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On the Jacket
A clot of Workblacks stood just inside the entrance to the starboard bay. A few of them had tools in their hands, which they seemed to be brandishing as weapons. A few of them shouted or lifted their tools, halfheartedly, but as Copeland and Spar Wing bolted down the corridor, they just stood there, clearly confused about why they were detaining their own commander.
The moment’s hesitation was all they needed. As they passed through the bay entrance, Harley reached out with his Druller’s and hefted Copeland. He pushed, and the both of them vaulted over the heads of the Workblacks. Mel, Jamie and Tai followed his lead, and before the clot of workers could react, they were all meters past them and landing at a full run on the catwalks beyond. The workers, now coming to the conclusion that something really was wrong, suddenly bellowed and took off after them.
Most of the ships they passed were bathed in the red spinning lights that indicated a lock-off condition. Spar Wing looked to Copeland, who shook his head.
“Don’t worry. It’s covered.”
They passed the small ships, through another bulkhead door, and into the bays where the larger ships were kept. Here again, red spinning lights were everywhere. But about four ships down, they saw that one bay was bathed in a steady blue.
“The Bolt? That’s the ship we’re leaving in?” Tai demanded.
“It’s a luxury shuttle!” Jamie added.
“It’s going to be a long trip,” Copeland replied. “Would you rather go in a lifepod?”
“Good point,” Jamie nodded.
As they approached, the main hatch to the Bolt suddenly cracked and slid open. “Get in!” Copeland cried out. “Prep her for immediate launch—”
A figure suddenly ran out from around another ship. Copeland almost fell backwards trying to stop his forward momentum. He struck the figure hard, and the two of them stumbled against the side of the shuttle. Spar Wing froze behind him, surprised as Copeland was at colliding into someone. Copeland tried to disentangle himself, then got a good look at whom he had run into.
“Kawa Feigan!”
“I thought I’d see you down here sometime soon,” she said, pushing Copeland back onto his feet. “As long as you’re planning to do what I was hoping to do anyway, we’ll give you cover.”
Copeland looked in the direction she indicated with a nod, and saw four men and women stepping onto the catwalk. They were all part of Kawa’s entourage, young gods and goddesses to travel with the Queen of the gods, but in contrast to their idyllic appearances, all of them seemed to be armed. Just behind them were Delores Ellis and Skate Wing, sizing up the bay as they approached, and choosing defensible positions.
Delores did not stop until she had reached Harley. She grabbed him by the shoulders, and asked, “Are you really going to do what Kawa thinks you’re going to do?”
The rest of Spar Wing ran into the shuttle, while Harley nodded at Delores. “Not going to talk me out of it, are you?”
“Probably too late for that,” Delores smiled. She reached up and kissed Harley on the cheek. Then the loud rattle of approaching footsteps caught her attention. She pushed Harley at the Bolt, and said, “Do us proud.”
She turned and joioned her partners, and Kawa’s entourage, squared off in the catwalk between them and the onrushing Workblacks, and began firing. Their sidearms spat tiny bolts of electric charges down the catwalk, and the first of the charging men suddenly cried out and fell to the deck. The ones behind stumbled into them, resulting in a clot of bodies and windmilling arms on the catwalk. None of the Workblack teams were apparently armed, and a few of them dashed back to find weapons, while a few of them threw their tools uselessly at the heads of Skate Wing and Kawa’s entourage.
Behind them, the Bolt’s engines came to life and slowly rose in pitch and volume. “We’ve got them here, Copeland,” Kawa said, pulling out a gun of her own. “I’d love to go with you, but someone’s got to keep my people from getting spaced after you leave.” She bent down and kissed Copeland full on the mouth. “Save Sol. Good luck.” Then she turned and stood beside her entourage, as more Workblacks charged down the catwalk...
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Sol: Innocent fun
Sometimes, when you write sci-fi, you just want to have fun. Sol is fun.
Once upon a time, sci-fi was different than it is today. We were more innocent. We didn't know how unlikely it was that there would be other humanoid civilizations out there. We thought, with a little applied technology, it would be easy to jump from system to system, in much the same way as we fly from country to country today. Everyone would be able to speak English to each other. We'd all be one big happy Federation, or Empire, or Republic, or whatever.
Today we're a bit wiser, and don't necessarily subscribe to such things. But on a basic level, many of us yearn for a simple universe, where life takes on a fairy-tale simplicity, and good stories can be told in a predictable setting. Sol is such a story.
Sure, you can point to Star Wars as inspiration for stories like this... but you should be looking further out than that. Even further than Star Trek. Try Perry Rhodan. Try Flash Gordon. Try Dan Dare.
Then look back inward, because this story also takes into account actual UFO folklore. It deals with the familiar realities of mixing cultures and languages, and the stratification that often results in multiple groups living under one flag. There are strange aliens with funny-sounding names, there are relationships, there is political intrigue, there is a race of humanoids descended from birds, and there's a cat with a yard-wide mouth hoping to take a bite out of someone.
But here's something you might not have expected: Man is not at the top of the alien heap. That's right, we're just one more race among dozens... and as it turns out, we're no great shakes. Except in one area: Building things. Yes, with our wonderful opposable digits, Man has proven that he can outbuild the best of them, and for that, we get the awesome title of "greasemonkeys to the stars!"
Yes, even "fluff" sci-fi shouldn't be that predictable. And Sol has plenty of surprises.
The Workblacks, the "go to guys" of my story, were originally conceived of in college: They represent the first line of space travelers, part explorer, part worker, part warrior, independent and resourceful. In short, textbook heroes. Even better, they're considered the underdogs of the story, members of a race that's looked down upon by most of the Union. And who doesn't love underdog heroes—especially when you know you're one of them? Like Berserker, Sol and the Workblacks are considered to be part of an open-ended series. Will more stories be written? It all depends on what responses I get from Sol. If you've got an opinion, please let me know.
See you in the funny papers.
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This book presents my pet theory for the likelihood of intelligent life in the galaxy (assuming there is such a thing):
Life can only evolve in systems that are hospitable, ie, the right temperatures, radiation levels, aggregation of chemicals, etc. The emergent galaxy was too chaotic for life, but as matter cooled and settled down, from the center outward, a range wherein conditions were good for life would have been created, and slowly radiate outward from the galactic center. Every arm of the galaxy has such a band.
Therefore, if there is life in the habitable range of one arm of the galaxy, it is likely that there will be life in every other arm in that same habitable range... a sort of "ring of life" region.
You want to search for alien life? Look within that ring for it...
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