Literature

My Universe: The Beginning of History

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Once the flood waters receded, the powers on the earth quickly repopulated the flora and fauna from the seed stock carried by the humans.  Repopulating the humans, however, was another matter.  That was just going to take time, and especially since the human population seemed determined to remain bunched up, first on the mountain, and then only slowly moving down into the Plains of Shinar.

At that point, though, three things occurred or began to occur.  One was the powers themselves were busy giving birth to those children that would one day be called “the gods.”  That became important soon enough and it looked like the world was ready to take another turn in the ever changing, living landscape of time. 

Second, the powers began to fill in earth’s empty spaces by reversing their previous work—not by bringing back elder races, but by importing other species from other seed planets that could be compatible with life on earth.  These included many that are still known in myths and legends.  They were the Centaurs, Mermaids (and men), and the Were People—shape shifters accommodated to earth fauna: the bear, the eagle and the wolf.  They did not remember the world from which they came.  And yes, the Were People were responsible for passing into the human race that gene and virus combination that could produce, in humans, the werewolf.

Meanwhile, and third, the fact that the “sons of God found the daughters of men fair” still continued.  This gave birth to the race of giants as well as the Titan form of what we might call “demigods.”  One such demigod was Nimrod the Hunter who took for himself certain authority over the human race and, to serve himself and to his own glory, he had them build a tower on those Plains of Shinar.  You may be familiar with that story.

They say that early on, the old “god” Chronos (the Greek god of time) had a vision about the end of the earth.  To avoid the horrible fate he saw, he instituted several failsafe measures, the chief of which was the development and birth of the Kairos—a mere human, but one that would be trapped in a series of rebirths.  It was intended from the beginning that the Kairos (a word for event time or what we would call “history”) would remember, not only his (or her) past lives, but also the future.  It was hoped that by remembering the future, the Kairos would see when history began to get off track and somehow drag it back on to the right path…  It was a terrible risk, trusting the future to a mere mortal, and it came to a head under the tower—the last time the Kairos was born with one consciousness in two bodies, male and female.  Not an easy thing to imagine, much less do………….

 From the novel:  Like Leaves in the Wind

“Godfather!”  They called him.  He liked that name.  They threw their arms around him and gave him a big hug.

“Time is short.”  He said softly as he pulled away.  He eyed them with a disturbed look in his eye.  He touched them on each head and placed something in each mind and heart and in their one spirit that could not quite be grasped, and then he hugged them again as if for the last time.  “After today the gentle flow of days and hours will become the flow of events and meaning, and then your time, my Kairos, must begin, while my time will be done.”

“What do you mean?”  Zadok asked. 

“Will I not see you again?”  Amri wondered as the tears came up easily into her eyes.  They felt the time connection between the big man and themselves as strongly as they felt the touch of his big hands.  Zadok did not understand it and Amri could not explain it, but it was there, a temporal connection, though in them it was different.  Maybe it was as their Godfather said.  In him it felt like it was just numbers and days.  In the Kairos it was events and meaning, and all twisted up in the human condition.

“You have seen me and known me, my making.”  The man smiled all the deeper, as he seemed to acknowledge their innermost thoughts.  He often called the children his making.  “And you will see me and know me again; but my son is seeking to kill me, and if he should free his siblings, he will succeed.”

“Oh, Godfather.”  Amri did cry at that thought, and Zadok could not help feeling the same tears fall.

“It will be all right.”  The man said, laying a hand gently on each head.  “Only my imitation of flesh and blood will end.  My real self, my Spirit will continue to work as long as the days and hours continue to flow.  This is why I was made.  And besides, the others who helped in your making, the mothers and fathers will continue to watch over you and keep you in your ways.”

The children tried to return his smile.  Amri perhaps did a better job of it than Zadok.

…………………….

“Now, if all is well with the days to come, we shall see.”  The man finished speaking and he touched them once more on the top of each head.  The Kairos became dizzy this time and fell into a kind of trance, but both sets of ears still functioned well enough.

“I have given you into the hands of greater friends.  In the future, they want you to try things one person at a time and put a spiritual wall between the two.  I am not sure how that will work other than tear you in half, but in any case, you are out of the reach of the gods to be.  You are only one tool, my making, but in a way you are my best hope to insure the future.  Travel well.”

The earth shook.  Amri and Zadok were lying down and holding each other tight, like when they slept in the night.  They heard the bricks, crumbling.  They felt the tower break, and the whole mountain moved and collapsed, but after that, they felt nothing more.

In my universe, that was when history began.

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: Men (and women) in Black

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

            The security guard was pleasant enough.  “Morning Doctor Shakowski.  Missus.”  He even touched his hat before looking hard into the back seat.  “No visitors.  I’m sorry Mam, you won’t be allowed in.”

            “She is with the government people.”  David began to lie, but Mishka interrupted and handed forward a slim billfold such as the FBI sometimes carry.  It had some kind of I. D. in it, one that even had a picture attached.  The picture was of Mishka a bit older, but who can really tell with such pictures.  Mishka, accent and all, said flatly that she worked for the National Security Administration and she reported directly to the President. 

            “I am here to investigate yesterday’s incident.”

            “Yes mam, er, Colonel.”  The security guard appeared impressed with her and her credentials as well as the fact that she knew about the incident.  Of course, there were local police and firemen all over the place yesterday, but somehow the security guard had the idea that the incident was a secret like so much else at the Labs.  He handed back Mishka’s billfold and waved them through.

            “National Security Administration?”  David asked as soon as they were clear.

            “Agency I think in this country.  I have a long history of working with the Men in Black.”  David and Nancy did not know what that was, but Teacher Nancy had another question.

            “Colonel?”

            “Soviet, but it was just window dressing for the war.”

            “The First World War?”  David asked as he parked.

            “No, Second,” Mishka answered.  “The one where I was at Stalingrad.”  And she smiled and asked her own question.  “Shakowski?”

            “Polish,” David said.  Mishka started to say something in a foreign language, undoubtedly Polish, but David shook his head.  “Fourth generation,” he said.

            The security at the front door was much less accommodating than the man at the gate.  One guard took Doctor Mishka’s credentials and stepped behind a desk to make a call while the other blocked the way.

            “What is the problem?”  Nancy asked David, and quietly, but the guard in front of them answered her all the same.

            “Someone from the NSA already showed up this morning,” he said, and with that, the guard at the desk hung up his phone and three men in suits, two gray and one black, approached the front door.  David knew the two in gray suits.  They were internal security and government men.  Mishka knew the other.

            “Goldman!”  Mishka ran to hug the man.  He looked surprised, like he was being hugged by a complete stranger before something triggered in his mind.

            “Doctor?  Mishka?”  He backed up a little to look at her.  She was nodding.  “But you are so young, and pretty if I can say that.”

            Mishka grinned and took the man’s arm.  “You can always say that, but I do get around in time, you know, or did you forget.”

            “But how did you get, you know, younger?”  He paused and looked pale for a minute.  “I heard you died.”

            “Ah!”  Mishka had to decide what was safe to say before she spoke.  “After I died, Lady Alice revived me, I regenerated, and got to go into cold storage until needed.”  To Goldman’s curious look, she added, “I believe the current science fiction name is suspended animation.”  That helped a little.  “David.  Nancy.  This is Goldman, one of the men in black I was telling you about.”  She made the introduction and without a breath she asked Goldman, “Is young Jax around?”  Then she added one more thing before breathing.  “Goldman saved Churchill’s life in the Second war, just to be sure which war we are talking about.”

            “Hold it,” Goldman said as he finished shaking Nancy’s hand.  “I helped, maybe a little.”

            “Mam.”  The guard at the front door returned Mishka’s identification papers.

            “These gentlemen were just taking me to Doctor Thompson’s office when you arrived.”  Goldman continued.

            “Good idea.  Start with the director.”  David nodded, and the two men in suits turned without a word and began to lead the way.  Mishka, still holding the man’s arm, turned Goldman and followed while David and Nancy brought up the rear.  When they arrived at the director’s office and went straight inside, Mishka was asking another question.

            “How about Mister Smith.  Is he around?”

            Goldman shook his head.  “It is borderline since the Reichgo have visitation rights in the treaty.  Ultimately, that is for the Kargill to decide.”

            The door closed.  The director was behind the desk and looked up, his face covered in a deep, red rash, and he said, simply, “Hold them.”  The two men in gray suits pulled their guns.

            Someone else stepped into Mishka’s eyes, so to speak, to take in the scene and make a quick assessment.  Then Mishka was no longer standing there, but Diogenes, dressed in armor and weapons spun, and caught the hand of the man nearest to him.  He turned that hand just so in order for the bullet to enter his comrade’s middle.  That comrade also fired, but his bullet hit Diogenes in the shoulder and bounced off the armor, leaving only a bruise.  As Goldman made certain of the man on the floor, Diogenes let his hands work over the man beside him.  It was short work, and the man quickly slumped to the floor, not likely to rise for some time. 

            David and Nancy were staring when Diogenes turned and flashed his awesome smile in their direction.  He shrugged and went away, letting Doctor Mishka return to Glen’s time and place.  Mishka kept the armor, though, and David and Nancy watched it adjust automatically to this new shape and size.  Doctor Mishka was a couple of inches shorter at a bit over five foot, eight, and she certainly had a different shape, but no one would know the armor was not made for her. 

            “We need an ambulance here.”  Goldman said from the floor.

            “Wait.  Don’t touch him.”  Mishka ordered, and while everyone thought at first that she was talking about the man on the floor, she had noticed that the Director had gotten up.  He was sweating from fever, and the rash was more extensive on his face than anyone had ever seen.  He was staggered around the desk, holding on to keep from falling, and he did not look happy.

            Everyone backed up when they realized what was happening, but when Mishka returned, she returned with her black bag and she opened it.  The Director just let go of the desk to stand before her as she pulled a spray bottle from the bag and sprayed it inches from the Director’s face.  The man paused.  Doctor Mishka sprayed a second time.  With the third spray, the man went completely limp and collapsed to the floor like a rag doll.

            Mishka turned quickly.  “David.  Please phone for an ambulance.  Don’t tell them what happened, just say an ambulance is needed stat – immediately.”

            “Right.”  David started for the phone, but paused when Doctor Mishka handed him an old fashioned handkerchief. 

            “Contact is the way this appears to spread, and even immunized it is better to be safe.”  Mishka was staring at the Director.  His case was worse than she had seen, and she was revising her estimates as to how virulent the disease might be in humans.

            “Doctor.”  Goldman spoke from the floor where he and Nancy were kneeling beside the unconscious man.  They had turned him over and Goldman was holding something in a pair of tweezers.  “It came from the back of the neck, just under the hairline.”  He said as Mishka reached into her black bag and pulled out what looked like an old fashioned magnifying glass such as Sherlock Holmes might carry.  Teacher Nancy was not surprised when Mishka touched something and the lens on the glass illuminated with a small, white light.  She was surprised when Mishka twisted the handle and examined the little thing.

            “Very sophisticated.  I would guess it was designed to interfere with brain functions, maybe sending continuous signals that would be near impossible to resist.  I can see to the viral level with the glass, but I see no sign of infection which may be why these two men were not broken out with the pox.”

            “Viral?”  Nancy widened her eyes.  “That would be very small.”

            “Da.”  Mishka said, and she put the magnifying glass and the little thing into her black bag.

            “Medical team on the way.”  David said as he hung up the phone.

            “Now we must move.”  Mishka said as she vanished and the Princess came to stand in her place.  The Princess smiled for everyone and again they saw that the armor had adjusted to a woman that was an inch or so shorter and a figure that was near perfection.  To be sure, Doctor Mishka was very pretty, what some might even call beautiful; but she was not the Princess.

On Stories: Plots of Competition: The Underdog.

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Like triangle and trio plots, this final plot of competition is not exactly a separate entity.  The conflict will generally be adversarial or a rivalry with the difference being the relative starting point for the protagonist.  The underdog does not need to get knocked down or knocked back in act one.  They are already at the bottom of the heap.

No one would imagine a Rocky Balboa or Bad News Bears or Mighty Ducks should ever amount to anything.  Act one, in the underdog story, is to set up the potential conflict and in particular to show how impossible that dream is—how far the protagonist has to go.  The odds are overwhelming from the beginning. 

In One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, McMurphy is a patient in an asylum where Nurse Ratched owns all the cards.  In The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the poor Hunchback is the most deformed and hopeless creature this side of the Elephant Man.  And in The Three Musketeers, a young country bumpkin is set up to match wits with the Cardinal—one of the greatest minds of his age—and all of the Cardinal’s henchmen as well.  Talk about overwhelming odds!

The underdog need not be “against” (in competition) with a person.  It might be a group or something like a system (Cuckoo’s Nest) or a government (Schindler’s List).

One thing that is common (though by no means universal) in underdog plots is the advent of a “helper” character or characters: a manager, coach, or the actual Three Musketeers.  Generally, it is a good thing to introduce the helper early on and show, to some extent, that it is the serendipity of putting certain puzzle pieces together that makes the success of the underdog possible.  Otherwise, the author may be accused of bringing in someone at the last minute and the underdog never could have succeeded without such magical help.  (The one flaw in Cinderella).

The difficulty in writing an underdog story is the need to keep it real (realistic) and not let it get clichéd or sappy.  You want Horatio Alger to succeed and your audience to cheer when that happens.  The virtue in the underdog story is people all over the world are naturally inclined to sympathize with such a character.  We all root for the Cinderella team, but it needs to be done carefully to not produce a yawn at the end.

Keep in mind, the underdog does not always succeed.  McMurphy gets lobotomized in Cuckoo;s Nest.  The Hunchback saves but certainly does not get the girl.  Cyrano actually enables Roxanne to fall in love with and marry the fop…  Generally, though, a good underdog story will lead to an ending where Rocky stays on his feet and the Bears and Mighty Ducks win. 

Now, returning to where we started these posts: to the world of simple fairy tales, let me see if we can summarize the plots of competition:

1.         Sleeping Beauty = Adversary plot.  This classic sword and sorcery story is about a witch versus the royal family.  The witch is slighted (not invited to the christening) and the curse falls on the baby, but it is a power struggle between the two all the same, and in the end, the royal family wins as the witch is slain and Beauty and her Prince carry on the royal line.

2.         Snow White = Rivalry plot.  Both Ms. White and the Queen want to be the fairest in the land (even if Ms White doesn’t understand the game).  Snow White is driven out, presumably killed, but when found alive there comes the final confrontation.  It is all about fairness (beauty), however.  That is the root conflict (rivalry) that drives the whole story.

3.         Cinderella = Underdog plot.  She is pitted in an adversary situation against her Stepmother who is determined to keep Cinderella down so her own awkward daughters can succeed.  In the original, she is also in a rivalry with her stepsisters. But in the end, she is really an underdog who, with a little help from her helper character, has a chance to prove her worth and find happiness in the process.

When we continue with Plots, we will move on from competition plots to journey plots, and start with the basic journey plot: The Quest.

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: Traveler Revealed

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

            The following morning, a Friday morning in October, Glen arrived at school to find Mister David and Teacher Nancy waiting for him.  The Teacher had gotten what she called a substitute to cover the class while she paced and looked terribly nervous.  It was as if she was thinking that maybe what they were contemplating and what she agreed to was not such a good idea after all.  David kept reassuring her that everything would be alright, but that just made her more nervous.  When Glen came into the nursery building, they took him straight into the office and he did not object, almost like he expected as much.  Once the door was shut, Teacher Nancy squatted down and gave Glen a big teacher hug which they could still do in those days.  When she backed up a little, without letting go of Glen’s shoulders, she spoke gently.

            “Glen.  We need your help.  We just need to ask some questions, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”  Teacher Nancy wanted to make that perfectly clear.

            Glen looked at his teacher and then up at Mister David and nodded, but then what he said surprised them.  “We need to go to the Labs.”

            “What?”  Teacher Nancy looked up at David, but he just smiled.  She looked again at Glen.  “Are you sure?  You don’t have to go anywhere.”

            “It’s Okay,” Glen said.  “I talked with my Doctor Mishka last night and she said she would go for me.”  That threw them.  Neither knew what he was talking about or how to respond, so he kept talking.  “She says right now we have to go outside to get away from people.”  He walked to the door and wrapped his little hand around the doorknob to give it a turn.  Teacher Nancy and David were slow to react, but caught up quickly enough, and Teacher Nancy took Glen’s hand as they walked out.  She wanted it to look as normal as possible in order to avoid too many questions from the staff or the other children.  Once outside, Teacher Nancy stopped and stopped Glen as well.

            “We are outside.  Now what are we doing?” 

            Glen shook his head and dragged them toward David’s Hudson and as far from the school as possible.  Then he stopped and looked up at them, first taking in one face and then the other.  He held out his two hands and Teacher Nancy was quick to take them both, but Glen pulled one hand free and David reached over and wrapped his big hand around that little paw. 

            “Doctor Mishka says you have to promise,” Glen said.

            “Promise what, dear?”  Teacher Nancy asked.

            “Don’t let go, no matter what.”

            “Oh, Glen.  I won’t let you go.”  Teacher Nancy squeezed his hand and smiled down at him with as much smile as she could muster.

            “Promise,” Glen said.

            “I Promise,” David responded without hesitation.

            Teacher Nancy looked at David and then back at Glen before she spoke again with a more serious expression and without the smile.  “I Promise,” she said, and Glen closed his eyes.  It only took a second before Teacher Nancy let go and threw her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.  David was still holding on, but it looked like he was shocked motionless.  Glen had vanished utterly from that place and a gull grown young woman with Glen’s hair color and Glen’s same blue eyes appeared in his place.  This woman was dressed in a full length Victorian style dress and it leant some credence to what followed. 

            “Doctor Nadia Illiana Kolchenkov.”  The woman introduced herself as she switched David’s hand from her left hand to her right so she could shake it properly.  “I am sorry.  I am Russian, but I died in 1953 if that helps any.”  She said that because she knew her English always came with a bit of a slavic accent.  She paused, put a black doctor’s bag up on the hood of the car, and began to rummage through it, and since neither David nor Nancy appeared inclined to say anything at the moment, she continued speaking.  “My friends all call me Mishka.  You must call me Mishka, also.  There, I hope I have everything I am going to need.”  She closed up her doctor’s bag. “Now you had better get in the car before you do anything rash.  I will explain on the way.  Shall I drive?”  She said that with a smile, but her hand reached for the back door handle.  That question shook the other two out of their shock long enough to move.  They got into the car almost without thinking about what they were doing.

            “Quite right,” Mishka added a thought.  “Glen is much too young to drive.”  She grinned at her own joke.

            “What happened to Glen?”  It was Teacher Nancy’s first words once the doors were shut.   There was some panic in her voice.  David backed up to the end of the drive but stopped.

            “Alright, but the quick version,” Mishka said.  “Glen has lived any number of lifetimes and I am his most recent previous life.  I was born in St. Petersburg in 1889.  I saw my city become Leningrad, but then I died in the Gulag.”  The woman paused before she spoke again.   “Curious, to remember your own death.  I suppose it is only because from this vantage point it all happened in the past.  Anyway, there are other lifetimes Glen has lived, so don’t be surprised if I call on one of them at some point.”

            “Has he – has he, Glen, you – have you, Mishka, done this before?”  David asked as he began to pull out very slowly into the road.

            “Glen?  No.  This is very unusual circumstances.  Usually I don’t do this until I am older, but in this case, don’t you smell it?  It smells like chickenpox or maybe smallpox everywhere, and there is like a darkness all over the neighborhood.  Glen, young as he is, sensed it coming from the building, what you call the Labs.”

            “Bell Labs,” David confirmed with a nod.

            “Da-yes.  Little children are sometimes very sensitive to such things.”  Mishka took in Teacher Nancy’s eyes.  The teacher was turned completely around in the front seat and was staring at her.  “Don’t worry.  Glen will come home once this is settled, only keep in mind, he probably will not remember any of this, so it would be best if you did not discuss it in his presence.”

            Teacher Nancy broke eye contact and shook herself like a person waking from a dream.  “But what is it?”  She paused briefly to get her bearings.  “I have to admit that I have been feeling edgy for a week, like I was sensing something, but I thought it was just – you know.”

            “Women stuff?”  Mishka laughed.  “No Teacher Nancy, and you can trust me.  I am a doctor.”

            “Doctor?”

            “University of Paris.  A surgeon, actually, but I got my first real experience on the Russian Front in the World War.”

            “Really?”  David perked up a little.  “Were you at Stalingrad?”

            “Yes, but I was referring to the First World War.”

            “Oh.”  David swallowed.  “Of course.”

            “Wait.  We are getting off subject.”  Teacher Nancy got David to drive to the side of the road before they went up to the gate.  “So what is this we are dealing with?”

            “Yes,” David said, and he actually turned off the car so he could turn around in his seat as well.  “Glen said the word Reichgo and I thought nothing of it until yesterday when I overheard two of the government men use the word.”

            “What is a Reichgo?”  Teacher Nancy asked.

            “Who.”  David and Doctor Mishka spoke together, and David quieted so the Doctor could speak.

            “Extraterrestrials.”  She began to explain, but she changed her description when she saw that Teacher Nancy did not know the word.  “Space Aliens.  Little green men, and I am guessing they want their toys back.  After all, this is only 1957 and Roswell is not big business yet.”  Mishka amused herself with that thought.  “I am also guessing that is why those toys were sent back East, so maybe the government could claim they were lost or destroyed in the crash and then maybe learn something valuable through reverse engineering, as your Perkins called it.”

            “Pickard.”  David corrected her.  “And you assume pretty good.”

            “But how did you know?  How could little Glen know about the Reichgo?”

            “Bobby Thompson,” Mishka said.

            “Ohhh!”  Teacher Nancy’s eyes got big as she drew out the word and David turned to face her so she could explain.  “Measles.  But it did happen very fast.  In one day he had breakouts everywhere.”

             “Doctor Thompson’s kid.”  David put two and two together and then added a note for Mishka.  “Dick Thompson is the Director overseeing the crash project.”  Mishka merely nodded before speaking.

            “Glen took a sample and I analyzed it.  It is not the measles.  It is not from this earth.  I know something of the history of this time, so it was not hard to piece things together and figure out where it came from.  Now, roll up your sleeves so I can give you your immunization shots.  The disease is not spread easily, but this is a precaution.”

            David, who had his arm draped over the back of the seat in order to turn a bit further into the conversation, pulled his arm back.  “Will it hurt?”  He asked while Mishka opened her black bag.

            “Oh, you big baby,” Teacher Nancy said.  She already had her sweater sleeve pushed up.  Doctor Mishka pulled out something that looked like a small pistol, or maybe a glue gun.  She turned Teacher Nancy’s arm, not interested in the shoulder, and began to rub around the inside of her elbow.  When she found the vein, she touched it with the gun tip and pulled the trigger.  “That’s it?”  Teacher Nancy was surprised.  She felt nothing.

            “Come,” Mishka said, and David extended his arm for the treatment, but he kept a watchful eye on the Doctor in case she pulled a fast one.  Mishka touched the gun, which made a click-click sound, and then she shot David’s arm and it was over. 

            “So how long before it takes effect?”  Teacher Nancy asked, thinking that vaccinations usually took seven to ten days at the least.

            “Immediate,” Doctor Mishka said as she put the gun back in her bag.

            “It seems these Reichgo are not the only ones with advanced technology,” David said.

            Mishka nodded.  “So, did you hear the early morning airplanes spraying the neighborhood this past week?”

            David and Nancy looked at each other.  “I thought it was for worms or caterpillars of some kind,”  David said.

            Mishka shook her head.  “A counter agent.  This alien disease will not spread but it is imperative that I locate the source and neutralize it.”

            “I see.”  Teacher Nancy turned to face the front of the car.  “God, I can’t imagine if an alien disease got loose in the world.”  She was thinking a worst case scenario, but Mishka reassured her.

            “All pox is originally alien in origin, and mostly not Reichgo in origin.  Some pox, as I am sure you know from your history, is very virulent and has gotten loose in the world, but fortunately, this particular infection is like the Reichgo version of the common cold and it does not appear to be deadly.  There are spots and a high fever for a couple of days and that is it.  Shall we drive?”

            David jolted.  “Oh, yeah.  Right.”  He started the car again and brought them to the gate.

My Universe: Before History

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

My universe is where my stories occur.  Your universe…well, maybe you haven’t thought it through.  Hopefully this will help.

Before History Began

Science has suggested of late that there are many planets in this universe that may be capable of supporting life but few that may actually have the right combination of elements and events to produce life.  In my universe, our earth is one of the few worlds which I call “seed planets.”  Life came to exist on earth years ago and it has grown, shifted, been shifted, changed or evolved over the course of all those years producing a rich variety of species in age after age.

In my universe, the powers on the earth (Titans) watched over this ever changing landscape of life and made the effort at certain points in pre-history to preserve that which would otherwise be lost.  This was done by “seeding” other capable but otherwise barren worlds, generally within range of the earth—in this arm of the galaxy.  One of the first was the Diplodocus, a reptilian species that might best be described as “intelligent dinosaurs.”  There were others.

In the “Middle Era,” the so-called elder races were essentially humanoid in shape and type—the more so as time moved toward the younger races.  In the last days of the Middle Era, there were primarily two elder races native to the earth, and one younger race, us.

The Gott-Druk (Neanderthal) worked in stone, and lived for the most part in small and family groups, spread out over the west: North Africa, Europe and the Mediterranean.  The Gott-Druk were responsible for building the Sphinx along the Nile, and their greatest place of gathering was in the place that came to be called Jericho in later ages.  They also built temples on Malta, and a cult of painters arose in Europe—all of which we can see in our day.

The Elenar (Cro-Mangon) worked in wood and thus little, if any of their great works remain to us.  They were more advanced (technologically) at the time, having invented the wheel, the plow, and having domesticated numerous animals and practiced agriculture.

We, Homo Sapiens, the younger race learned fast and had just begun to build our own “cities” primarily in the Tigris-Euphrates area when the unthinkable happened.

By that time, some of the ancient races had begun the exploration of space.  One group in particular visited the earth and set up trade.  They were the Agdaline, a species of blithering geniuses with little or no sense of humor.  Their faces would be recognized from the many copies carved from the stones of Easter Island—but that is a story unto itself.

These Agdaline were confined by the powers to the area roughly between Jericho and the place of the Lion (on the Nile).  There, they could meet with Gott-Druk, Elenar, and humans, though we humans had little to offer that might interest them.  The Elenar and Gott-Druk began a rapid advance into technological matters, but soon enough the disaster happened. 

While experimenting with zero gravity and potential light speed technology, the Agdaline inadvertently ripped the atmosphere off their home world and sent a small moon hurtling through space, headed toward us.  There was not much time.  The Powers on the earth forced the Agdaline to give near-light speed and cryogenic (sleeper) technology to the Gott-Druk and Elenar who were then directed to new worlds where they could survive the catastrophe. 

Before you think this was an over-the-top leap in technology, though, let me remind you that at one point we had horse drawn carriages and some steam engines with rail tracks and muzzle loaded muskets and within a measly hundred years we set foot on the moon and mastered the atom itself and we do the internet.  A hundred years ago, we were just figuring out the electric light.

And us humans, with this moon hurtling straight at us?  We were left to our own devices.  When the moon grazed the earth and set the planet to wobble in earnest, and melted the ice caps and flooded the planet, a few people survived in a gopher-wood boat, but that too is another story.

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: Happy Hill

M G Kizzia 2 Comments

            Glen sat in the sandbox and pouted.  The swings and other playground equipment were full of kids, and though the late September wind was turning too cold to swing, Glen found that when he was in the box the other kids left him alone.  He was not necessarily anti-social, but he was not pro-social either.  Not yet being four years old, he honestly did not know what he was, except that he was careful about strangers for some reason, and all of the kids at that place were strangers as far as he could tell.  He never saw any of them before his first day, a day he spent in tears, and he never did see any of them later in life either.  They did not even live in his town.  His Mom called this place Murray Hill – “Happy Hill in Murray Hill” she told him when she tried to convince him that nursery school was a wonderful thing.  Glen was not so sure it was so wonderful.  It certainly did not feel wonderful.

            Glen liked to pick up the sand and let it run through his fingers.  It was like the sands of time, he told himself.  To be sure, he did not yet have much of a concept of time other then the time he got dumped at the school and the time he got picked up; and he certainly could not tell time, but in his mind the sand was like time all the same.  The time winds were blowing strong, he told himself, and with that he looked across the road.  Over the fence and through the trees there was a huge building complex.  Glen would rather be home, away from that building altogether, but as long as he was there he felt it was important to keep an eye on the place, and at three-and-some-years-old, he did not have the presence of mind to ask why.

            Glen turned his eyes from the building when a car pulled up on the gravel drive.  A man got out and Teacher Nancy went to him as her assistant, Mrs. Waterhouse, corralled the children into the building.  Mrs. Waterhouse knew better than to bother with Glen.  She let him stay in the sand so as to avoid a fuss.

            “Nancy.”  The man called the teacher by name as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

            “David.  Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”  Teacher Nancy asked and the man nodded.

            “But you forgot this.  I thought you might want it.”

            “Oh, blessed coffee,” the teacher said and she took a big sip before giving the man a hug.  She took a second sip before speaking again.  “So you never finished what you were saying.  What is it you are working on these days.”

            “All hush-hush stuff you know,”  He smiled to tease her with the secret.

            “What can the phone company be into that is so hush-hush?”  She was not buying it.

            “No, really.  The Labs has gotten some stuff from the government picked up in some crash out West a few years back.  We are supposed to figure out what it is and what it does.  Pickard has coined the phrase, reverse engineering.  I suppose that sound about right.”

            “Russian?”  In 1957 it was the first and most obvious assumption; but the man shook his head.

            “I don’t think so.  No one will say, but the stuff is indescribable, detailed, sophisticated.  I don’t know.  If it is Russian we might just as well surrender right now.”

            “But if it isn’t Russian, whose is it?”  Teacher Nancy asked.  She looked more curious than doubting, but Mister David just shrugged again before he pointed at Glen

            “Mrs. Waterhouse missed one,” he said.

            “Oh, that’s Glen.”  Teacher Nancy smiled and the two of them came near and squatted down to be friendly.  “Sometimes Glen spends all morning in the sandbox, don’t you Glen?”  Glen could only shrug.

            “Why is that?”  Mister David asked.  Glen pointed at the building complex in the distance.  “What is he pointing at?”  Mister David squinted.  Teacher Nancy could only shrug.  Apparently Glen pointed before when asked the same question, but no one yet figured it out.

            “Are you going there?”  Glen asked, still pointing.  It surprised his teacher who heard very few words escape Glen’s lips, but the man responded, even if it took him a minute to understand that Glen was pointing at the distant building.

            “You mean Bell Labs?  You mean the building there?  Yes I work there.”

            “It is bad, wrong, broken, sick.”  Glen used every word he could think of to explain, but it was hard for him since he, himself was not clear on what he was sensing.

            “Huh!”  Teacher Nancy could not help commenting.  “You are full of words today, aren’t you, young man?”

            “Hush.”  Mister David hushed her.  “Why is it sick?”

            Glen shook his head.  He did not have an actual answer for the question.  “It has bad things.  It is wrong.  Very wrong.  No!  No!”  He really could not explain it.

            Mister David smiled and began to think that the boy really had nothing to say.  Teacher Nancy smiled as well.  “Now, how do you know it is bad?”  Mister David asked again but this time he spoke with some disbelief in his voice.

            “They are not people things.  They are Reichgo.”  Glen said the word though he had no idea what a Reichgo was.  “I can smell them.”  He concluded, and he reached out for David’s hand and smelled the hand when David gave it to the boy.  “I smell them.”  The boy said, and with one brief blue-eyed look into David’s face, he stood, wiped the sand off his hands, and whatever else might be clinging to his hands, and ran inside.  Suddenly, there was too much going on inside his wee little head, and Glen needed some space.  He needed to be alone, but there were grown-ups speaking inside his head and he could not escape them.

            “Huh!”  David looked briefly at his own hand with a very curious expression.  “Spooky kid.”

            “I have never heard Glen say that much since the first day.”  Teacher Nancy’s eyes followed the boy to be sure he got back inside.

            David shrugged it off and let his smile return as he kissed the teacher again on the cheek.  “See you at supper,” he said, and he rose and got back in his car and headed out.

            Teacher Nancy watched and sipped on her coffee the whole time, but when David’s Hudson pulled around the corner, she shrugged it off, too, and went back to the children.

            Mister David came back three days later, near noon, when school was done for the day and Glen was waiting to be picked up.  “David?”  In that name, Teacher Nancy expressed all of her curiosity at seeing him in the middle of the day.  David hardly glanced at the teacher.  He came straight to where Glen was quietly standing.  Glen did not move.  He did not dare.  He saw the expression on Mister David’s face.

            “Tell me about the Reichgo.”  He demanded.  His voice was soft and calm, but to a boy who was not yet four it sounded like a grown-up demand.  Glen’s face curled up like he might cry, but he managed to point into the sky even as two things happened.  First there was what could only be called an explosion near the back of that distant building.  David looked sharply in that direction and mumbled something equally sharp about Rupert and Pickard.  Teacher Nancy also looked, but then the second thing that happened, Glen’s mother came and she hustled Glen into the car.  Apparently, she had also noticed the fire and she knew it would not be long before the whole area was blocked off by police cars and fire trucks.

On Stories: Plots of Competition: Triangles and Trios

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The classic triangle plot is the love triangle and as far as it goes, it may also be described as an adversary or a rivalry (or an underdog) plot.  The reason I mention triangles (and trios) separately is because they tend to get complicated.  They don’t often lend themselves to simple, cardboard characters or storylines because of the complexity of relationships involved.

As mentioned in the last post, a writer needs to be clear that it is actually a triangle.  If two people are trying to win the hand of a third and that third person is portrayed as little more than the object of their desire, it is in fact a basic rivalry plot.  If that third person, however, has a genuine pick–one or the other or perhaps neither choice–and is a fully developed character, it is a triangle.

Not being a romance fanatic excludes me from serious examples of love triangles, many of which I am sure exist.  What I can give, though, is examples of triangles motivated by something other than love, and yes, there are such things. 

A classic example of a triangle plot can be found in the title: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.  Here, three men are after the same thing: confederate gold (a rivalry).  They each wind their way toward the goal, crossing each other’s paths several times until the final showdown at the end.  Those so-called “Spaghetti Westerns” were very good at inventing triangles.

A similar plot, the trio might be seen, for example, in the film Ghost.  When the young man is killed and can no longer communicate with his love, a third person must enter the fray: the medium or psychic.  She is the only means by which any action (dialogue) can take place, and she almost gets killed along with the girl in the end.  While not the best story of character development, it remains one of the highest grossing films of all time.

Triangles and trios are not easy to write because, as mentioned, the relationships can get complicated.  Also, as in Ghost, the competitive nature of the trio plot is not always simple and obvious.  In Ghost, it is three as a team against an outside force.  In the book, Rebecca, it is a man, his new wife and a housekeeper also against an outside force: the first wife’s memory. 

The Plot:

When the conflict (against) is within the triangle, like an episode of the bachelor, the one you are rooting for must suffer a setback early on.  As in any competitive plot, there is a comeback before the final confrontation, or as the case may be, the final decision.  Shrek is a fair example.  While Shrek and the Prince (with his mother) fight over the girl, Fiona has a mind of her own, and if you watch the films you find she makes her own decision in the end.

When the conflict is external to the trio, something must threaten to break the trio apart—and at least partly succeed in the beginning.  When the young man dies at the beginning of Ghost, that is pretty dramatic and seemingly final, but in fact it causes the formation of the trio which make the expected “come back” and go on to overcome the killer.  The breaking of the trio might also initially involve the separation of the two who might otherwise gang up against the third.  In the film, Trading Places, the commodities trader and the street con man are switched, but not separated far enough.  They eventually figure it out and do indeed successfully gang up on “the brothers” in the end.

Trios and triangles can be strong stories, difficult as they may be to write.  The author, though, needs to be clear that the story qualifies.  If a couple are up against an antagonist and essentially acting as one, it is likely just an adversary plot.  If they are striving for something against another person or even another couple, it is a plain rivalry.  Only if there are three separate characters, however two may come together in the end, as in a love story or as in the example of Trading Places, does it qualify as a trio/triangle plot. 

If the story is a true triangle/trio plot, it is important that the writer be aware of it and maintain the variety of relationships and the full-fledged characters throughout.  To let such a story devolve into a simple protagonist/antagonist story risks disappointing and losing the readers.  There is nothing wrong with two of the characters falling in love half-way through the story as long as one does not become a mere appendage of the other or get lost in the shuffle for the remainder of the tale.

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: The Vordan Can Wait

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

            Bobbi looked at Lockhart,  He pulled a bit closer before he locked the wheels on his wheelchair and began.  “Glen is a person, a human being just like us only he lived a number of lives in the past and some in the future, and he can remember them, or some of them anyway, more absolutely than anyone else I ever heard of.  If you already met Diogenes, you know what I mean.  He calls it trading places through time.”

            “But I saw him actually become another person.”  Alice protested.  “He just vanished and this other person was standing right where he was standing, or squatting, actually.  Do you know what I mean?  How can he do that?”

            “It was not another person, exactly.”  Lockhart began again, but Bobbi interrupted.

            “It was still him.  It was another one of his lifetimes.  Diogenes was a first cousin of Alexander the Great way back when.”  Bobbi noticed the slight reddening of Alice’s face.  “He claims he was married to Aphrodite, the love goddess toward the end of his life.  I can’t verify that but I think some of her may have rubbed off on him.  What do you think?”  Bobbi was teasing.  It required no great insight to tell what Alice thought.

            Alice could not seem to help the smile that came to her face.  “Wait!  You don’t mean the real goddess.”

            “Later.”  This time Lockhart interrupted.  “For now you will just have to accept that he has access to other lives like no one else does.  He says since the genetic pattern is nearly exact, and since time has some small flexibility or relativity if you prefer, he doesn’t disturb the timeline when he borrows a past or future life.” 

            “Wait.”  Alice had another question, or several.  “What do you mean disturb the timeline?  Isn’t this like reincarnation or something?”

            “Absolutely not.”  Lockhart answered her.  “He says his lives are because some mysterious “Friends” as he calls them, keep forcing him to be reborn every time he tries to die.”

            “Sometimes he talks about himself as an experiment in time and genetics, like he is no more than a hamster on a treadmill with no way to get off.”  Bobbi added with a touch of sadness in her voice.  They all paused for a minute to look at Glen.

            One of the men from the table took that moment to bring over a tray of coffee, tea and snacks.  They were at cruising altitude, not that any of them ever buckled a seatbelt.

            “Wait.”  Alice regained the floor even as she accepted a cup of tea.  “You said future lives.”

            Bobbi and Lockhart looked at each other again before Bobbi took up the explanation.  “Yes.  You must be a lawyer.  And, yes.  He remembers the future, too.”  She said that much, and then she paused to sip her coffee while she consider something.  The others waited patiently, including the three at the table who were neglecting their work to listen in.  “Let me just say this…  his memory, I mean Glen.”  She pointed.  “It was toyed with at some point in his early years.  Most of the time, he has no idea that he is the Traveler and he just lives a normal, everyday life.”

            “Like a grocery clerk?”

            “He is a minister if you must know.  Mostly, though, he is the Storyteller.  That is what his other lives call him, but he claims it is not an honorific, just a job description.”

            “Anyway, he mostly lives as normal a life as such a person can live.”  Lockhart interjected.  “He says even with his memory blocked, the past and future have a tendency to leak into his mind at the most inopportune times, but without the context to understand what is happening, he says it is very strange and makes him feel like he is living as a stranger in a strange land.”

            Bobbi put her hand up to stop Lockhart from speaking further.  She continued with the explanation.  “Anyway, at times of crisis, the block on his memory is designed to come down and he remembers at least some of his past lives and usually one or more future lives as well.  And it is like actual memory, too; triggered by events and little things just like real memory.  It is a lot to process, though, all at once like that.”  Bobbi paused again to sip and reach for a cookie, bad as it was for her waist, but in this way she gave Alice time to process her own thoughts.

            “I’ve seen him like this before, some years ago.”  Lockhart said to reassure Alice that Glen would be fine after a while.  “He just needs time to straighten it all out.”  Lockhart tapped his own head and stayed away from the cookies.

            “So, he remembers the future?”  Alice shook her head.  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

            “It is the only way to understand it.”  Bobbi responded.  “And another strong reason why his case is not like some kind of reincarnation.”

            “I can see that.”  Alice understood that much.  “But, now, Traveler?”

            “Kairos, technically.  Event time.  An ancient Greek word.”  Lockhart did the translation.  “We might call him the god of history.  The Traveler is just shorthand for the Traveler in Time.” 

            “Time traveler?  Oh, of course, Diogenes.”

            Lockhart and Bobbi both nodded and there was a moment of silence before Alice spoke again.

            “So now, who is this Princess?”

            Lockhart and Bobbi passed another glance, but they were smiling.  “She is a lawyer.”  Bobbi said again.  “She doesn’t miss much.”

            Lockhart nodded and pointed at Glen.  “He is the Princess.”  Before Alice could respond, Glen lifted his head.  He was speaking, though it did not seem like he was speaking to any of them.

            “What?  Sure, that might help.”  He said, and he stood and vanished from the airplane, to be replaced by an absolutely stunning young woman who was maybe twenty-something at most.  She stood around five-seven, with long golden brown hair that was so light it was nearly blond, and eyes as blue as Glen’s, but her eyes flashed with life, youth and health.  Indeed, Alice could not see an ounce of fat on that perfect body.  The Princess stood with a smile for Lockhart, and she turned once all of the way around, slowly.  She was in a dress that fell halfway to her knees but hid nothing of her figure.  Alice wondered where the armor and weapons went, but she held her tongue as the Princess spoke. 

            “So how do I look?”

            “Beautiful, as always.”  Bobbi spoke first.

            “Gorgeous.”  Lockhart confirmed as he matched the Princess’ smile, and then some.

            Alice thought the word gorgeous was an understatement, but her mouth said something else as she watched the woman sit in Glen’s chair.  The Princess kept her knees locked together as only a real woman would do.  “So you are the Princess?  Wait a minute.”  Alice’s thoughts caught up with what she was seeing.  “Do you mean he has lived as a woman?”

            The Princess nodded.  “Half of my lifetimes.”  She confirmed before turning to Bobbi.  “There was so much memory coming all at once I was afraid my Storyteller might burn out his little brain.  What?  Oh, he says his brain is not so little.”  The Princess laughed softly, and the laugh was as beautiful as the rest of her.

            “But isn’t he still remembering?”  Bobbi asked.

            “Yes, but this way I get some of the pressure and he doesn’t have the distractions so he can focus better on processing it all.  At least I think that is what is happening.”  She shrugged.

            “All right.”  Alice spoke and threw up her hands for emphasis.  “I’m getting it, but not really.  I think you better start at the beginning.”  She looked straight at the Princess.  “And I mean you whoever or whatever you are.”

            “Me?  I was born in 228 BC.”  The Princess said.   She sound a bit confused, like maybe she was having trouble translating the English into her native Greek.

            “Do you mean the Traveler?”  Lockhart asked.  “That would be around 4500 BC, near as we know.”

            “I think she means just Glen’s life.”  Bobbi tried, and Alice nodded and pointed at Bobbi.

            “Like when did he first realize he lived all of these other lifetimes and when did he first, what did you call it, trade places in time?”

            “Oh yes.”  The Princess liked the idea.  “Talking it out might be the best thing to do.”

            “Well.”  Bobbi drew out the word as they watched the Princess vanish and Glen return.  He was dressed in the jeans and shirt he wore in the market and, Alice noticed, not keeping his knees together at all. 

            “That would be before my time,” Bobbi said.  “Lockhart, you met him at that college in Michigan.  What was he, seventeen?  Eighteen?”

            “Actually.”  Glen got their attention.  “I was remembering a time when I was four, or actually not quite four.  Things don’t usually happen that early in my lifetimes.  Normally, I get the chance to develop my own personality and learn some things before time starts to open up, generally sometime during puberty; but this was a special case if I remember it rightly.  Let me see…”

On Stories: Plots of Competition: The Rivalry

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

The Rivalry plot follows the same pattern as the adversary plot, only in this case the third element is generally built in.  Often it is a thing, like gold or money, or a concept like power or freedom.  Sometimes it is a person, though that might also be a TRIANGLE plot depending on whether the third person (man or woman) is an active participant in the story or treated more like an object to obtain.

In the Adversary plot it is two people (protagonist and antagonist) or groups against each other, and sometimes, as is often the case in war stories and some thrillers of political intrigue, they are adversaries simply because they represent two opposing worldviews.  In the rivalry plot we are still dealing with the word “against” except the “against” has a purpose: to obtain the object. 

Again, these plots of competition may be summarized in the way my friends talked about plot, as “man against man, man against God (nature) and man against himself.”  Also, again, they may be drawn as internal (character driven) stories or external (action/event oriented) stories, the choice is yours.

Man Versus Man:

In the rivalry, sometimes the object of desire is substantial, such as a National Treasure.  At other times it is an insubstantial object such as power.  The Lord of the Rings was essentially a rivalry plot between a reluctant king and a flaming eye over which will end up ruling the human race.  In the case of the Lord of the Rings, though, that plot is overshadowed by the JOURNEY plot of Frodo Baggins…

Whether substantial or insubstantial, the rivalry plot includes two forces, not necessarily opposed to each other, but in pursuit of the same thing.  In the Film, Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines, a competition from start to finish, we are drawn in to root for the poor American, but not disappointed when the Englishman wins the race.  The American gets the girl, the object of the rivalry.  Nor are we upset when the Frenchman is swamped by the crowd on touchdown in Paris, despite his not winning.  About the closest the film has to a “bad guy” is the German, but he is so comical it is hard to hate him.  In the rivalry for control of the town that culminates in the shootout at the OK Corral, on the other hand, we are glad that the good guys win, if indeed they were the good guys. 

In these examples, you can see two important points.  First, while the protagonist (s) should be fairly clear—you want the reader to root for someone—the line between the good guys and bad guys may be blurry.  In the end of National Treasure II, the “bad guy” saves everyone else’s lives.  Second, win or lose is sometimes less imperative then it tends to be in the antagonist plot.  Consider Ben-Hur and his rivalry with Messala or The Count of Monte Cristo and his love triangle.  We are pleased when the good guys win (in a sense) even if the winning is bittersweet. 

In the Three Musketeers, the good guys also win, but the Cardinal remains in power, untouched, above it all, so it is sort of a half-victory.  In the Hunchback of Notre Dame, the Hunchback does not get the girl.  In Fahrenheit 451, the man saves his life and gets the book, but the dark ages are far from over.

Man Versus God (Nature): 

The first thing that came to my mind was The Old Man and the Sea.  The second was Milton, Paradise Lost.  A third example would be Goethe’s Faust.  All of these express not merely an adversarial relationship, but in some sense a rivalry: for power, control, the means of life and one’s livelihood.  In Bunyan’s works, Pilgrim’s Progress or The Holy War, the struggle is for a man’s soul.  In the Illiad, Achilles and Hector are mere pawns as the Greeks and Trojans play out their antagonism under the hand of rival gods.  In every case, though, there is something to be gained by being the one who is successful.  And perhaps something to be lost for the unsuccessful.

Man Versus Himself: 

In this last form, look for examples where a person is their own worst enemy.  Don Quixote would certainly qualify.  Catch 22 or Cool Hand Luke might qualify.  One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest also, though this last is perhaps best understood as an UNDERDOG story.  Also, Spiderman.  Let me explain. 

Spiderman, in the original storyline, fights himself more than he fights the super-baddies.  That was what made this superhero story so unique and wildly successful.  He has guilt about Uncle Ben, a need to protect Aunt May at all costs and teenage angst and low self-esteem run amok.  He can’t go fully superhero.  He trashed the suit countless times; but he can’t go normal, happy, successful life either, as he seems to want (his object).  He is so conflicted it prevents him from getting the girl (object) too, Mary Jane or Gwen, who have their own rivalry of a sort going on… Sheesh!

The Plot: 

The first thing to decide is what is the key to the story.  If there is something (an object) that two people want to obtain, it is a rivalry and that object always needs to be the motive and front and center in the story.  If not, it is a basic adversarial plot.  Night at the Museum I:  Both the old guards and the new want the tablet = rivalry.  Don’t lose sight of the tablet.  Braveheart (or the Patriot) the men want freedom, the King of England (or his Generals) want to maintain control (opposite objectives) = adversaries.  Here is a question:  Can two lawyers be adversaries?  Can they be rivals?

Like the adversary plot, the pattern of the rivalry plot will remain the same (similar) as are all competitive plots.  Normally the antagonist gains the upper hand at first by knocking down his opponent.  The meat of the story is the protagonist fighting back or “rising up” from the ashes though it may appear hopeless.  The Antagonist gets close to the objective…  But eventually the two meet in the final confrontation where the object is gained or lost (occasionally lost forever.  Occasionally gained and discovered to be unwanted after all).

Competitive plots get some variation when two (protagonist and antagonist) becomes a triangle or when the two “against” don’t start out on the same footing (one starts as a clear underdog).  Though still plots of competition, they are different enough to be worthy of note… next time.

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: The Vordan Named

M G Kizzia Leave a comment

            The woman nodded to the word, “lawyer,” but her eyes were darting around.  She gave the impression that all of this suddenly caught up to her and she was feeling a bit overwhelmed.  “Corporate contracts and such.”  She managed to say that much.

            “Good.  My name’s Glen.”

            The African-American woman pulled out a thin billfold.  “Roberta Brooks, FBI.”  She showed her I. D. but the woman lawyer shook her head.

            “The FBI doesn’t have flying saucers.”

            “Carlson is with the State Department.”  Ms Brooks pointed at the man who was still in the doorway.  “Sanchez, here is with the ATF.”

            Glen handed Sanchez his car keys.  “Glad you didn’t crush my car.  It’s that silver Ford.  Tell my wife I’ll be late for supper, will you?”  Sanchez looked briefly at the black woman.  She nodded her head and Sanchez smiled.

            “I’m only sorry I’ll miss it,” Sanchez said as he headed toward Glen’s car.

            Glen returned the smile as he once again took the pretty blond by the hand.  He began to pull her forward as he and Ms Brooks started toward the ramp and the saucer.  “So Bobbi, what are the Vordan doing here?”  Glen asked.

            “Vordan?”  Ms Brooks said the word as if tasting it for the first time.  “We did not even know who they were.  You tell me.”

            “Mister Smith not around?”

            “No, and that concerns us as well.  There are three battleships on the dark side of the moon, and we only found out that much by accident.  Normally, Mister Smith shows up with that kind of information, but no one has seen him.”

            “Can’t be time for…”  Glen stopped walking.  Clearly he did not finish his sentence.  “Still, this is a Kargill planet by treaty.  The Vordan have no business being here.”

            The high pitched wail that came from the parking lot caused them all to hold their ears.  Apparently there were some Vordan still on the ship and they were taking off for the skies.

            “Get them.  Can’t you get them?”  The woman lawyer asked.

            Bobbi shook her head.  “We got lucky to find them on the ground.  Despite appearances, our vehicle is just a modified stealth bomber with Harrier capabilities.  We are not a space corps.” The Vordan vehicle was already out of sight.  Glen turned and once again held out his hand, but this time the woman balked like before.

            “Do you have a name?”  Glen asked.

            “No.  I’m not getting in that saucer thing,” she protested.

            “I need a lawyer.  How are you with treaties?”

            “I’m a lawyer,” Bobbi protested.

            “When was the last time you practiced or dealt with binding contracts?”  Glen asked and Bobbi said no more.  Glen turned again to the woman.  “What do you say we hire you, name your fee.  After all, I assume there isn’t time to send this out for bids.  By the way, are you any good?”

             The woman stood up straight.  “I am very good,” she said, proudly.  “But wait.”

            “Oh, come on,” Bobbi said.  “Glen won’t bite.”

            “Not hard anyway.”  He and Bobbi shared a knowing look.

            The woman lawyer still hesitated.  “How long?”

            Bobbi shrugged, but Glen responded.  “One day at a time,” he said.  “You can go home anytime you give the word.”

            “Promise?”

            Glen crossed his heart.  “See?  On the left just like you said.”  That got the woman to smile as they walked up to the ship entrance.

            “So who are you people?”  She asked.

            “Men in black,” Glen answered.

            “I am not a man,” Bobbi said.

            “But you are black,” Glen countered as they stopped in the doorway.  Bobbi slapped Glen in the elbow where the short sleeve of his armor did not quite reach to the long gloves he wore.

            “Don’t you ever get tired of that joke?”  Bobbi asked.

            “It’s always like the first time for me.”  A serious expression came and went across Glen’s face, but then his smile returned as he stepped aside to let the women in first.  “So what is your name?”

            “Alice.”

            “Well, Alice.  Welcome to wonderland.”

            The inside of the saucer looked more like a corporate jet than the inside of an alien craft.  While the ship lifted straight up, Bobbi took Alice by the arm and pulled her to the front.  Glen fell in behind.  “Let me introduce you.”  Bobbi pointed to a middle-aged pilot and a co pilot who looked close to Ms Brook’s age of somewhere in the mid sixties.  “Captain Stoloyovich is an ex-astronaut who went twice on shuttles to the International Space Station.”

            “Fyodor,” the man said.  He turned his head briefly and smiled but did not move his hands or take his real attention from his tasks.

            “Alice Summers,” Alice responded, kindly.

            “Alice is a lawyer the Traveler picked out.”

            “Congratulations, I think,” Fyodor said.

            “Hi, I’m Glen, I think.”  Glen spoke in a strange tone of voice and as he looked at Alice, he added a thought.  “Was I someone else back there?”  Alice nodded, not knowing what else to do.  “Diogenes.”  Glen gave the young man a name, but when he looked at Bobbi he added another thought.  “I think.”  He shook his head.  “Too much memory coming back to me too fast.  Maybe I need to sit down.”

            “Who are you?”  Alice finally asked, now that Glen reminded her that he had briefly been a completely different person.

            “WhoamI?”  Glen ran the words together.  “Maybe you should just call me WhoamI for now.”

            “Can’t.”  The old copilot looked up and turned toward the group.  “Jackie Chan already did that one.”

            “Lockhart!”  Glen yelled.  He shook the old man’s hand, vigorously, even as he noticed that the man was in a wheel chair.

            “How’s the Princess?”  Lockhart asked, and Bobbi had no trouble slapping the old man in the shoulder despite the wheelchair.  Lockhart looked appropriately humble for about three seconds.

            “We’re not supposed to tell him about lifetimes he does not remember for himself.”  Bobbi explained to Alice who nodded but was becoming very confused.  Glen, meanwhile, had no trouble answering Lockhart’s question.

            “She is great.  Good as ever.  Still young, too.”

            “It isn’t fair, you know,” Lockhart complained, though he looked like he would not mind seeing the Princess again, young as she might be.

            “Unfair?  Tell me about it.”  Glen also complained and rubbed his lower back as he stepped over to a table where a chair seemed to be calling to him.  The table was full of papers, and three people, two men and a woman, who were working their way through some rather large files and typing furiously on computer consoles in their off moments.

            Glen sat heavily and ignored them all.  Bobbi and Alice came over to sit in comfortable chairs where they could watch him.  Bobbi only paused briefly to speak to the three at the table.  Lockhart followed them after a moment and brought his own chair with him.

            “I would say you all have some explaining to do.”  Alice spoke again as soon as she had a chance to breathe.

            “Actually, we know nothing about the Vordan.”  Bobbi responded.  “We do not even know if they are hostile.”

            “I imagine she is thinking of something else.”  Lockhart pointed at Glen.

            Alice agreed.  “Look, I get the Men in Black bit.  I saw the movie.  So we got aliens on the moon.  So I look good in black, but I am engaged.  Actually, all of this sounds like a show my fiancé would like, if only there was some football in it.  Anyway, I was talking about him.”  She also pointed at Glen.

            “That is a little more difficult to explain,” Bobbi said.

            “Is he an alien too?”  Alice asked.

            “No,” Bobbi said emphatically.  “He is one of us and that is what makes it so difficult.”

            “Not so hard,” Lockhart said as they watched Glen put his head in his hands.  Glen appeared to be mumbling to himself but was otherwise in his own little space.  They spoke around him. 

            “I tried Vordan under every possible spelling.”  One of the paper shufflers interrupted.  “All I can find is a reference that says see Gaian, but when I looked under Gaian it said, mind your own business.”

            Neither Bobbi nor Lockhart knew what to make of that, but there was a little chuckle from the cockpit, and Glen paused briefly in his introspection to grin.  “Keep looking.”  Bobbi decided, and Alice took the stage again.

            “Well?”  That was all she had to say.