Saphira and Captain Decker came up from one side.  The Captain no doubt thought he was protecting the woman, but Saphira wanted to keep an eye on the man to make sure he did not shoot anyone, needlessly.  Roland came up from the other side, and she knew whoever it was would not hear the elf as long as Roland did not have some noisy human by his side.

              Captain Decker stopped her with a hand on Saphira’s shoulder.  She had already seen the men, or three of them, but she thought to grab Decker’s hand and turn her head to look into his eyes.  She paused before she dropped the man’s hand and showed great restraint.  “Not a good idea,” she whispered, but now she had her pent-up energy to release.

              Saphira stood, her spear ready, and she reverted to her native tongue.  “Alright you men.  Get up and show yourselves.”  Saphira spoke loud enough for her voice to carry.  Some nearby stick people woke up and looked.  “You’re surrounded, so there is no point in trying anything.  No one needs to get hurt.”

              The men stood, though they held tight to their own spears.  Those stick people who noticed got up and scurried away with a sound of alarm and a clapping of hands.  The men had been camouflaged, having branches and such attached to their clothing.  There was no telling how long it took them to inch up close to the camp.  Decker was ready, just in case, and in the rising light, Roland showed himself.  Roland was just as ready, but he relaxed a little when the elder of the three men spoke.

              “Saphira.  What are you doing here?”

              “Right now?  Hunting fools, Coramel.  And who are these two idiots with you?”

              “These are my sons,” Coramel said, proudly.

              “Are you lacking any brains like your father?”  Saphira asked.

              “Yes, er, no.”

              “We wanted to see the strange creatures.”

              Captain Decker tapped Sapira on the shoulder this time.  “I take it you know these particular idiots.”

###

              Boston and Katie used their flashlights to get back into the ship and found that indeed the stick people had begun to “fix” things back to the way they had been.  It was going to take some work.  They returned and reported to Lockhart even as the light began to glimmer across the horizon.  They took a bit of bread for breakfast and then figured they had better get started rather than wait for Saphira.

              Boston was pretty sure she could redo what the stick people had messed up before the night made the sticks stop working.  She was not worried, though, since Martok calculated at their present rate of speed the Balok would not arrive until mid-afternoon.

              “Plasma cannon looks untouched,”  Katie said.

              “Looks can be deceiving,” Boston countered as she began to examine the jury-rigged work.

              “Well, at least the screen enhancements are still in place,” Katie said, and Boston nodded with a grunt as she followed a circuit line.

              “I don’t imagine the stick people are stupid,”  Katie continued.  “Anything that might help them ward off the stray asteroid or radiation in space would be appreciated.

              “I’m sure,”  Boston mumbled, but she was not really listening.

              Katie nodded.  “I guess I’ll have a look at the radar array.  Hopefully they left it alone.”  She wandered off slowly, but it was not long before Boston heard the words.  “What the Hell were they thinking?”

###

              Saphira brought Coramel and his sons to the others and made them sit and keep still.  Alexis got out the bread so they were content.  “And if you so much as touch one of these stick people, I’ll have to kill you,” Saphira said.

              “Yes, mam.”  Coramel grinned.

              “Father?”  One of his sons questioned what their father meant.

              “Son.  You must always do what the golden lady says if you expect to be rewarded.”

              “Her?”  The other son was not shy to point.

              “Golden lady?”  Lockhart asked.

              “I’m expensive,” Saphira said.  “Only the best.”  Then she thought she had better to go check on the work inside the ship.

              “Damn!”  The word echoed out of everyone’s wrist communicators.  “The Balok must have overdrive.  They just entered the atmosphere.”

              Saphira said something, too, and it was a bit stronger than “damn.”  She grabbed Lincoln and marched to the stick ship.

              Once inside, Saphira set Lincoln by the screen array.  “If they come in firing as I expect, you just keep your finger on this button.  She checked the damage to the plasma cannon she had built.

              “I can fix it,” Boston insisted.  “I just need some time.  You need to check the microwave chamber.”

              Saphira went to do that very thing and did not swear too much.  She had it rigged to send out a microwave pulse, but the stick people had started to dismantle it.  Besides, by then she was swearing at herself for not anticipating this.

              “Bring everyone inside.”  The call went out over the wrist communicators.  When the Balok ship appeared as a dot in the sky, the stick people did not have to be encouraged.  Apparently they had very good eyes.  They scurried toward the ship, clapping and howling.  They hardly knew what else to do.  Coramel and his sons were reluctant to enter that strange place, but they were given no choice.  They stood with the travelers by the open door and watched.

              “Strafing run.”  Lieutenant Harper recognized the move on her radar.

              “Lincoln finger!”  That was all Saphira had time to say.  She was too busy.

              Lincoln pressed his finger as hard as he could against the button, and when the Balok ship came low and let out a blast of its main gun, that energy pulse was repelled.  The Balok ship rose up to what they had to believe was out of range and paused.  The Balok Captain was no doubt considering his options.

              “It’s overloading,” Lincoln shouted.

              “Finger off the button.”  Everyone yelled at him, but Lieutenant Harper had to step up and help put out the small electrical fires.

              “What are they waiting for?”  Lockhart’s words came into the ship over his wrist communicator.

              “We are working as fast as we can,” Boston yelled back, having misunderstood the question.  “Almost there.”  But their homemade weapons were still off line.  The Balok had them, only they did not know it, yet.

Do you belong?  What is it about creative people that they don’t belong, not exactly, not entirely – anywhere.  Artists, musicians, writers, certainly storytellers are never quite comfortable with the routines of work, school, family life, relationships.

Play is often a creative exercise in itself.

Work is never a comfortable subject.  Many creative people, if unable to find work in their desired creative field (such as being unable to make a living with their writing) often drift through work and careers like fall leaves in the wind.

Family life and relationships are hard when the one wants full attention but the other has their mind on the next chapter or the melody or the colors in motion.  It is a wonder such people get married; but just look at Hollywood to see how well marriage sometimes works out.

Creative people are not necessarily outliers, but they are often outsiders.  Many are content to sit back and observe rather than participate.  Oh, participation is very important when it is related in some way to the creation, but in general observation is the norm.  And people recognize this in the creative types and often treat creative people a bit like outsiders.

Being absorbed in a truly creative project can be overwhelming and not leave much room for other people.  It takes a special kind of spouse to understand this.  It takes understanding children and an understanding boss – if such things exist.  You can give a dissertation to a creative soul and have them say when you are done, “What?  I’m sorry, were you saying something?”

Creative people belong where the creative act is ongoing.  Creative people do not necessarily belong anywhere in what most call daily, regular, ordinary life.  Listen.

D. L. Moody once had a young man in his office who said he felt called to be a preacher.  Moody asked the young man if there was anything else he enjoyed.  “Why, yes.  I love mechanical things, working on and fixing cars.”

Moody responded, “Then go be the best auto mechanic you can be.  If you are called to preach, God won’t let you do anything else.”

That is sort of the way it is for creative people.  The art, music, craft, storytelling generally won’t let a person do anything else.  When driven to do other things, there is always the sense of being a bit of an outsider, like, “This is not where I belong.”

Hence the question.  Do you belong?

            Boston had a good sunburn, but Alexis found some aloe in the medical kit and managed to keep her from blistering.  Boston explained.  “I got too close to the plasma engines, but I think we cooked up some good surprises if the Balok come around here.”

            Saphira looked up from where she was resting on the ground.  “You mean when they come.”

            “I think that Martok is brilliant,” Katie said.

            Saphira smiled.  “Martok says thanks and you’re not so bad yourself.”  Lieutenant Harper found her own cheeks redden a bit.  She forgot the Kairos remained in close contact with other lifetimes, especially ones recently accessed.  She looked to Lockhart for support, but he just smiled like Saphira.  Alexis saw something in the way Katie Harper and Robert Lockhart looked at each other and she looked at Lincoln, but he simply looked away.

            “Stay out of the sun,” Alexis sniffed and stood to walk off by herself for a time.

            That evening the stick people built a great bonfire, not much different than the one built by Ranear’s Neolithic tribe.  Mingus lit this one to their delight.  They did not cook their food and only ate what looked like water with some dirt in it.  They also hardly needed the warmth in that climate, but they seemed to like the light.

            One of the Thets came up to be friendly.  At least Alexis thought it was a Thet.  It was hard to tell.  She also had no idea how to distinguish males from females and was working on that problem when Saphira suggested they might be uni-sexual.  Of course, Saphira went on to explain, in more detail than necessary, how glad she was that humanity had two sexes, and Alexis had to remind herself that in this lifetime the Kairos was a whore. 

            “You have a beautiful planet,” Thet began.  Alexis looked over and saw the one she thought was leader sitting between Lockhart and Captain Decker while Lincoln scribbled notes on his pad.  “You have many children and much variety.”

            “I’m sorry?”  Alexis tried to focus in. 

            “When we first came to the ground there were many of your children who moved away to make room for us.”  Thet sat on the ground.  The trunk kept the stick person straight up and down while the legs bent and the feet set some distance from the body.  It gave the person the appearance of a three legged stool, very hard to knock over.  Alexis later learned that the stick people slept in this position as well.

            “Animals.”  Alexis grasped what the stick person was saying.

            “Yes, and such a rich variety.  You must be very proud of them.”

            “Yes.”  Alexis said.  She could not bring herself to say, we eat our children.  Somehow she knew that would not be taken well.  Fortunately, they shortly heard the sound of drums.  It was a steady beat.  Then something of a cross between an oboe and bagpipes began to play.  It was dominant and tonic followed by tonic and dominant.  As it played on, Alexis wondered if the stick people ever discovered any other notes.

            “What the heck is that?”  Captain Decker held his ears.

            “I think it is music, sir,” Lieutenant Harper responded.

            “Catchy tune,” Lockhart quipped.

            “I like it,” Boston interrupted.

            “Yeah, good luck getting that melody out of your head,” Lincoln added.

            The stick people shrieked in delight and sounded much like the children.  Soon there was a line of stick people around the bonfire.  They moved in a circle, bent near ninety degrees forward and then bent near ninety degrees backward as they moved.  It looked like their legs were attached to their trunks by ball joints.   All the while the people waved their bent hands and shouted in delight.

            “Now what are they doing?”  Decker asked.

            “I think it’s dancing, sir.”

            Alexis imagined Boston might have liked to join them in the dance, but she was so burnt, she dared not get too close to the fire.  She saw the children off to the side.  Some of the bigger ones were imitating the adults, like they were practicing.  All was well, she thought.  These good people were well worth saving.  She held on to that thought when she lied down that night and slept in her own space without touching Lincoln at all. 

            Alexis woke in the wee hours just before dawn.  She found Saphira and her brother awake.  She watched without a word as Captain Decker came to join them.  “Not one shot!”  she heard the stern command in Saphira’s whisper and she sat up, worried.  They looked at her so she spoke what came to her mind in the night.

            “Do you think the stick people might have repaired the damage you did to their systems in the night?”

            “We didn’t damage any of their systems,” Saphira responded.

            “But you rewired things and changed things.  Did they really understand what you were doing and why or did they just watch so they could put it all back after you were gone?  I doubt they understand weapons and probably imagine the Balok were mistaken and certainly would not follow them here.”  Saphira finished her thought.

            “They fled their home world to escape the Balok, but –“ Saphira nudged Boston and Katie and instructed them quietly to return to the stick ship and check on their work to make sure it was not tampered with.  Then she hushed Alexis and took Roland and Captain Decker into the dark.  Alexis only heard Saphira’s strong whisper once more.  “No shooting.”

            Boston and Katie stayed visible longer beside the embers of the bonfire, but soon they also disappeared into the dark.  Alexis looked to the sky.  She knew the sun would be up soon, but it was hard to tell how soon.  She felt a touch on her shoulder.

            “What is it?”  Lincoln asked as he touched and then held her arm.  He propped himself up on one elbow.

            “I don’t know,” Alexis answered.  “Boston and Katie wandered off that way to check on their work and Saphira, Roland and Captain Decker went off that way like they were leaving the camp.”

            Lincoln tried to smile.  “Don’t worry.  I am sure we will find out what is going on soon enough.”

            “Why are you awake?”  Alexis wondered.

            Lincoln’s smile fell away and he let go of her, but stayed propped up next to her when he answered.  “I guess I don’t need as much sleep as I did when I was old.”

            “Is being young again that hard for you?”  This was a serious question and Lincoln knew it.  He made his serious face before he shook his head.  Then he would not look at her.

            “I’ll adjust.  It is just seeing you young.  You are so –“ he softened his voice to barely a whisper.  “—beautiful.”  He paused to cough and clear his throat.  “We don’t have to still be married if you don’t want.  This is like a new life.”

            “Why would I not want to be married?”

            “It’s just.”  Lincoln was having a hard time framing the words.  “You could have anyone.  Why would you want me?”

            “Lincoln!”

            “I mean, I know you were not exactly happy those last years.”

            “I was happy.”

            Lincoln frowned at her.  “I got old, complacent, grumpy.”

            “You’re not old now.”

            Lincoln smiled, but just a little.  “Neither are you.”  She hugged him.  “To be honest, I woke up because you weren’t beside me.  I don’t think I could sleep if you were not beside me.”

            Alexis tackled him, landed on top of him and grinned mightily.  “Even if I don’t have the blood or form anymore, I am still an elf at heart.”

            “I remember.”  Lincoln got out that much before they kissed.

            The sun was starting to break the darkness, but they did not care.  They also did not hear Mingus mumble, “I think I am going to be sick.”

            “Let me see,” Saphira insisted and reached out for the binoculars.

            “Hold on,” Lieutenant Harper groused.  “You’re as bad as Boston.”  She slipped them from her neck and handed them over.

            “Which is why I get them next,” Boston said.

            “There are children down there,” Saphira confirmed.  “This is much bigger than the stick ship I ran into before.  I think that was a scout ship.”  She handed the binoculars to Boston though Alexis wanted a look as well.

            “We’ve been spotted,” Roland said and pointed.

            “Where?’  Captain Decker turned his own binoculars to get a look.

            “Come on,” Saphira stood.

            “Is it safe?”  Lincoln asked. 

            Saphira nodded.  “Last time I got the impression that they had no weapons.  I’m not even sure they know what weapons are.”

            Alexis skipped her turn with the binoculars and joined Saphira in the march down that little hill.  She wondered what grace the Kairos might show to what appeared to be refugees.  Saphira spoke in an alien tongue, but the travelers understood full well what she was saying.

            “Hey!  You can’t park here!  I told your people last time.  This world is off limits.”

            Alexis rolled her eyes, but smiled.

            Several stick people came up to meet them, clapping their hands.  They did look like logs and had no shoulders or neck between the trunk and head and no hips at all.  They were skinny as well, anorexic maybe, and their eyes were so close together it was a wonder how they could manage stereoscopic vision.  They were brown, like the color of wood except their arms and legs which were gray.  Those two arms and two legs looked human shaped with elbows, wrists, knees and ankles but they were truly thin as sticks.  The twelve toes on each foot and four fingers on each hand, one being a thumb, looked like twigs.  It was a wonder they could hold themselves up with those spindly appendages.

            Lockhart extended his hand, but Saphira interrupted, speaking in her own tongue.  “No, no.  Don’t do that.  They are like petrified wood – like steel.  They might lose at arm wrestling, but in a handshake they would crush your flesh without realizing what they are doing.”

            Alexis wondered again.  She now had three languages in her head.  The English never went away, only now she had an overlay of Saphira’s tongue and the sounds of the stick people.  She had to think about that last one, though, to frame her question.  “What happened?”

            The stick people looked at each other before one of them answered.  “We were attacked.”

            “Who is the leader of this ship?”  Lockhart asked his question. 

            “I am.”  One of the stick people answered and he let out a wail and began to bob up and down.  It was a sound and action picked up by others until it had spread its way all around the refugee camp.

            “Who attacked you?”  Lockhart continued when he could.

            After a while, the leader settled down and answered.  “They call themselves Balok.”

            Saphira suddenly interrupted with a string of words, or actually only one word in many languages; the primal language of Shinar, Pan’s, Iris’, Keng’s and Ranear’s languages.  She spouted in her own language and in English.  And it was not a nice word.  “Let me see,” she insisted and began to walk straight for the ship.  The others followed including the Stick leader and his people.

            Balok?”  Alexis caught up.

            “Think of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.” 

            Outside the ship, Saphira turned to the group following her.  She looked around and there were other stick people inching close.  She decided curiosity was a powerful motivator, whatever the species.  She spoke.  “Boston and Lieutenant Harper.  I could use your help.”

            “Katie,” Lieutenant Harper said.

            Saphira nodded.  “I knew that.”  She turned to the sticks.  “Leader, bring two of your people to show us the way but everyone else please stay outside.  We are going to have to concentrate to get any work done.” 

            The Leader appeared to understand, at least that they wished to see the inside of the ship.  Two stick people followed them, but if the leader made a signal to designate who, none of the humans caught it.  They followed the sticks into the heart of the ship and Boston’s first word were telling.

            “I saw more sophisticated stuff at M. I. T.”

            When they got to the scanner, Katie added her voice to the chorus.  “This looks like plain ordinary radar.”

            “Probably is,” Saphira responded.  “Is there a way to push our sight beyond the atmosphere?”  Katie shook her head.  The stick leader had a question.

            “Why do you wish to see beyond the atmosphere?”

            “Balok,” She frowned before she explained.  “They believe they should be unique in the universe, that everything exists for them alone.”

            “But don’t humans have a similar view of creation?”  Boston asked.

            Saphira nodded.  “But the Balok want to make their belief real by exterminating all other forms of intelligent life.   Given the Earth, they would probably try to kill everything down to the intelligence level of a dog, just to be safe.”

            “I assume there is no talking to them.”

            Saphira just shook her head.  “I have to go.  Martok is the one who needs to get a look at this.  One of you lend me a piece of fairy weave.”  Boston separated a piece of her long pants and thought she might live in her shorts in that climate.  Saphira formed the fairy weave into shorts herself.  She stood, turned her back and left that time and place while Martok came from the far future to fill her space.  He dressed with his back turned to Lieutenant Harper and she did not realize Martok was not human until he turned around.

            Katie drew her breath in.  The excessive hair on Martok’s arms, legs and chest caused her to look close at the hair on his head.  It looked more like fur, but it was the eyes that gave Martok away.  They looked yellow, like cat’s eyes or maybe like the eyes of the snake-people they were expecting.

            “Hello Boston, dear.”  Martok spoke in a deep voice that sounded human enough but seemed odd given his height of barely five feet.  Of course, Boston had met Martok before.  She simply waved as she wandered off to look around.

            “Wait.”  One of the stick people spoke to Boston and everyone looked.  “That is a microwave chamber, part of the propulsion system and very dangerous.”

            “Microwaves?  Oh good!”  Martok raised his voice and both Katie and Boston caught a better glimpse of the fact that Martok was not human.  “Now, the visuals.  Leader, where did you lose the Balok?”

            “Out where the rocks circle around the star.”

            “The Asteroid Belt.”  Martok nodded and tore the back off the radar equipment while the leader watched and clapped his hands in worry.

###

            Outside, Alexis turned to the stick person beside her.  “Do you have a name?”

            “Thet.”

            “I’m Alexis.”  She smiled and turned to the other one.  “And what is your name?”

            “Thet.” 

            Alexis wrinkled her brow.  “Your name is Thet and your name is Thet?”

            “No, my name is Thet.”

            “My name is Thet.”

            Alexis looked around, but all Lincoln, Lockhart and Captain Decker could do was shrug.  Mingus stepped up.

            “That’s what you get, daughter for having human ears,” Mingus said.

            “I like her ears,” Lincoln objected.  Alexis looked at Lincoln and the look on her face said, “Do you really?”

            “Watch.”  Roland stepped up and had his bow in his hands with an arrow on the string.  When he let it go, though, the arrow stayed in his hand while a glowing ball shot up into the sky.  When it reached some height, the ball exploded into gold and silver sparkles in a perfect imitation of fireworks.  His next shot was red and green and all the little sticks came running, squealing in delight.

            Several adult stick people chased the little ones, and the two still with the group moved quickly to intercept them.  “No, no.”  The stick people shouted.  “Do not touch them.  Sit.  Do not touch.” 

            One of the Thets returned with a clap of his hands and a word.  “Please take no offense.  We do not know if the children may have a sickness to which you have no defense.”

            “Quite alright,” Alexis responded.  “We may have some sickness your people can’t handle as well.”  The stick person bowed even as the ship groaned and made a noise much like a bad set of truck brakes.  Alexis quickly turned to her wrist communicator which she had hardly ever used.  “Everything alright?”

            The word came back.  It was a deep male voice which they did not expect.  “Fine.  Boston just got an instant suntan is all.”

            “I’m as red as my hair!”  Boston complained.  The others did not know what to say so they turned to watch Mingus who was presently entertaining the kids juggling balls of fire.

People ask, what is the most important thing necessary to be a successful writer?  You see this question posed regularly on forums around the net.  Answers vary. 

You have to hone your writing until it reaches professional standards.  You have to learn to create realistic characters who relate through realistic dialogue.  Show, don’t tell.  Develop an unique, strong and positive voice.  Start with a main character in a situation (problem, dilemma), not with background.  Learn to conclude.  Write so the reader will keep the pages turning.  Edit well.  (And my favorite): Tell a story that is worth reading.

All these are good suggestions for writing a novel, but none are most important.

Then you get notes from the other side of the coin:

Learn how to market your work.  Get your name out there.  Build your brand.  Network, if you hope to make sales.  Get reviews – find reviewers you can trust to say good things.  Facebook, linked-in, tweet, and talk to actual human beings.  Give interviews, book signings and sell, sell, sell.  And all these are good things, too.  But again, not most important.  And hardly relevant to the beginner who has yet to see something in print…

In my mind (with absolutely zero statistics to back this up) I imagined reality is something like this:

100,000 books are written this year.  90,000 suck, but of the 10,000 good ones, only a few will see print.  Most agents will tell you, the bad ones are easy to spot.  The hard part is deciding between the good ones – which ones do they honestly believe they can sell.  Agents don’t make money unless they sell.  But here’s the thing:

Of that 10,000, some 9,000 will never see the light.  They will never be sent, anywhere.  Fear, low self-esteem, no self-confidence and so on are your friends… in other people.  Still, that leaves 1,000 books in competition.  For maybe 900, the writers will receive a couple of rejections and give up.  Whether they decide it is too much work, they can’t handle rejection, they lose whatever confidence they had or whatever, they quit.

Out of the 100 books left, it may take 100 tries to find your place.  It may take 200 tries if some of the thousand luck out and get accepted before the couple of rejections turn them off. 

So then I came across the “most important thing” question on yet another forum, and it occurred to me there is a reason why we had a President named Calvin.  Here is what he said:

Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.  – Calvin Coolidge 

As the Captain in the movie Galaxy Quest said:  “Never give up.  Never surrender.”  That is truly the most important thing if you hope to be a successful writer… or a successful anything else for that matter…