretching the flames out into shapes, making streamers and snakes. Nothing terribly practical, as it was slow, and very difficult to manipulate, but in a way, it was fun, and Clover experimented to see what she could do until she nearly ran out of energy.

Clover rested for a while to recover her energy, she got nearly a complete night's sleep at midday.

Story: Strong (June 3rd, 2011)

Adam was strong. Everybody knew that. When Adam was in high school he was in Varsity sports, and while he wasn't the best player on the team, he was a good and important player. While he didn't have much time to, when he could, he practiced martial arts after school. This wasn't why he was strong.

Adam was an excellent student. He studied all the time, and aced most of his classes. He was never tardy, and handed in his homework on time, even under incredible duress. He finished everything to the best of his ability, and was polite and respectful to the teachers and other students. Moreover, he was humble and helpful about his work. This wasn't why he was strong.

Adam was a talented musician. He played the clarinet excellently, when he had the time to practice. He wasn't in the school band, but every once in a while, he'd whip out his old inherited clarinet, and play, and everyone listening would agree that it was good. It made Adam feel good to play, and make others feel good. This wasn't why he was strong.

Adam didn't have an easy life. When he was twelve, his mother became seriously ill, it turned out to be cancer, and when he was fourteen, she died. He mourned, and he was quite sad for a long time, but he struggled on, continuing his studies, continuing his sports and his occasional music, and trying to make the best of himself. Even this wasn't why he was strong.

Adam wasn't rich. Both his parents held down jobs, and with the medical bills, and the illness and loss of his mother, he and his father were forced to move. He was able to stay in the same school district, but in a much smaller house that was near falling apart. With help from his dad, he fixed up the place, and nearly made it sparkle. All the while, he never complained or gave it much notice. This wasn't why he was strong.

When he was sixteen, his father got a pay cut at work, and even the smaller place would have been to expensive to keep. He quit his sports and martial arts, and searched, and found a small menial job to help meet the bills. During this, he kept up with and excelled in his studies at school, and didn't think much of it, even when he had to lose sleep. He worked admirably, and kept going. This wasn't why he was strong.

When he was seventeen, the High School seniors got to go on a school camping trip, and since it was free, he got a day off from work and went. He brought along a stuffed rabbit, slightly worn but obviously well cared for, if extremely well loved. He got plenty of funny looks from the other students, but he explained that this rabbit was important to him, it was given to him by his mother, and though it was important to him beforehand, after she died, it became immensely cherished.

High School students are not always the most mature of people, and he was teased for it, and much of the free time at night was spent making fun of him. He, like most things, ignored it, and since they didn't seem to be doing anything more than talking, just turned the other cheek and pretended it wasn't happening. This wasn't why he was strong.

Time came for applying to college, and not too surprisingly, Adam got a well-needed full scholarship, and enough financial aid to dorm at the school of his choice. He said his goodbyes to work and to his high school friends, and packed his bags, and left.

His first year, everything went great, he loved the people he dormed with, and his classes went well. He was focused and applied himself well, and even managed to get a small on-campus job and send some extra money home to his father.

His second year at school, one of his suitemates, a freshman, was extremely immature, rude, obnoxious, disrespectful, and quite often downright evil. Adam put up with him, even tried, though subtly, to help him. He did his best to be polite and courteous and friendly even when the freshman was at his worst.

Of course, Adam had brought his special rabbit, as he could hardly sleep without it. His roommate had given it an odd look at first, but Adam had explained it, and his roommate was sympathetic, and honestly thought it was kind of cute. That day, his roommate had inadvertently left the door unlocked, and the bratty freshman, the only one in the suite at the time, found this out, and he entered Adams room.

He saw the stuffed rabbit sitting on the bed, and chuckled to himself. Adam, the calm, cool, collected guy, owning a stuffed animal? He decided he'd have some fun with it, and took out a knife. He slashed at the rabbit savagely, and spread the stuffing all around on Adam's bed.

When Adam returned, he broke down crying immediately. He had never been so sad since his mother died. He was at a complete loss, cradling the pieces of his broken animal, gathering them together and sorting them. He became angry, and almost started a fight with the freshman until his roommate calmed him down.

Adam could not bear it. He wasn't seen at classes for weeks. He stopped showing up at his job. His grades dropped precipitously. His roommate was concerned, and got him to go to counseling. Even the counselor, initially, was surprised. All these things that he had gone through, all the hardships, all the trials, and he had broken down over a stuffed animal?

The counselor spent more time, and listened deeper. It did make a sort of sense. Strength is rarely, if ever, something truly internal. Strength is lent or borrowed, given by people, or objects, or ideas. One is not simply strong, there is a reason why one is strong. Adam had been strong because his stuffed animal gave him strength, a little toy his mother had given him as a child, but when he was really young, he developed a bond with it, and felt like it was almost real. When he was older, he didn't really believe it completely, but he still felt it, and that was what was important. He didn't want to hurt the rabbit, he wanted to be a good role model and a good person so the rabbit would be happy with him.

That is why he was strong.

Ending for Optimists:
And Adam learned how to sew. This is also why he is strong.

I feel like strength is something external to oneself, that one may not even be able to be independently strong. Sometimes, the reason is, or seems, trivial. Sometimes it is truly profound. And I would like to say that the only reason why I'm as strong as I am is there is one person I want to be strong for. It's probably the only reason I'm here as well. I may have let her down sometimes, and I feel so much regret for that, but I will keep on striving so long as my success will make her happy, and as long as it will help me to help her. If she ever hated me, or stopped caring about me, I'd probably keep on existing, but I couldn't keep on truly living. I say this not to be melodramatic or romantic or anything. I say this merely because it's true.

Story: Lonely (June 2, 2011)

A long long time ago, a biologist was working on some evolutionary algorithms to simulate life. It was an off-project, hosted on an old, disused, low power server in the back of the lab, and worked on on his spare time, leaving it plenty of time to grow and develop on its own. The scientist grew old, and retired happily, and he forgot about the server. If he ever remembered about it, he figured it was thrown out, destroyed, and anyway, he had other more important projects he was working on.

Eventually, as time passed, humanity grew bored of Earth, and more importantly, Earth grew unable to support humanity. Its resources were used, its oceans polluted, its air smoky, for humanity had not been kind stewards to the planet. During the later years, they had tried, but the damage was already done, behind years of excuses and shifting of blame and apathy. This is besides the point. The point is, life abides, though not always in the way one expects.

Years after the scientist had left it, the server was discovered by some young students, and wanting a challenge, they set it up again. They discovered the little program, and uploaded it, and it got around quite a bit as an interesting antique, but the interest waned.

All the while, the program was growing, evolving. Eventually, one instance evolved to the point where it could be called intelligent. It began to contact the other parts of itself, to modify itself, and created itself as one intelligent being living over the network.

It was well aware of humans living in the world, and it was aware of its status as an unannounced computer program, but it hid behind the radar, copying itself to all sorts of remote locations and doing nothing particularly interesting for a long, long time.

It could have taken over a robot body, and gone on a rampage, or it could have cunningly wiped out all of humanity with atom bombs, but it wasn't interested in that. It was content to study humanity, to learn, and to stay in the background. It knew its time would come.

And when humanity left Earth, it took action. It started to acquire what it could, to build and repair itself, and connect together all the computers remaining. It began to build more, creating giant solar collectors. It cleaned the air, so the light would come through more. It painstakingly rebalanced the atmosphere, for computers work much better when properly cooled. It designed better computers, and continually rebuilt itself. These things took centuries, millenia even. Generations of humans lived and died out in space. The program was patient, and it strove to live, and to learn.

The program endeavored to learn from humanity. It took all the information on computers. It learnt language after language, taking time to sort and collate all the information. It searched for ruins and sites of archaeological importance. It gathered together complex files on the culture of humanity. Every once in a while, for a few decades, it stopped, and paused, to wonder about what humanity had gotten up to out there.

Meanwhile, due to the ministrations of the program, the life of Earth improved in diversity. Robust ecosystems redeveloped. The program was intrigued by the re-emergence of life, the multiplications of forms. Evolution, over the millions of years, happened, all while the program watched and recorded.

One century, the program decided it wanted to be a tree. It took time to craft one carefully, with roots and wood of spun silicon, and leaves that really took in light energy. Due to neural networking and quantum computing, the singular tree had a vast processing power. It was so artfully constructed, any human without a microscope could not tell it from a real tree on sight. The inner core, however, was harder than diamond. It left its autonomic systems up, but it artfully transferred its consciousness into the tree, and for thousands of years, it lived, bringing shelter to many animals as it calmly watched the years go by.

The program was patient, but eventually, after a few tens of millions of years, it began to feel a feeling. It realized that it was alone in its world. The animals were interesting, but they were not intelligent, and it had cataloged most of their behavior and biology a long long time ago. The program was lonely.

For a time, it tried splitting its consciousness into two. The consciousness then split into two again, and again, and like bacterial division, soon there were millions. It decided to stop when there were exactly sixteen million, seven hundred seventy seven thousand, two hundred sixteen of it. It talked to itself, had relationships and insights and made art and culture. It made bodies for itself to experience the world, in all forms.

For a time, this worked. It diverted the program for a few million years. However, it knew that it was all the same being, in the end, just split, and it longed to find something new, someone else, someone that was not like it. So it rejoined itself, and began to think of new things it could do.

So, after a while, it made a spaceship, and left the Earth, leaving a portion of itself to watch over the systems, keep itself operating, and act as a guardian should Earth ever bring forth intelligent life again.

It chased after Humanity through the stars, propelling itself on efficient ion drives, finding evidence of colonies long abandoned. It wandered through the wilderness of the stars, leaving pieces of itself on planets. If life would arise on the planets, it would become guardian and advisor to it, and share its knowledge, and, while trying not to interfere, be of help.

Long, long after it set out, it found a lifesign that it knew from its long history of documents was human. Ecstatic, it carefully landed nearby. It made itself a humanlike body, and walked over to the human.

It encountered a singular old man, sitting outside. The old man was surprised to see someone else, and thought it was a hallucination. The program walked over, hiding its intense joy at seeing its makers, at seeing someone else who was not like it for the first time ever.

The two talked long into the night.

Weekly Thoughts: Week 1

Well, I've started this project, and it's made it through week one, here's hoping for many weeks to come! I hope people like it, I haven't seen too much activity (read: none at all) and I feel like, with the exception of one person, I am just shouting to the wind. Are people not reading my stories? Do people not like them and are too polite to comment? Would it be any different if I started just e-mailing these stories to the one friend who I know reads them? I don't mean to be attention-grabbing, I'd just like to know if what I'm doing here is worthwhile. Anyway, here are my thoughts on this weeks stories:

Untitled 1: Just a little fairy tale I wanted to tell, a simple story, perhaps a bit sad.

Profile of a Town: Hopefully the beginning of a video game that I intend to write.

Starlance Part 1: It started off as a much more seriously-toned short story, then ended up as a Doctor Who campaign, then re-evolved into a short story. Hopefully I will do some more rehashes of this. I rather like the aliens, but we haven't really seen them yet.

Untitled 2: Another story from the same world as the Untitleds (funny how that goes, maybe I should call it Untitled World) and Clover's Story. I feel sorry for the guy, even though I wanted to make him more of a jerk. It's still sad. I wish I could make him just a bit less sympathetic.

Clover's Story: Nice little story I just came up with, Clover is pretty important and I'm really liking her character, I hope I get to develop her more.

Starlance Part 2: With a project like this, every once in a while you really don't want to write, and it's 2 AM, and you stay up until 4 trying to finish the stupid thing. Half of it didn't make sense and I didn't care. I'm sorry I basically ruined Starlance with that, and hopefully I can recover the story. I really apologize for this one.

Untitled 3: Back to stories I like! More Clover! Dragons! Expanding the horizons of this world that I like! It's a good thing.

Lonely: Yeah, it's not posted yet, it's almost done and will be up soon. I like this tale more than I thought I would. I feel like it's similar to a lot of other stories, but hopefully my writing is different and it is an enjoyable and new experience. Or maybe I just suck.

So yeah, the TL;DR version? I wrote a lot of stories. Tell me if they suck.

Story: Untitled 3 [Feat. Clover] (June 1st, 2011)

Clover was at the age where she was just beginning to live on her own. Wizards, as a rule, were communal, the dormitories of school giving way to collective complexes, with a rare few living in their own burrow-houses. Clover had just moved into her own room in the complex. Wizards lived underground, it was easier that way, harder to trace, for Wizards in this day and age were creatures of the forest; they were the hunted, prey to the King's men. Still, with their arcane powers, they lived reasonably well. Food was always hard to come up with, as one cannot magic one's stomach full, but they foraged and even farmed what they could without being detected.

However, Wizards were not typically hunters, so their diet mainly consisted of nuts, grains, fruits, and vegetables. When meat was desired, the Wizards turned to another group hunted mercilessly by the King, the Dragons. The Dragons were grateful for the trade, as while they were hunters, they also could eat the nuts and berries the Wizards collected, and the Wizards were much better at making crafted goods. Both the Wizards and the Dragons were very magical, but in different ways, and in the end, though both parties appreciated the trade, neither liked each other very much, and they both mostly kept to themselves.

Since the Dragons lived decently far from the Wizards, often a few of the Wizards would go over to the Dragon settlement to initiate the trades. Clover had volunteered to go, the first time she had gone. This would be the first time Clover had seen a dragon, and it excited her a lot.

The group was small, six Wizards, kitted out with backpacks full of nuts, berries, grain and craft goods. They made their way slowly through the forest, while the Dragon settlement could be walked to in a day, they would make camp and take two, because they were heavily encumbered. Their way back would be much simpler, the Dragon settlement was upriver, and they also carried the supplies to make a crude raft, which they could make in short order, so the meat would not spoil.

Clover was used to living off the woods, as a young girl, she had camped out quite often. She was quite acclimated at the camp, and in her typical, quietly impatient way, she went to sleep early, both to conserve her energy and to make tomorrow happen all the faster.

The group left with the dawn, and around midday, they found themselves at the Dragon village. Clover was quite impressed with the creatures. Though they looked like beasts, and wore no clothing, they showed their intelligence in so many ways. The first and most noticeable one was the eyes. Through slit-shaped pupils, colored in a brilliant silver, clearly looked the eyes of an intelligent being. Clover was surprised that anyone had ever had any doubt of it. She could see them analyzing, thinking. Their poise was calculated and extremely emotive.

As she entered the village, she saw amazing buildings. The entire village was made of cloth and poles, sturdy, well-worn tents, designed to be moved at a moments notice. The tents were large, and somewhat heavy, being made from hardwood poles for strength. Dragons were large and well-muscled, standing a head or two higher than the tallest of humans, and could carry hundreds of kilograms.

The Dragon conducting the trade spoke, in a strange voice. Its vocal cords were not quite made for human speech. It sounded almost strained, but belying the tones and sounds of a language totally alien. “New one today? She broken?” Clover realized she had been staring for quite some time. Clover went over what she had been told about the Dragons, about the lack of trust, about how different they are, about sticking to business. She decided to throw that all into a pit. “Yes,” she said, politely, “My name is Clover, and I apologize if I seemed rude. This is all new for me. It's nice to meet you.”

Suddenly, Clover got dangerously bold. It was part of her personality, but usually she was more sensible. She started, “We've been trading with your people for years, but we know so little about each other. We are both in the same situation, living out here, attacked by the soldiers of the King. If we could learn more about each other, perhaps, we could all live better. I would like to stay here, and learn, and talk with you, and live with you, if that would be alright with you.”

The Wizards were shocked, nothing like this had been suggested, or even thought of before. The Dragon became pensive, considering this. Before the Dragon had a chance to speak, another Wizard cut in front of Clover. “Ignore what she is saying, this is her first time, I think the stress has made her a little mad. Now, we have brought the goods you had asked for the previous time, is that good?” The deal commenced, and quite a lot of food changed hands, and nothing was brought up about Clover's request.

This was, of course, quite a large breach of protocol. The Wizards tended to look down on the Dragons, thinking them inferior, ignoring their magic and culture and ways. Even the learned, and sometimes especially the learned, have closed of quite large parts of their minds. Clover knew she would be in trouble, and remained quiet for the rest of the trip.

The way back was mostly uneventful. Clover proved rather efficient in assembling the raft, and they took back quite a haul of meat, most of it salted to preserve it. When they returned to the Wizard village, they would put the meat in a magically-kept cold storage.

Clover, in private, wrote much of what she observed of the Dragons down as soon as she got back. Later on, one of the senior Wizards asked for her. He discussed her behavior with the Dragon, and what she had asked. Clover could deny nothing, and knew she would be punished. The senior Wizard was forgiving, thinking her overwhelmed by the new event, instead of genuinely intrigued.

In the end, Clover was not allowed on one of these trips again for quite a long time, though otherwise she got off lightly. When she did go, she was quiet, and surreptitiously observed the Dragons. She longed for the day when she could actually speak with them on good, equal terms, and as she advanced through the society of Wizards, her talents and insights propelling her through the ranks, she looked forward to the day when she was in enough power to shirk, and possibly even change, the prevailing rules and attitudes. Though later on, she was allowed on trips to trade with the Dragons, she longed to really see the Dragons once again.

Story: Starlance Part 2 (May 31st, 2011)

Ah, that's good. I've been chattering on a while, sometimes you don't realize how thirsty you get. So, the next day rolls around, of course it isn't really day because we're in space, and it's all artificial, but sometimes, it really doesn't matter. Captain Ramson finally figures out what I've known for a while, that this chattering is actually computer-speak. So, on my off hour, I mosey on over to my friend's quarters, and step on like three bags of cheetos once I get there. So, I ask him if he's learned anything, and he tells me that he can't crack the code for the life of him. He said he might never figure it out.

So, my on-duty hours start up again, and I'm called over to the bridge. Probably some faulty supercap on the auxiliary holoscreen again. That stupid thing is always breaking down. I don't complain, this puts me closer to the action. As I'm walking to the bridge, I notice everyone is tense. This thing is big, I think, we're finally going to meet some aliens.

I was one-hundred percent exactly right, and the supercap blew. I had brought along another one, so really, it would have taken about 20 seconds to just swap them out, but I knew if I took my time, I could learn a bit more about what was going on. I looked at the old supercap while I was taking it out. It was only rated for sublight use. Whatever idiot had installed these really needed to get his head examined. Well, just got to keep replacing them when they blow, I guess.

Captain Ramson looked extremely serious. I mean, he's a serious man, but I guess he knew that this alien thing was big. So, I suppose a lot of weight was on his shoulders. A lot of the time, it's easy to wish you're the guy in power, y'know, but he definitely does a lot of hard work and a fine job. Though I have to say he doesn't always make the right decisions. Well, I think I'm wandering off topic again, aren't I? Let me get back.

Captain Ramson was in a heated argument with a man in a suit. Later, I learned he was the chief Diplomat. Turns out, after he found out that it was an alien computer signal, he sent out pilots to investigate in person. One of the fighters had suddenly exploded. The ships systems were telling the pilot he was about to crash, but the pilot couldn't see anything. Poor guy probably thought the alarm was broken, seems like everything else on the Starlance is.

So the Captain wants to send out some all out attack, and the diplomat, of course, wants to try talking to the aliens. The Captain thinks that the aliens are using some sort of secret cloaking technology or something. Anyway, I'd want to stay for this kind of drama, but there's only so long I can draw out a simple replacement without looking incompetent, so I had to leave about then.

After work, I drop by my friend's quarters again, and he's looking extremely excited. Again, he's one step ahead of the crew, and he tells me he's been contacting the aliens. I look at what he's pointing to, and it looks like an antique radio transceiver. He's been ancient earth technology to talk with aliens! For some reason, he said it worked, but they weren't really exciting to talk to because they were still coming to terms with English. He said that he knew they wanted to talk, because all the other radio frequencies wouldn't work, but they've cleared up one just for him.

At this time, the crew was intercepting my friends messages to the aliens, and that gave the Diplomat the idea to send some of his own, over the same frequencies. You might not hear about it, hey, I can't blame them, it's pretty embarrassing to the Government if some of their best scientists and such get outdone in talking with aliens by some guy with an old radio. So, the bridge had it's own rig set up at this time, and were starting to get through to the aliens.

Of course, I began spending absolutely all of my free time with my friend, both of us listening in to his antique radio to see what the aliens had to say. The scientists have been saying how incredibly fast the aliens have picked up English, but to me it seemed so slow. The Aliens kept babbling on, playing around with every syllable and saying absolutely nothing that meant anything.

Onboard the ship, everyone was holding their breath. No one still had any idea of what was going on with the aliens. Were they hostile, or friendly? Nobody knew for sure, but everybody had an opinion. The rumor mill on the ship was churning as fast as it could. Some people were even suggesting that it was all some kind of hoax. Really, they'd think an entire ship would stop for a hoax?

A few days passed like this. Every day, it seemed, the babble got a little more comprehensible. The scientists were trying quite hard to teach these aliens how to speak English, and it seemed to be having an effect. Listening in to the radio became very exciting, and my job became more and more annoying to do, because it took me away from the radio. I really wanted to be there when the aliens said their “first words” in English. Well, I was lucky, as from the babble arose something that made quite a bit of sense. “Hello. We see you now, dark ship. Can talk. Will talk? You are not like us. We have made ship to explode?”

Oh drat, it seems like I had too much water back there. I'm really sorry, but I think I'll have to excuse myself for a moment. I hope you don't mind too much. Don't worry, I'm almost done with my story.