I watched Tiger Woods being Tiger Woods yesterday, a thing he does better than almost everyone. I say almost because, like MLK I have a dream. And in my dream there is a guy who looks a lot like me kicking Tiger's patootie all over the Valle Escondido Golf Course. "Take that Tiger" I say as I roll in yet another 25 footer. Truth is Tiger could beat me teeing off with a coke bottle - a thing Trevino used to do when playing with amateurs - and putting with a baseball bat...or vice versa. Still, I have that dream.
None of that, however, is the reason Tiger comes to mind on this shiny Monday morning. What really captured my attention yesterday and lingered on my consciousness along with the song "Baby Come To Me" by Patti Austin and James Ingram which I recently downloaded to my Ipod, was the gushing the announcers did over Tiger's daily workout schedule. "Incredible" they said. "Unbelievable" they went on. "Did you ever do anything like that?" they asked each other. "Not even for one day" Johnny Miller the analyst relied.
"Give me a break" was what I said.
Tiger's schedule, if I remember correctly and I doubt I'm far off, goes something like this: He gets up at six a.m. and works out with weights for ninety minutes. After that he has breakfast and then he hits golf balls for awhile, putts for awhile and then plays nine holes of golf. He then has lunch, followed by hitting more golf balls, putting again and then playing another nine holes of golf. He finishes off his "work" day with another half hour on the putting green.
Now I realize this must seem an overly arduous day to the slugs sitting on their butts in the announcer's booth, but let's be serious ladies and gentlemen; Tiger has a nice workout in the gym every morning and then PLAYS GOLF ALL FREAKING DAY! I don't know a single person who has ever hoisted a pitching wedge who wouldn't swap their miserable day at the office or turned in their tools for Tiger's regimen! I mean, I'm RETIRED and it doesn't seem half bad to me!
So get a grip word jockeys in the booth, and remember there are real people out there listening to you.
Okay, rant over.
Good to have Tiger back being Tiger. I mean he is SO GOOD I don't know why he keeps dodging me.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
AAAHHHHHHH !
My stomach is upset, my back hurts and I'm sleep deprived. We have puppies. (Sounds more like someone with a baby...a fat baby.)
Did you ever notice that after you turn sixty...okay fifty...okay thirty-five, you make a sound as you plop down onto a cushy chair or fall into bed? It's a verbal exclamation halfway between pleasure and relief; a sigh of contentment, at last. Aahhh doesn't quite capture it and neither does ooooh, but they are close. If you are part of the post thirty-five set and are not making this sound, you should be, as it is the equal of the verbal satisfaction universally enjoyed after the first sip of a cold beer on a hot day. The only person I know who does not often give forth with this cry of delight is Woowoo Charly, who, not having any measurable weight, fails to dent either cushion or mattress as she descends onto them and thus does not experience that sinking into softness feeling.
RTGFKAR, Woowwoo and I played golf yesterday with a Chinese Panamanian named Gene something. I think it was Lau or Wow or Chow. I didn't quite catch it. Whenever Gene would hit a bad tee shot, he would take a murrigan. As these second shots were always better than his first, I'm thinking that I too will be taking murrigans in the future; mulligans having failed me far too often in the past. At days end, Gene said it was a pressure to meet us and he hoped to play with us again sometime. He was a nice guy.
I'm going back to bed now to rest my aching back and calm my tumultuous tummy. RTGFKAR and Woowoo are up and the pups are now in their care. I will ease back onto our mattress covered with four inches of "miracle foam" and silently, to myself, let out that wonderful exhalation of joy. To do so aloud would alert our four legged fiends that I am down and vulnerable. Wish me luck.
Did you ever notice that after you turn sixty...okay fifty...okay thirty-five, you make a sound as you plop down onto a cushy chair or fall into bed? It's a verbal exclamation halfway between pleasure and relief; a sigh of contentment, at last. Aahhh doesn't quite capture it and neither does ooooh, but they are close. If you are part of the post thirty-five set and are not making this sound, you should be, as it is the equal of the verbal satisfaction universally enjoyed after the first sip of a cold beer on a hot day. The only person I know who does not often give forth with this cry of delight is Woowoo Charly, who, not having any measurable weight, fails to dent either cushion or mattress as she descends onto them and thus does not experience that sinking into softness feeling.
RTGFKAR, Woowwoo and I played golf yesterday with a Chinese Panamanian named Gene something. I think it was Lau or Wow or Chow. I didn't quite catch it. Whenever Gene would hit a bad tee shot, he would take a murrigan. As these second shots were always better than his first, I'm thinking that I too will be taking murrigans in the future; mulligans having failed me far too often in the past. At days end, Gene said it was a pressure to meet us and he hoped to play with us again sometime. He was a nice guy.
I'm going back to bed now to rest my aching back and calm my tumultuous tummy. RTGFKAR and Woowoo are up and the pups are now in their care. I will ease back onto our mattress covered with four inches of "miracle foam" and silently, to myself, let out that wonderful exhalation of joy. To do so aloud would alert our four legged fiends that I am down and vulnerable. Wish me luck.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
It's all novel to me.
I've got a couple of dvd's from an unknown origin. They are in bright yellow sleeves and have titles printed on their shiny silver surfaces. Some of the titles are: "Gunpowder", "Ice Age 2", "The End of Silence", "Unknown White Male", "Cocaine Cowboys", "The Champagne Gang", and "Bridge To Terabithia". I think they are movies, but when I try to play them I get kaleidoscope designs on the screen. Does anyone have any idea where I got these discs and what they are? I must have acquired them sometime ago, before I had a new computer. I'm guessing they wouldn't play on my old laptop, so I put them away and completely forgot about them.
Alrighty then.
And speaking of the old computer, I'm using it simultaneously with this one. It's over to my left grunting through its tasks. I won't say it's slow, but after I assign it a function, I come over to this one and write a novel before going back to it. Hold on a sec while I write another.
Call me Ishmael. (Wait! Somebody already wrote that one.) Okay, Howard Rourk stood naked on the edge of a cliff. (Hmmm, that sounds familiar too.) Maybe all the good beginnings have been already used. As the bullet entered the part of his chest where his heart should be, Ishmael Howard gave a derisive snort and continued toward his prey, the naked reptile gunman. (Bet nobody has used that one.) Wait here while I check the other computer.
I'm back. In addition to writing the first sentence of new novels, which is more than enough for me, I'm reading an entire book by by a writer named Neal Stephenson. Neal starts his with a haiku and then rambles on for 1152 pages of small print. Apparently brevity is not his long suit, which is a pretty funny thing to say if you ask me and I'm sure I heard someone do that. To keep from expiring during the pages of "Cryptonomicon", (see even the title is long) I'm also reading "Joyful Wisdom" by Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche which is a nom-de-plume for a guy from the south Bronx posing as an asian monk. His real name is Fred Smoot but c'mon, who would read a spiritual text by Fred Smoot....and I'm reading in Spanish another Paulo Coelho tome entitled "Ser como el rio que fluye" which in English also means something. Hey, I'm a busy guy.
My main occupation of late though, is playing my new guitar and my new Ipod. I use the first for noise and the second for music.
If my Monkeymind logo is back at the top of this blog, my old computer will have completed its task and I am done for the day.
Alrighty then.
And speaking of the old computer, I'm using it simultaneously with this one. It's over to my left grunting through its tasks. I won't say it's slow, but after I assign it a function, I come over to this one and write a novel before going back to it. Hold on a sec while I write another.
Call me Ishmael. (Wait! Somebody already wrote that one.) Okay, Howard Rourk stood naked on the edge of a cliff. (Hmmm, that sounds familiar too.) Maybe all the good beginnings have been already used. As the bullet entered the part of his chest where his heart should be, Ishmael Howard gave a derisive snort and continued toward his prey, the naked reptile gunman. (Bet nobody has used that one.) Wait here while I check the other computer.
I'm back. In addition to writing the first sentence of new novels, which is more than enough for me, I'm reading an entire book by by a writer named Neal Stephenson. Neal starts his with a haiku and then rambles on for 1152 pages of small print. Apparently brevity is not his long suit, which is a pretty funny thing to say if you ask me and I'm sure I heard someone do that. To keep from expiring during the pages of "Cryptonomicon", (see even the title is long) I'm also reading "Joyful Wisdom" by Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche which is a nom-de-plume for a guy from the south Bronx posing as an asian monk. His real name is Fred Smoot but c'mon, who would read a spiritual text by Fred Smoot....and I'm reading in Spanish another Paulo Coelho tome entitled "Ser como el rio que fluye" which in English also means something. Hey, I'm a busy guy.
My main occupation of late though, is playing my new guitar and my new Ipod. I use the first for noise and the second for music.
If my Monkeymind logo is back at the top of this blog, my old computer will have completed its task and I am done for the day.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Jude
For those of you curious about how my Bible project is going, here is a sample,the first draft of the book of Jude.
The Book of Jude whose last name is Better Pay Attention
Hey, Jude’s letter to fellow believers is coming up right after this message from our sponsors: Mercy, peace, love and good pizza be yours in abundance.
Chapter 1. The Sin and Doom of Ungodly people. You know who I’m talking about.
Dear Friends,
I’ve been eager to write to you about the salvation and hot times in the old town we share, but first I’ve got to tell you we have to fight for the faith the Big Guy’s Son entrusted us with. That and better cable programming. There are certain individuals - whose fate it has been written will not be too swell - who have secretly slipped in among you. That’s right, you heard me, they’re freakin' spies. These are ungodly people who pervert the grace of God into a license for immorality. Some of you probably don’t know you have to get a license for immorality, but don’t worry, the test is a piece of cake. They also deny that Jesus is our only Sovereign and Lord Mucky-muck. I mean the nerve of these people! Some of them are easy to spot, right wing talk show hosts, Amway salesmen, big time money making preachers, pin striped ball players, etc., but others are downright sneaky, so be on your guard.
Though you already know all of this next, I’ll be redundant and remind you again that The Big Fella once delivered his people out of Egypt, but later smote the hell out of those who didn’t believe. I mean you gotta believe, right? And don’t forget those angels who didn’t keep up with their positions of authority and wandered off from their proper nests. Well, you know what happens to them, but I will tell you again anyway. They are bound up in chains and kept in darkness until Judgment Day rolls around when it’s really going to go bad for them. I’m talking bad. Like an itch on your wings that you can’t reach bad. Be thankful you are not one of those angels. Let Sodom and Gomorrah which gave themselves up to sexual immorality and perversion – that stuff they did with lettuce was truly gross – serve as an example of those who suffer the heartbreak of both psoriasis and eternal fire!
In the same way, on the strength of their screwed up dreams, these ungodly people pollute their bodies with Ripple and Lone Star while they reject the port of authority and say “your momma!” to celestial beings. Even the Archangel, I Want To Be Like Michael, when he was duke-ing it out with the devil didn’t dare to call him names.
He just said “The Lord rebuke you” which made him feel better but didn’t really phase the devil all that much. Yet these ungodly people speak abusively against whatever they do not understand, things like Physics and the West Coast Offense. What they do understand by instinct, cheesecake is good but you shouldn’t eat too much for instance, these are the very things that will do them in. Well, maybe not the cheesecake thing, but stuff kind of like that.
Woe to them! They have taken the way of Cane and Steinbrenner. They have rushed for profit into Balaam and Buckner’s error and they have been destroyed in Korah’s Jimmy Dean-like teen rebellion.
These people are blemishes at your love feasts, like pimples on the pudding. They eat with you and never pick up a tab. They are shepherds who don’t feed their flock, but flock to their feed. They are clouds without rain and I’m not talking about those big fluffy white ones. They are autumn trees without fruit that are uprooted. That makes them doubly dead, which is a hard thing to be. They are wild waves of the sea foaming up shame which is really difficult to surf on. They are wandering stars of track and field forever in the dark, getting suspended and fined over and over again. Black darkness and dark blackness have been reserved for them. They’re going to need serious flashlights.
Enoch, seven times removed from Adam and six times from Kevin Bacon, said about these people: “The Big WahHunka is coming with thousands of his holy ones to judge everyone, but mainly to convict the ungodly, who committed ungodly acts, in an ungodly way because of their ungodly desires and then spoke ungodly and defiant words to the Big Fella. If you ask me, that’s really pushing it. You’d think these ungodly geeks would be happy with their world class ungodliness, but no, they are grumblers, faultfinders, boasters and unrepentant flatterers of others to their own advantage. You get the picture? These guys are bad company.
Chapter 2 A Call to Hang in There
But listen to this dear friends, remember what JC’s apostles and Dionne Warfield predicted. When it comes time for the end game, there will be scoffers saying “scoff scoff” and following their own ungodly desires such as wanting to see the Yankees win another Series. These are people who divide you and follow their own mere natural instincts. Don’t be trusting your instincts, trust your outstincts because they have true team Spirit.
By building yourself up in holy faith and with Soloflex and Jack LaLaine videos, and praying like all get out, you will hang on to the Mighty Man’s love while you are hanging around waiting for His Kid to bring you eternal life.
But be merciful to those who doubt, they are just a bunch of doubting Bob’s. And save others by snatching them from the fire. I recommend some kind of flame retardant suit when you do that one, and show mercy, but mix it with some fear like that of a good smack upside the head with a two by four and also, and this is a bigee, hate clothing stained by corrupted flesh. Say, “shame on you clothing, shame on you.”
Doxology, Which is Not As I Have Noted Before, Doc’s Ology
Here’s to the guy who keeps you from stumbling so you can be presented before The Big Guy without fault or skinned knees and to the Savior His Own Fat Self go glory, majesty, good seats at the big game, power, and authority. Amen and bottoms up!
The Book of Jude whose last name is Better Pay Attention
Hey, Jude’s letter to fellow believers is coming up right after this message from our sponsors: Mercy, peace, love and good pizza be yours in abundance.
Chapter 1. The Sin and Doom of Ungodly people. You know who I’m talking about.
Dear Friends,
I’ve been eager to write to you about the salvation and hot times in the old town we share, but first I’ve got to tell you we have to fight for the faith the Big Guy’s Son entrusted us with. That and better cable programming. There are certain individuals - whose fate it has been written will not be too swell - who have secretly slipped in among you. That’s right, you heard me, they’re freakin' spies. These are ungodly people who pervert the grace of God into a license for immorality. Some of you probably don’t know you have to get a license for immorality, but don’t worry, the test is a piece of cake. They also deny that Jesus is our only Sovereign and Lord Mucky-muck. I mean the nerve of these people! Some of them are easy to spot, right wing talk show hosts, Amway salesmen, big time money making preachers, pin striped ball players, etc., but others are downright sneaky, so be on your guard.
Though you already know all of this next, I’ll be redundant and remind you again that The Big Fella once delivered his people out of Egypt, but later smote the hell out of those who didn’t believe. I mean you gotta believe, right? And don’t forget those angels who didn’t keep up with their positions of authority and wandered off from their proper nests. Well, you know what happens to them, but I will tell you again anyway. They are bound up in chains and kept in darkness until Judgment Day rolls around when it’s really going to go bad for them. I’m talking bad. Like an itch on your wings that you can’t reach bad. Be thankful you are not one of those angels. Let Sodom and Gomorrah which gave themselves up to sexual immorality and perversion – that stuff they did with lettuce was truly gross – serve as an example of those who suffer the heartbreak of both psoriasis and eternal fire!
In the same way, on the strength of their screwed up dreams, these ungodly people pollute their bodies with Ripple and Lone Star while they reject the port of authority and say “your momma!” to celestial beings. Even the Archangel, I Want To Be Like Michael, when he was duke-ing it out with the devil didn’t dare to call him names.
He just said “The Lord rebuke you” which made him feel better but didn’t really phase the devil all that much. Yet these ungodly people speak abusively against whatever they do not understand, things like Physics and the West Coast Offense. What they do understand by instinct, cheesecake is good but you shouldn’t eat too much for instance, these are the very things that will do them in. Well, maybe not the cheesecake thing, but stuff kind of like that.
Woe to them! They have taken the way of Cane and Steinbrenner. They have rushed for profit into Balaam and Buckner’s error and they have been destroyed in Korah’s Jimmy Dean-like teen rebellion.
These people are blemishes at your love feasts, like pimples on the pudding. They eat with you and never pick up a tab. They are shepherds who don’t feed their flock, but flock to their feed. They are clouds without rain and I’m not talking about those big fluffy white ones. They are autumn trees without fruit that are uprooted. That makes them doubly dead, which is a hard thing to be. They are wild waves of the sea foaming up shame which is really difficult to surf on. They are wandering stars of track and field forever in the dark, getting suspended and fined over and over again. Black darkness and dark blackness have been reserved for them. They’re going to need serious flashlights.
Enoch, seven times removed from Adam and six times from Kevin Bacon, said about these people: “The Big WahHunka is coming with thousands of his holy ones to judge everyone, but mainly to convict the ungodly, who committed ungodly acts, in an ungodly way because of their ungodly desires and then spoke ungodly and defiant words to the Big Fella. If you ask me, that’s really pushing it. You’d think these ungodly geeks would be happy with their world class ungodliness, but no, they are grumblers, faultfinders, boasters and unrepentant flatterers of others to their own advantage. You get the picture? These guys are bad company.
Chapter 2 A Call to Hang in There
But listen to this dear friends, remember what JC’s apostles and Dionne Warfield predicted. When it comes time for the end game, there will be scoffers saying “scoff scoff” and following their own ungodly desires such as wanting to see the Yankees win another Series. These are people who divide you and follow their own mere natural instincts. Don’t be trusting your instincts, trust your outstincts because they have true team Spirit.
By building yourself up in holy faith and with Soloflex and Jack LaLaine videos, and praying like all get out, you will hang on to the Mighty Man’s love while you are hanging around waiting for His Kid to bring you eternal life.
But be merciful to those who doubt, they are just a bunch of doubting Bob’s. And save others by snatching them from the fire. I recommend some kind of flame retardant suit when you do that one, and show mercy, but mix it with some fear like that of a good smack upside the head with a two by four and also, and this is a bigee, hate clothing stained by corrupted flesh. Say, “shame on you clothing, shame on you.”
Doxology, Which is Not As I Have Noted Before, Doc’s Ology
Here’s to the guy who keeps you from stumbling so you can be presented before The Big Guy without fault or skinned knees and to the Savior His Own Fat Self go glory, majesty, good seats at the big game, power, and authority. Amen and bottoms up!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Blood Raiders
Also not my "bag", but also fun to write was this month's writer's club assignment. The theme was SciFi. (What is my bag anyway? I'm sure I have one.)
Blood Raiders
By Doc Walton
Their blood lust momentarily sated, the crew of the Vladmir Tepes lay in a deep, dreamless coma as their craft knifed up through gravity and on into space. Left behind was an eerily quiet planet. There had been life there once, animal life and a scattering of adventurous humans. Now though, a few scant months later, all was silent, all was still.
*
On Argon7 a call went out for help. This most distant stop of mankind’s reach was located on the cusp of the Milky Way and Galatia. It had an earthlike atmosphere, rare in either galaxy, and supported a human colony of some three thousand people on its surface without artificial aid. Although it was small, approximately the size of Earth’s moon, its densely oxygenated environment and lazy orbit around a distant sun – its days
and nights were 45 hours long - made it a haven for thousands of blood bearing species, both indigenous and imported. Humankind had arrived at Argon 7 some twenty years earlier and, having learned how from colonization elsewhere, adapted themselves seamlessly into the fabric of the planet. Their purpose was to create a platform for mankind’s next venture into unexplored space and their first launch was nearing readiness.
Chief Petty Officer Mina Murray received the curiously unencrypted message from Deltaan, Argon’s7’s nearest planetary neighbor. It simply read, “They’re coming.” Repeated attempts to acquire elaboration had failed and Murray worried that one of the relay satellites blinking in orbit between the two planets had shut down. If this was in fact the case, Argon7 would be cut off from all other human outposts. When it was clear that further contact with Deltaan seemed unlikely, Murray forwarded the message to her cousin, Jonathan Harker, the base commander.
Admiral Harker read it and gave two orders. The first put a reconnaissance ship on its way to Deltaan, a trip of five Argon7 days, and the second had ComU personnel sending distress calls both directed and random in hopes of attracting the attention of anyone anywhere. If Deltaan was silent, something was seriously wrong.
Two days into its recon voyage to Deltaan, Argon 7’s explorer craft picked up distress signals from a spaceship identifying itself as the Vladimir Tepes. The explorer’s crew charted a course for an interception and Argon 7 was advised. The last communication from the explorer craft was logged some two hours, eleven minutes later. “We are boarding the Tepes now, stand by for further Intel” were the words spoken by the craft’s pilot, Captain John Seward. Neither Seward nor any one of his four man crew was ever heard from again.
Admiral Harker issued a red alert and began making defensive preparations. Laser shields were activated, space fighters readied their crafts.
First Officer Lucy Westenra queried the Base Computer for information on the Vladimir Tepes and received a “not in files” response. An order for a further search by personnel in Archives was made and Archives self dubbed “geeks” set to work. A day later they reported that the information they had was sketchy and very old. If what they uncovered was to be believed, some two hundred seventy years ago, nine “Immortals” as they were then referred to, had been sealed in their caskets, placed on board the Tepes, and then launched from Earth into distant space. Even less believable were mentions that the Immortals fed on blood and shunned light of any sort, but particularly sunlight. “Geek” consensus was that some work of fiction had crossed into the Tepes computer file and corrupted the data.
Admiral Harker agreed, but ordered a doubling of the alert staff during the hours of darkness as an extra precaution. Following that, there was little else to do but wait. The Vladimir Tepes, if Arkon 7 was indeed its destination, would arrive he reasoned, within the next two days.
*
The newly commissioned Starship Demeter exited Blackhole Carpathia on its shakedown cruise and was testing its ComU ports when it picked up the distress signal from Arkon7. Its captain and commander, Victor Van Helsing, ordered an immediate cessation of further testing and plotted a course to that distant planet; its projected travel time; an Earth week.
*
On board the Tepes, the Immortals were rising from boxes of their native soil to feed on the animals they had captured and stored for that purpose. A darkness scheduled to their biological rhythms had enveloped the craft’s interior and each of the creatures rose from its casket with a ravenous hunger. Exotic and ferocious animals collected from the planets of several galaxies were loosed from their cages, but presented no difficulties to the Immortals whose strength and quickness assured them of a kill. The animals were gathered and quickly torn to shreds by tooth and claw filed to razor sharpness. Flesh was rendered and blood was drained. Both were consumed
The Tepes had drifted in space for over a hundred years before the Immortals had deciphered its encoded navigational specifications and learned to control the ship’s course. Since then, the craft had wended its way slowly back to within Earth’s long space arm, stopping often to feed on planets supporting blood bearing creatures and to restock their ship with the live food they needed.
Deltaan had been the Immortals first encounter with human beings since their departure from Earth. Initially they were cautious, fearing that a human species might have invented weapons of destruction from which even they might not be immune. When they learned that such was not the case, they feasted on their natural food for the first time in centuries. With appetites now whetted by the rich, metallic taste of human blood, the Immortals programmed the Tepes’ auto-navigator to Argon7 and returned to their coffins. The next darkness would bring them into orbit.
*
When the Demeter arrived at Argon7 space, Van Helsing put it into a close orbit, one within easy reach of the surface by its Human Transport Module. It also circled the planet on its sunny side, directly opposed to the orbit of the Vladimir Tepes which moved in perpetual darkness. Communication with the Argon7’s remaining inhabitants – their number had been reduced by half – was established and an advance team was HTM-ed to the planet’s surface. An emergency query was directed to Earth Central from the Demeter’s advanced ComU System for information about the Tepes.
*
The only weaponry extant on Argon7 was located at the travelport where the Spaceprobe R.R. Renfield awaited its first voyage into the unknown. It was to there that Admiral Harker called for the planet’s people to make a last stand or, if firepower failed, to flee in the Renfield, a craft designed for deep probes into outer space, but not for transporting large human populations. Fewer than seven hundred people made it safely to the travelport. The rest, along with the Demeter’s advance team and most of the planet’s other blood bearing fauna, were torn apart for Immortal instant gratification or brought to the Tepes for later consumption.
*
The Intel reply from Earth Central to the Demeter was startling. The Immortals, according to their files, had almost instant regenerative powers and could not be killed by anything other than prolonged sunlight. A scientist who was, curiously, the great grandfather of Commander Van Helsing, had uncovered the locations of each of the nine Immortals and crafted the plan that ultimately led to their being captured in their coffins and launched into distant space, never, it was hoped, to be dealt with again.
A good plan, Van Helsing thought, but not one likely to work a second time. He would have to devise one of his own. “Get me to Harker” he ordered, “I need to conference.”
*
Admiral Harker had made every preparation he and his staff could think of to ready for the assault they knew would come as they became the planet’s last blooded beings. He was surprised when an HTM from the Demeter appeared within his defensive perimeter and Van Helsing strode from it. Why would anyone risk coming to Argon7 now? The question of evacuation to the Demeter had already been considered and found implausible. The ship’s lone HTM could only transport three people at a time and it would take too long to move the population. Who would be saved and who would be left to die were decisions Harker was not willing to make. Van Helsing, he was to learn, now had a better idea; an idea that became the planet’s best hope.
Argon7’s remaining populace began to dig.
*
The Immortals encircled and then closed on the travelport compound. Though their blood thirst was net yet sated, they were unhurried. The humans, after all, had no place to go. The nine Undead, as they had also once been called, were enjoying this hunt, this freedom from the confines of the Tepes, now guarded by mechanical drones. All nine would be there at the last to literally taste and savor their victory and drink in its blood reward. They moved slowly and deliberately towards the circle’s center, driving the last of the humans before them.
Harker and Van Helsing were the final two into the tunnel that lay at the center of the Immortals diminishing circle. They waited just long enough in the tunnel’s corridor to hear the blood eaters follow them, then ran quickly to the tunnel’s end inside the Spaceprobe Renfield. Argon7 technicians were already there locking in the final navigational directions for the ship’s immanent departure. When all was in readiness, Harker, Van Helsing and the techies disappeared through an adjoining hatch and into yet another recently dug tunnel, this one leading away from the craft. With them were the Renfield’s launch controls and three explosive detonators.
*
All nine Immortals entered the tunnel driven by a blood lust gone suddenly urgent. Their hunger had been awakened by the arrogance of the pitiful food things who thought they could deny them. They raced through the tunnel and then up into the ship, each one ready to appease its unholy appetite. But there was no one there; no one, no thing, no blood or flesh to render. There was nothing, just the suddenly noisy rumble of the craft’s engines starting to fire. As if with one thought, the Immortals fled backwards to the tunnel only to find it collapsed from the first of Van Helsing’s planned explosions. Another explosion and then a third sealed the second tunnel and the craft’s natural exits. The Immortals were cleverly and effectively trapped. There was rage among them then, violent, furious rage, but in the end, there was nothing they could do.
As the Spaceprobe Renfield began to ascend, a boarding party from the Demeter landed on the Vladimir Tepes and quickly overcame its defensive drones. All Immortal captives were released.
On Arkon7 the planet’s survivors watched the Renfield climb rapidly into space and disappear before loosing a deafening cheer. Jonathan Harker and Victor Van Helsing were among the loudest. Beside them, a thoughtful Mina Murray waited for the din to subside then quietly, almost sadly, pointed out that the Immortals were gone again, but possibly, probably, not for good. If they could survive without their coffins and native soil, the Immortals would one day return to ravage human kind again.
“I don’t think so,” Admiral Harper was quick to point out, “Because, you see, this time, Cousin, they are not being sent into far distant space. This time, their locked in, fixed, unalterable destination…is the sun.
Blood Raiders
By Doc Walton
Their blood lust momentarily sated, the crew of the Vladmir Tepes lay in a deep, dreamless coma as their craft knifed up through gravity and on into space. Left behind was an eerily quiet planet. There had been life there once, animal life and a scattering of adventurous humans. Now though, a few scant months later, all was silent, all was still.
*
On Argon7 a call went out for help. This most distant stop of mankind’s reach was located on the cusp of the Milky Way and Galatia. It had an earthlike atmosphere, rare in either galaxy, and supported a human colony of some three thousand people on its surface without artificial aid. Although it was small, approximately the size of Earth’s moon, its densely oxygenated environment and lazy orbit around a distant sun – its days
and nights were 45 hours long - made it a haven for thousands of blood bearing species, both indigenous and imported. Humankind had arrived at Argon 7 some twenty years earlier and, having learned how from colonization elsewhere, adapted themselves seamlessly into the fabric of the planet. Their purpose was to create a platform for mankind’s next venture into unexplored space and their first launch was nearing readiness.
Chief Petty Officer Mina Murray received the curiously unencrypted message from Deltaan, Argon’s7’s nearest planetary neighbor. It simply read, “They’re coming.” Repeated attempts to acquire elaboration had failed and Murray worried that one of the relay satellites blinking in orbit between the two planets had shut down. If this was in fact the case, Argon7 would be cut off from all other human outposts. When it was clear that further contact with Deltaan seemed unlikely, Murray forwarded the message to her cousin, Jonathan Harker, the base commander.
Admiral Harker read it and gave two orders. The first put a reconnaissance ship on its way to Deltaan, a trip of five Argon7 days, and the second had ComU personnel sending distress calls both directed and random in hopes of attracting the attention of anyone anywhere. If Deltaan was silent, something was seriously wrong.
Two days into its recon voyage to Deltaan, Argon 7’s explorer craft picked up distress signals from a spaceship identifying itself as the Vladimir Tepes. The explorer’s crew charted a course for an interception and Argon 7 was advised. The last communication from the explorer craft was logged some two hours, eleven minutes later. “We are boarding the Tepes now, stand by for further Intel” were the words spoken by the craft’s pilot, Captain John Seward. Neither Seward nor any one of his four man crew was ever heard from again.
Admiral Harker issued a red alert and began making defensive preparations. Laser shields were activated, space fighters readied their crafts.
First Officer Lucy Westenra queried the Base Computer for information on the Vladimir Tepes and received a “not in files” response. An order for a further search by personnel in Archives was made and Archives self dubbed “geeks” set to work. A day later they reported that the information they had was sketchy and very old. If what they uncovered was to be believed, some two hundred seventy years ago, nine “Immortals” as they were then referred to, had been sealed in their caskets, placed on board the Tepes, and then launched from Earth into distant space. Even less believable were mentions that the Immortals fed on blood and shunned light of any sort, but particularly sunlight. “Geek” consensus was that some work of fiction had crossed into the Tepes computer file and corrupted the data.
Admiral Harker agreed, but ordered a doubling of the alert staff during the hours of darkness as an extra precaution. Following that, there was little else to do but wait. The Vladimir Tepes, if Arkon 7 was indeed its destination, would arrive he reasoned, within the next two days.
*
The newly commissioned Starship Demeter exited Blackhole Carpathia on its shakedown cruise and was testing its ComU ports when it picked up the distress signal from Arkon7. Its captain and commander, Victor Van Helsing, ordered an immediate cessation of further testing and plotted a course to that distant planet; its projected travel time; an Earth week.
*
On board the Tepes, the Immortals were rising from boxes of their native soil to feed on the animals they had captured and stored for that purpose. A darkness scheduled to their biological rhythms had enveloped the craft’s interior and each of the creatures rose from its casket with a ravenous hunger. Exotic and ferocious animals collected from the planets of several galaxies were loosed from their cages, but presented no difficulties to the Immortals whose strength and quickness assured them of a kill. The animals were gathered and quickly torn to shreds by tooth and claw filed to razor sharpness. Flesh was rendered and blood was drained. Both were consumed
The Tepes had drifted in space for over a hundred years before the Immortals had deciphered its encoded navigational specifications and learned to control the ship’s course. Since then, the craft had wended its way slowly back to within Earth’s long space arm, stopping often to feed on planets supporting blood bearing creatures and to restock their ship with the live food they needed.
Deltaan had been the Immortals first encounter with human beings since their departure from Earth. Initially they were cautious, fearing that a human species might have invented weapons of destruction from which even they might not be immune. When they learned that such was not the case, they feasted on their natural food for the first time in centuries. With appetites now whetted by the rich, metallic taste of human blood, the Immortals programmed the Tepes’ auto-navigator to Argon7 and returned to their coffins. The next darkness would bring them into orbit.
*
When the Demeter arrived at Argon7 space, Van Helsing put it into a close orbit, one within easy reach of the surface by its Human Transport Module. It also circled the planet on its sunny side, directly opposed to the orbit of the Vladimir Tepes which moved in perpetual darkness. Communication with the Argon7’s remaining inhabitants – their number had been reduced by half – was established and an advance team was HTM-ed to the planet’s surface. An emergency query was directed to Earth Central from the Demeter’s advanced ComU System for information about the Tepes.
*
The only weaponry extant on Argon7 was located at the travelport where the Spaceprobe R.R. Renfield awaited its first voyage into the unknown. It was to there that Admiral Harker called for the planet’s people to make a last stand or, if firepower failed, to flee in the Renfield, a craft designed for deep probes into outer space, but not for transporting large human populations. Fewer than seven hundred people made it safely to the travelport. The rest, along with the Demeter’s advance team and most of the planet’s other blood bearing fauna, were torn apart for Immortal instant gratification or brought to the Tepes for later consumption.
*
The Intel reply from Earth Central to the Demeter was startling. The Immortals, according to their files, had almost instant regenerative powers and could not be killed by anything other than prolonged sunlight. A scientist who was, curiously, the great grandfather of Commander Van Helsing, had uncovered the locations of each of the nine Immortals and crafted the plan that ultimately led to their being captured in their coffins and launched into distant space, never, it was hoped, to be dealt with again.
A good plan, Van Helsing thought, but not one likely to work a second time. He would have to devise one of his own. “Get me to Harker” he ordered, “I need to conference.”
*
Admiral Harker had made every preparation he and his staff could think of to ready for the assault they knew would come as they became the planet’s last blooded beings. He was surprised when an HTM from the Demeter appeared within his defensive perimeter and Van Helsing strode from it. Why would anyone risk coming to Argon7 now? The question of evacuation to the Demeter had already been considered and found implausible. The ship’s lone HTM could only transport three people at a time and it would take too long to move the population. Who would be saved and who would be left to die were decisions Harker was not willing to make. Van Helsing, he was to learn, now had a better idea; an idea that became the planet’s best hope.
Argon7’s remaining populace began to dig.
*
The Immortals encircled and then closed on the travelport compound. Though their blood thirst was net yet sated, they were unhurried. The humans, after all, had no place to go. The nine Undead, as they had also once been called, were enjoying this hunt, this freedom from the confines of the Tepes, now guarded by mechanical drones. All nine would be there at the last to literally taste and savor their victory and drink in its blood reward. They moved slowly and deliberately towards the circle’s center, driving the last of the humans before them.
Harker and Van Helsing were the final two into the tunnel that lay at the center of the Immortals diminishing circle. They waited just long enough in the tunnel’s corridor to hear the blood eaters follow them, then ran quickly to the tunnel’s end inside the Spaceprobe Renfield. Argon7 technicians were already there locking in the final navigational directions for the ship’s immanent departure. When all was in readiness, Harker, Van Helsing and the techies disappeared through an adjoining hatch and into yet another recently dug tunnel, this one leading away from the craft. With them were the Renfield’s launch controls and three explosive detonators.
*
All nine Immortals entered the tunnel driven by a blood lust gone suddenly urgent. Their hunger had been awakened by the arrogance of the pitiful food things who thought they could deny them. They raced through the tunnel and then up into the ship, each one ready to appease its unholy appetite. But there was no one there; no one, no thing, no blood or flesh to render. There was nothing, just the suddenly noisy rumble of the craft’s engines starting to fire. As if with one thought, the Immortals fled backwards to the tunnel only to find it collapsed from the first of Van Helsing’s planned explosions. Another explosion and then a third sealed the second tunnel and the craft’s natural exits. The Immortals were cleverly and effectively trapped. There was rage among them then, violent, furious rage, but in the end, there was nothing they could do.
As the Spaceprobe Renfield began to ascend, a boarding party from the Demeter landed on the Vladimir Tepes and quickly overcame its defensive drones. All Immortal captives were released.
On Arkon7 the planet’s survivors watched the Renfield climb rapidly into space and disappear before loosing a deafening cheer. Jonathan Harker and Victor Van Helsing were among the loudest. Beside them, a thoughtful Mina Murray waited for the din to subside then quietly, almost sadly, pointed out that the Immortals were gone again, but possibly, probably, not for good. If they could survive without their coffins and native soil, the Immortals would one day return to ravage human kind again.
“I don’t think so,” Admiral Harper was quick to point out, “Because, you see, this time, Cousin, they are not being sent into far distant space. This time, their locked in, fixed, unalterable destination…is the sun.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Weather, Dogs and Other Stuff
The trees are being lashed by wind and rain and complaining loudly. I don't blame them. Despite the continual waves-crashing-on-the-beach like sound, I can hear one determined bird cackling maniacally somewhere to my left. Must be an avian version of the guy who finds it clever to say something he thinks funny during a moment of silence. Yeah, I know, that's me or one of my boys. It's the third consecutive morning that I've had to confront this weather mess when I let the pups out at 6:30 to do their daily do-do.
Make that four consecutive days. I wrote that first paragraph yesterday. I guess I should also point out that each morning serves up a decent rainbow that arcs across the persistent grey glop that is our sky, but I find little joy in that as it does not herald the end of the rain. It's anachronistic, if that's the word I'm looking for and knew how to spell.
What I mostly miss is my dog walk. I don't have nearly the grit needed to bend into the wind and rain while trying to restrain three frisky pups. Too bad I say, because the walk gives the dogs needed exercise and provides me a spell of what I think of as meditation. I used to do the traditional kind where one sits quietly and watches his thoughts drift by without judgment, but the dog walk serves to do the same thing and adds a modicum of calorie burning, cardio stimulating, aerobic action to the mix. Nice. It is, actually, all the religion I really need as I feel very close to the big Oneness while being dragged along by ever-in-the-present puppies. I wonder if they can access a third eye and be an impartial observer of their own thoughts. Puppies seem to lack a spiritual sense, but grown dogs, it seems to me, often tap into something apart from themselves. You can see them staring into that "middle distance", accessing who knows what. Probably though, it's just an unfamiliar scent traveling on the wind, but I like to think it is something more supernatural.
Special K arrives in Panama tomorrow and we are stoked and psyched and other euphemisms for excited about her visit. We truly hope the weather improves.
I may or may not be blogging during her stay, but I will be posting a sci-fi horror story within the next week or so.
Tal-way-go.
Make that four consecutive days. I wrote that first paragraph yesterday. I guess I should also point out that each morning serves up a decent rainbow that arcs across the persistent grey glop that is our sky, but I find little joy in that as it does not herald the end of the rain. It's anachronistic, if that's the word I'm looking for and knew how to spell.
What I mostly miss is my dog walk. I don't have nearly the grit needed to bend into the wind and rain while trying to restrain three frisky pups. Too bad I say, because the walk gives the dogs needed exercise and provides me a spell of what I think of as meditation. I used to do the traditional kind where one sits quietly and watches his thoughts drift by without judgment, but the dog walk serves to do the same thing and adds a modicum of calorie burning, cardio stimulating, aerobic action to the mix. Nice. It is, actually, all the religion I really need as I feel very close to the big Oneness while being dragged along by ever-in-the-present puppies. I wonder if they can access a third eye and be an impartial observer of their own thoughts. Puppies seem to lack a spiritual sense, but grown dogs, it seems to me, often tap into something apart from themselves. You can see them staring into that "middle distance", accessing who knows what. Probably though, it's just an unfamiliar scent traveling on the wind, but I like to think it is something more supernatural.
Special K arrives in Panama tomorrow and we are stoked and psyched and other euphemisms for excited about her visit. We truly hope the weather improves.
I may or may not be blogging during her stay, but I will be posting a sci-fi horror story within the next week or so.
Tal-way-go.
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