The photographers of Unsplash.com provided me with a great collection of photos for Part 2 of Frasier Armitage’s “The Voice of Beasts,” a Sci Fi story set on the planet called the Globe.
Insect Legs
It loomed from the ground like a mountain in itself, its landing gear propping it on insect legs. Photo by Lynn Kintziger.
Lynn Kintziger shot this great photo of the belly of an airplane. She does not share the details of the photo or the airplane. I’m guessing it’s a jet airplane and probably a large passenger or freight plane because of the number of tires. I’ve wondered if this airplane is right off the assembly line because its tires are so new. If you look closely, you can see the vent spews, the tiny rubber “hairs” on the tires, that show a tire is brand new.
To prepare this photo for use in Part 2 of “The Voice of Beasts,” I cropped off the tires to strengthen the impression that Capt. Ward’s landing craft sits on “insect legs,” as described by Frasier in his story.
Lynn, who hails from Diekirch in Luxembourg, likes to take travel, nature, landscape and architecture photos. You can find more of her photos at unsplash.com/@lkintziger.
Fernando Paredes Murillo shot this immaculate image of a climbing sand dune under a brilliant, blue sky. He shot the image in Erg Chebbi, Merzouga, Morocco. Fernando, who hails from London in the United Kingdom, loves taking mountain, sky, and outdoor photographs. You can find more of his work at unsplash.com/@ferparmur.
The photographer who simply goes by DDP shot this photo of a flame shooting from a furnace in Murat, Cantal, France. DDP lives in Murat and shoots most of their photos in that area. DDP loves taking photos of forests, winter, skies, and hiking. You can find more of DDP’s photography at unsplash.com/@moino007.
Rave
Whitehall was alive with expectation, a city brought to life by whispers of what might lie beyond its walls.Photo by Alexander Popov.
Alexander Popov captured this fun rave in Moscow, Russia. Alexander shoots Moscow street photography and loves urban, club, and night photography. You can see more of his work at unsplash.com/@5tep5.
Table
She tilted her head towards the cacophony of voices ringing from the table behind her.Photo by Nils Stahl.
Nils Stahl captured this elegant table setting, which set the scene for Lorenzo and Ros’s dinner in Whitehall. Nils is a young photographer who hails from Stuttgart, Germany. Nils loves nature and outdoors photography featuring plants and water. You can find more of Nils’s photos at unsplash.com/@nilsjakob.
Blast
People who started shouting their mouth off might find themselves catching a blast.Photo by Daniel Stuben.
Daniel Stuben shot this intriguing image of a man cocking a pistol. (See what I did there with “shot”?) Although this figure seems menacing, he is actually a softari player in Teplá, Czech Republic. Daniel hails from Bavaria, Germany and enjoys nature, Airsoft and cycling photography. You can find more of his photography at unsplash.com/@dxstub.
Then his uncle dies and leaves him an inheritance. Ursula’s idea of financial management? “We can blow it on a roulette wheel and act all fancy-pants for once in or lives.”
At first, all Ursula wants is a new caravan trailer with the built-in transmitters so she can watch more channels. But Duncan likes his caravan.
A broker talks Duncan into investing in the “celestial market.” And Duncan finds himself the owner of a distant solar system. He’ll never see it in person. It’s thousands of light years away from Earth. And the tolls through all other owned space to get there are exorbitant.
But the young broker promises him an investment “guaranteed to increase your wealth.”
“In the next few years, whatever you buy isn’t going to be on the edge of space anymore. . . . That means it’s guaranteed to increase in value.”
Once the money’s invested, Duncan figures he won’t see a return for at least 20 or 30 years. That’s too bad for Ursula, who needs to pay a deposit to be the next new star on Real Caravan Wives.
But Duncan’s investment pays off much sooner than expected. Intelligent life forms from his solar system arrive . . . . on Earth. And the next thing he knows, Duncan is seated between the President and an alien delegation.
Unlimited wealth and unlimited alien tech? What could go wrong?
I recommend this clever story about a loveable loser thrown into the deep end of interstellar dealings. It’s smart and engaging. You don’t want to miss laugh-out-loud funny scenes. Duncan hires a no-money-up-front lawyer to negotiate the biggest deal in Earth’s history. And then Duncan invites the squid-like Bakchu to his caravan trailer for dinner and serves up spaghetti.
The Circle of Champions, the winners of my monthly writing contests, bring forth another great Sci Fi story collaboration.
The Orb
A Circle of Champions collaboration story
Jim Hamilton, who won my October Contest, took on the challenge of writing a story in five parts with two other champions, Katherine Shaw and S. Songweaver. Each writer will write a segment of 500 words or less. Jim started the story below, and he’ll also write Part 3 and Part 5.
Each Friday, I’ll bring you a new segment, and we’ll see how this the story progresses. And we’ll see if Jim can bring it home with a big finish. I know he can.
The Orb
Part 1 by Jim Hamilton
It was five o’clock on a Saturday morning when Elizabeth and Robert Tanwell were rudely awakened by a pounding on their front door.
“Who the hell can that be at this hour?” asked Betty. She nudged her husband. “Go see who it is, Bobby.”
“I will, honey,” he said, getting out of bed and drawing on his bathrobe. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
As Bobby descended the stairs, the pounding continued. “I’m coming!” he yelled, as loudly as he could. When he reached the door, he peered through the peephole and was surprised to see a policeman and a man in a dark gray suit staring back at him. He unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. “Good morning, officers, what can I do for you?”
The middle-aged gentleman in the suit regarded Bobby with piercing eyes. “Are you Robert Marris Tanwell?”
“Yes, sir, that would be me.”
Holding up several folded sheets of paper, he handed Bobby one of them. “You are hereby under arrest for felony theft, including breaking and entering a government facility.” He handed Bobby another set of papers. “This is a warrant allowing us to search the premises for any evidence involved in the afore-mentioned crime.” He handed Bobby the last of the papers. “And this is a warrant authorizing the freezing of any assets you may have.” He nodded at the uniformed policeman. “Officer Wilmington here will take you into custody.”
The officer spoke up. “Please step out of the house and face the street, sir.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!”
Dazed, Bobby complied and became aware of the numerous vehicles that lined his driveway. Within seconds, a menacing-looking, riot-gear-clad squad rushed past him into the house. As the officer brought Bobby’s arms behind him and fastened them with handcuffs, Bobby swore he could hear Betty screaming over the policeman’s words.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” He turned Bobby around to face him. “Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!” Bobby protested. He looked at his house, searching for Betty. “What about my wife?”
The officer repeated, “Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?”
“Yes, yes, I do.” Bobby shook his head, “I think I want a lawyer now.”
Without replying, the policeman led Bobby to a marked SUV and opened the rear door. “Watch your head.”
Before climbing in, Bobby turned once more toward the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Betty, but there was still no sign of her. As the door closed behind him, he wondered what he had gotten himself into. One thing he knew for sure, it had to be something to do with that alien artifact he had found in his backyard two weeks ago.
October Contest: I’ll be announcing the October contest soon! (Probably next Monday.)
I started the story below, and see how seamlessly Frasier picked it up after the red line and gave it his own twist!
But this is Frasier’s moment, so enjoy the story!
Hello, Universe!
Jess leaned back in the blue, plastic Adirondack chair on the back deck. It was a kids chair and he had almost outgrown it. But it was the only chair that allowed him to tilt his head back to look at the stars.
Tunes from the 1960s purred from the outdoor speaker. His Mom kept the family speakers on a steady rotation of “decades” music going back seventy years.
They lived in the suburbs. With light pollution, Jess knew he wasn’t even seeing half the stars up there. But this summer, with all the bad news online, he found himself escaping to the quiet of the back deck and looking at the starry sky.
In school, he had read about the Civil War and the Holocaust and the Civil Rights Movement and a bunch of other depressing stuff. And then his grandfather had died. Jess and his grandfather were not close, but everyone went to the funeral and everyone cried. Even Jess cried.
Sometime that summer, Jess realized everyone else in his family would die. Not anytime soon. Probably not, anyway. But, eventually, his parents would grow old and die. And, eventually, Jess would also grow old and die. And if he ever had kids, they would grow old and die. Someday, everyone Jess knew would be dead.
It sucked.
Staring up at the night sky made him feel small and a little scared. It never used to before. But when he was little, he didn’t know how much empty space was really up there. And how tiny the Earth really was.
Last week and the week before he had stared up at the stars.
Maybe, he had thought, it would be OK to die as long as I’m remembered. Maybe I could get famous like Elvis or Beyonce. So famous that no one would ever forget me.
Jess had thought about that for a couple of weeks. He would have to be really famous to be remembered in two million years. Like Hitler famous. And he didn’t want to be evil. He remembered seeing photos of the gas chambers and shuddered.
In two million years, the wind might even wear down the Great Pyramids and the even the pharaohs of Egypt would be forgotten.
Words floated from the speaker on the dark, night air.
Words are flowing out like
Endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
It was “Across the Universe” by the Beatles. His Dad loved the Beatles. All of the Beatles were dead.
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
Are drifting through my opened mind
And that’s when the idea struck Jess. He rummaged through the junk drawer and found a penlight. He sat back in the kid-size Adirondack and shone the light into the sky.
Dad was an engineer and he knew lots of science. He said light beams were made of photons. In space, photons just keep traveling forever–travel at the speed of light, Dad said–unless they hit something. Like a planet or a star.
Jess sent the weak beam of light into space. He clicked the light on and off. If he knew Morse Code, he could send a message on a stream of photons into space. And if that beam never ran into a star or a planet, it would travel forever. Unlike the pyramids, it would never be worn down by wind or time.
The next day Jess bought a brand new flashlight–the most powerful one he could afford at the big box hardware store. That night on the deck, he sent coded messages into space. He looked up Morse code on his phone and shot off the messages in different directions into the sky.
Hi
I am here
My name is Jess
Im alive
I dont want to die
Never forget me
. . .
Halfway through high school, Jess had learned enough about lasers to build his own high-powered laser from a kit. He even got his Dad to help mount it on the roof. Mom thought he was crazy, but Dad was into science stuff and thought it was a cool project.
Jess studied star charts and learned how to aim his laser using the computer in his room. He sent coded messages into the night sky almost every night. He aimed the laser into the empty stretches between stars, nebulae, and galaxies to give his messages the best chance of flying forever through space.
No human would ever see them. Racing at the speed of light away from the Earth, no human could ever catch up with them to capture the light and decode it.
And what alien would ever know how to decode Morse code? Or care to try?
But Jess knew that his coded messages racing through space would last longer than even the Earth itself. Eventually, the sun would supernova and the Earth and the Moon and every human landmark in the Solar System would be absorbed, melted, obliterated. But Jess’s small, silent, staggered rays of light would live on.
Forever.
. . .
In college, he studied engineering and physics, trying to decide which way to go. Both were incredibly tough. Jess had programmed the computer in his bedroom at home to aim the roof-mounted laser at the emptiest reaches of space. He had saved hundreds of different coded messages and each night, his computer sent the messages into space.
He was so busy at school, he forgot about the laser most of the time. And, miracle of miracles, he finally had a girlfriend!
But when he came home on breaks, he checked the laser on the roof. He cleared the dead leaves away, wiped the lens, applied another coat of water proofing. He checked his sky maps and scheduled some new programs to run when he was away. At night, sitting on the deck, he thought up new messages to send.
Hi
I am Jess
This message will outlast everyone
The pharaohs
The presidents
Taylor Swift
BTS
Remember me
Jess was not trying to reach anyone out there. He never thought to try to look for replies to his messages. Besides, detecting a laser reply from space would be quite a trick. That would take more physics, engineering and money than he had.
So it was merely by luck that he was sitting on the back deck after graduation, drinking a beer and peering up into the sky, that he saw it.
A single star blinked a rhythm of dots and dashes, over and over, like ocean waves. Jess’s beer crashed on the deck, spilling between the planks. He scrambled for his phone and recorded a video, pointing to the heavens, and muttering the words that flickered in clumsy Morse.
Hi Jess
Its grandpa
Dont worry
Everything will be alright
Jess staggered backwards and flipped his camera. He garbled something about his grandfather’s funeral and uploaded it to the Web.
Twenty likes.
Fifty likes.
Three hundred.
Eight thousand.
Within ten minutes, more than a million views ticked across the screen.
Was this really happening?
All he could think about were the lyrics to that Beatles song, stuck on repeat.
Images of broken light Which dance before me like a million eyes They call me on and on across the universe
His phone shuddered. Unknown number.
Jai Guru Deva, Om Nothing’s gonna change my world Nothing’s gonna change my . . .
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Jess Dawson?” A voice sharp as gravel crunched down the earpiece.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Grant Knox, FBI. We’re sending a chopper for you.”
In the distance, a low rumble carried across the sky. Jess shook his head. “A chopper? Why?”
“For your protection, Jess. We saw your video. Half the world’s seen it by now. You’ve no idea how long we’ve been trying to make contact.”
“Contact? With who?”
“You’d best pack some things. We need to get you secure.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re about to go down in history, Jess. People will be talking about this forever.”
“About what?” Jess looked at the sky. The flashing dots.
Dont worry
Everything will be alright
I hope you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction that Matthew and Frasier wrote together. It was a fun collaboration!
For more fun endings to this story, look for some honorable mention finalists in a separate blog post later this week. And next week, we’ll reveal the October Contest story beginning and the new prize!
Finally, if you enjoyed Frasier’s prize-winning ending, please make sure to share some kind comments below.
