Is Ubersite Still a Serious Writer's Forum (A Serious Story for Serious People) (639 hits)
Category: Science & EnvironmentalRating: 0.13 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by realpolitik (View user info) at 2008-06-04 19:36:27 EDT
Nathan awoke to a small cabin, dimly lit by soft red lighting characteristic of the ship's simulated six hour night cycle. With half a smile and forced optimism, he arose and moved into the sanitation area, groggily adjusting the settings for his morning shower.
Browsing through his options (or lack thereof) quickly, with his middle digit he haphazardly batted at the choices projected by the almost antique holographic device. "ultraviolet radiation, check." "genetic salve, check." He inserted his expensive salve container into circular port rather mundanely labeled "BODY WASHES." The freighter he was on did not stock the custom tailored hygiene amenities that were all but standard throughout the galaxy, and therefore Nathan was forced to bring his own assortment of washes and gels. With ire informed mostly by his recent awakening, he speculated in addition to being primitive, barbaric, and uncivilized to not stock sanitation chambers with such basic amenities, it was a downright health and hygiene hazard.
After all, genetic salves, soaps, and other present day cleanliness products did more than just clean, or wash, or rejuvenated. Not unlike its ancient cousin, soap; these gels accomplished far more than just washing the body and cleaning the skin. Rather, the newest brand of salve incorporated centuries of tried and true nanotechnology, using a hoard of microscopic robots to hunt down and destroy dangerous pathogens, bacteria, fungi, etc. while leaving the good organisms that were present on the surface of the body. These microscopic robots would, in turn, release trillions of nanoscopic machines which repair damaged DNA and destroy harmful viruses. The newest generation of genetic salves incorporated nanomachines which altered the genome to produce rapid growing cells which would help one better adapt to the environment that one is in. It was lucky he had remembered to pack his at the last minute. He skipped over the remaining shower options, pausing only on the last one - hot water - and decided to indulge himself in the archaic pleasure.
As he emerged from the shower, dripping wet, he occupied himself entirely by thoughts of the coming day. He had planned to do a little writing, letters to family and others from back home, and then spend the rest of his time reading the reports of either the surveyor, cultural anthropologist, or security expert he had hired. All in all, it was to be a dull, but full, day. Thus had he filled most of his days aboard the MV Walston Switch, a small transport vessel Nathan had chartered to ferry him and a few living necessities to claim possession of the ancestral property that had recently fallen under his charge.
He was unclear of the circumstances, or as to why it fell to him, but like almost everything in his family this responsibility was no doubt passing from one incompetent heir to another until nothing was left. No doubt he inherited it only because his more entitled relations had failed in their duties to it. Much more than a simple unfortunate trend in family history, failure and incompetence were now the status quo, what was expected of the family and their philosophy of life. All in all, it was quite tragic, for legend mentioned that this family had started off as nothing, and over the countless centuries had risen to quite a measure of prominence. Of course, this was just legend, concerning events millennia in the past. However, what is not legend is that over time, the illustrious and strong family tree began to whiter and die. Whether it was through malaise or ennui or some other unknown affliction, the tree no longer bore fruit and soon all the strong branches broke with age. Therefore, it fell to Nathan, a distant relative at best, to fulfill the responsibilities that so many of his lineage had been unable to do. He left the only home he had ever known to fulfill the obligations of relatives he had never even been so much as introduced to.
Consumed in his thought of duty, family, and of plans for the days ahead; Nathan haphazardly and distractedly searched for something in his cabin with which to dry his still damp body before he dressed. Unable to find anything either clean or suitable, he opted instead to drip dry - consoling himself with a mental reminder to acquire some towels from the ship stock room. As he was searching for something to dry himself with, he noticed that the small intercom transmission light on his desk was blinking red, signaling that someone was actively trying to reach him. He pressed it quickly with the palm of his hand. A green figure, about a foot and half tall, began to form amidst the clutter on the small cabin desk. The cabin lights dimmed to almost nothing and the figure began to speak,
"Mr. Tabelston . . ."
As the image became sharper and the resolution better, it became clear that the hologram was of First Officer Laura Shellie, the ship's navigation, communication, and weapon's officer. As was typical on small merchant vessels like the Walston Switch, her duty as the warden of the weapons was largely perfunctory. It would be extremely rare, even unthinkable, to encounter a shooting situation during the course of their dull transport missions. Her title was a reminder of the more uncivilized period in galactic history when there were no battle cruisers to enforce the laws of peace.
"Yes Ms. Shellie," Nathan replied taking care to hide his shame from the view of the hologram camera which would, were he to stand in front of it, project his nude visage in full view of everyone on the bridge.
"I can't quite see you . . . is everything okay with your camera?"
"Fine Ms. Shellie, fine, I just finished with my shower and . . .uh . . .you . . .uh . . .well, you've reached me at a bad time."
"Oh! I am terribly sorry," Laura, largely out of impulse, turned around and covered her eyes. Her hologram instantaneously mirrored her action and the tiny figure on the desk turned towards the wall with eyes covered. Laura knew that the position of her hologram was almost entirely irrelevant, Nathan would be no better hidden now that she was facing the wall; still, antiquated instincts of civility informed her posture.
"Just give me a second and I will through on something," Nathan quickly remarked as he searched the space out of the camera's range for something to cover himself with.
"Well, uh, anyways," FO Shelly continued to avert her eyes, "while we are here, I just thought I would let you know the lunch menu for today."
Nathan smirked. Both Laura and he had endured agonizingly long voyage of the Walston Switch long enough to realize that there would be only one thing for lunch - a brownish paste that contained all the vital nutrients necessary to sustain life. Just like the lack of salve in the shower, this kind of rough indifference was all he had come to expect from the Walston Switch and the majority of her crew.
"First on the menu is the time honored classic recipe of canard la orange. If you pardon my Latin."
Nathan ignored her butchering of the extinct language of French. He really didn't mind, after all, it was only used in academia, and even then, quite rarely. French, like many other inefficient languages, had died out in the middle of the Twenty-Fourth Century, eons ago; yet, it was preserved as an esoteric object of study for only a few professors.
"French, though I wouldn't worry about it," Nathan dryly corrected her.
"I always get those get those different ancient languages confused," said Laura
"You know, I remember reading somewhere that, contrary to popular belief, French and Latin didn't exist at the same time." Nathan mused aloud.
"Really?" Laura's voice hinted at her veiled curiosity suspended in disbelief.
"Oh, sure. French actually was a descendant of Latin . . . contrary to popular belief they never existed at the same time." Nathan distractedly remarked as he attempted to grab a dirty jumpsuit that lay on the floor just out of camera range. So focused was he on his effort to furtively obtain the dirty piece of laundry that he did not notice he was repeating, verbatim, what he had said earlier.
"Huh, so long ago seemed like they did." Ms. Shelly indifferently remarked.
"Next up is lobster bisque I take it?"
"How did you ever guess?" Laura lightheartedly replied.
During the three week trip, Nathan and Laura had gotten to know each other quite well, and made it a point to tease each other every morning. Lately, it had been about the food, or lack thereof. Although generally an introverted person who preferred thoughtful, subdued, intellectual conversation which centered wholly on his work; Nathan found himself enjoying the company of the ebullient, and often frivolous, Laura Shellie. At first, he had found it an annoyance to travel at such a slow pace, and pined for the luxury that a faster craft would afford; yet as the trip progressed Nathan was pleased to discover that there was some value in the company he was forced to keep. His deep introversion drove him to speculate that he had even undergone a measure of self edification - he was gaining the ability to relate to others in capacities that were entirely unrelated to his work. Secretly, he was beginning to count this trip to be a blessing.
Despite his lifelong qualms about forming friendships that were anything more than contractual business relationships, Nathan was beginning to find meaning in the relationship between Laura and himself. Although she technically was an officer on the ship he had chartered, he had begun to think of her not as a business partner or employee, but as a friend. Seven years his junior, initially he had found it hard to hold prolonged conversations with someone he viewed as both shallow and uninteresting. However, his cynicism had mellowed over time and he realized his initial assessment was perhaps precipitous. Science of the last millennia had made countless breakthroughs in lifesaving technology and now the standard lifetime hovered around three hundred years old. In the age where of "youth-in-a-bottle," people stayed young and active late into their "two eighty fives." Ergo, seven years was less than trivial from a maturity standpoint.
Standing five foot, six inches tall, with soft grey-blue eyes, and features which constantly bore an expression of youthful curiosity; FO Shellie did not have the appearance of someone working on a merchant vessel. Her russet hair was cropped so as to hang at her earlobes, yet she almost always had it pulled back into the sad beginning of a ponytail. She was in a constant battle with her auburn locks in an effort to stop them from escaping their pastel-ribboned-prison. It was a battle she was incessantly losing, and her long bangs fell around her face like tendrils of a forest vine.
She was a slender creature by virtue of the fact that she worked in a profession where malnutrition was common. On a merchant ship there was an implicit tradeoff between space for foodstuffs and room for cargo. Corporations would often pad their bottom line by converting the area for crew provisions into an extra cargo compartment. Similarly, companies would cut costs by buying, in bulk, nutrient paste or protein shakes rather than traditional "dish" fare. However, after a few months of eating brownish nutrient paste, most people develop an almost pavlovian visceral gag reflex. Often times just seeing a bottle of the vile stuff was enough to make some of the older members of the crew throw up. Therefore, it was company policy not to hire personnel without a gastro-intestinal PEG, an alternate means of introducing nourishment (especially the vile the nutrient paste) into the body. The procedure was as simple as it was archaic: a whole was drilled through the abdominal wall directly into the body of the stomach. The hole itself was fitted with a highly durable one way portal which could be temporarily sealed to the nozzle of the paste bottle. When it came time to "eat," one would simply fit the bottle into the whole and squeeze.
Unlike many, who hid their PEGs with embarrassment, Laura acted as if her's was a fashion accessory. She had custom tailored almost all of her uniforms so as to display the small stud-like device in the right quadrant of her abdomen. In her spare time, and on the Walston Switch time was plentiful, she occupied herself with altering and tailorin her uniforms into unique fashion statements. Today, it appeared that Ms. Shellie had taken an old forest green vest and had cut out an inverted "V" shaped portion in the front and rear so as to leave a sizeable portion of her abdomen (including her shining PEG) and lower back exposed. Over this, she donned a knee length blue officer's coat, replete with the traditional gold double bands along the shoulders and on the wrists. In defiance of company policy, she did not wear the cumbersome leggings assigned to her; rather, she had embroidered gold stripes onto a pair of blue performance synthetic exorcise pants. Finally, she donned a pair of thigh length officer's boots to complete the outfit. This is not to say that FO Shellie did not take her position seriously, for although Laura's appearance was deceptively youthful and her outfits creative, she was quite competent.
"Have you found anything to wear yet?" Laura teased Nathan.
"Not yet Ms. Shellie, but I will let you know as soon as I do." Nathan had broadened his search from "clean clothes" to "anything wearable" in an attempt to cover himself with something before the conversation concluded.
"You know what that means don't you?" Laura retorted.
"uhh . . . no?" Nathan realized the futility of his search even as he said this - the closet full of clean jumpsuits lay in full view of the camera. There was no way he was getting dressed before this conversation ended.
"It means today is laundry day," said Laura.
"hah, hah, very funny." Nathan facetiously remarked. He had contented himself to remain standing, dripping wet, to the side of the camera until he could safely make his way to the closet.
"Anyways, Captain Firestone wanted to speak with you whenever you got the chance." Laura said, adding quickly, "I know you can't find anything to wear, but try your hardest not to show up naked."
Nathan smirked and said, "I'll see you up on the bridge in a few minutes."
"Judging by today's tract record, I might not see you at all." Said Laura humorously.
Nathan playfully groaned. "You know how I hate puns."
"Aw, common, you know you love them." Retorted Laura sheepishly.
User Reviews
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2008-06-05 14:30:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Not awful, not great, but better than the average recent post.
A couple of suggestions:
a)Proofread. Proofread again. Read it to yourself out loud. Then post. The story was potentially good but the hindrances to readability made this hard to get through.
2) If you're going to drop scientific and medical concepts, research them well first.
Submitted by SkullBiter (user info) at 2008-06-05 13:45:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Not serious enough.
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2008-06-05 11:41:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Your title mixed in with your gratuitous spelling errors made me laugh.
Submitted by shadow (user info) at 2008-06-05 10:52:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
First: The obvious
and I will through on something <The spell checker lied to you>
(especially the vile the nutrient paste) <whoops>
a whole was drilled through <don't trust spell check>
fit the bottle into the whole and squeeze. <and again>
tailorin <oopsies>
There were a few others, but these were the ones that made my head tilt.
It seems like this could be a start to a good sci-fi, but the descriptions are too dry and too convenient. You've given the reader bits and pieces of back story that could either be introduced as needed over time, or left out completely. It also has the feel of spoon feeding; readers like to discover information as they read, not have it just laid out plainly in front of them (well maybe that's me, but I feel this lacks needed subtlety). It's obviously important for us to know that the main character's family had fallen from grace, but it was delivered so matter-of-factly that it almost seemed a boring detail, and didn't really fit as an aside in these character/ship introductions. Perhaps that could be addressed in the next chapter, giving more room in this piece for richer detail and better descriptions.
Also: PROOFREAD FTW
I think this has potential if cleaned up and revised.
Submitted by X54 (user info) at 2008-06-05 10:09:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I've always thought adverbs got a bad rap. I'd like to see more of them.
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-06-05 09:41:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What's with the sitty reveiws? I enjoyed this. My kind of story I suppose.
Although this was retarded...
"Just give me a second and I will through on something," - Surely he would THROW something on.
Submitted by anunusualyetwittyname (user info) at 2008-06-05 09:22:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm expecting that PEG thing to be the futuristic equivalent of Anal.
Submitted by czwij (user info) at 2008-06-05 08:00:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
too long for a ltd. N. American attn. span
srsly.
Submitted by pandora (user info) at 2008-06-05 00:53:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Realpolitik (user info) at 2008-06-04 19:37:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Last I remember there were some very assholish and talented people who offered terrific literary criticism. God I hope some of them are still here.
----------------------
Sorry, dude. We've been breeding incestuously since you were last here, and apparently "assholish" is a dominant gene.
Submitted by HateMudkips (user info) at 2008-06-04 23:22:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
stilted and too many commas. chop chop!
Submitted by HellRazer (user info) at 2008-06-04 22:07:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Needs more boobs
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2008-06-04 20:24:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Nathan ignored her butchering of the extinct language of French. He really didn't mind, after all, it was only used in academia, and even then, quite rarely. French, like many other inefficient languages, had died out in the middle of the Twenty-Fourth Century, eons ago; yet, it was preserved as an esoteric object of study for only a few professors.
+
POISSON IS NOT A FUCKING FISH.
also, you have some typo's.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-06-04 20:17:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
There's actually writing LONGER than THIS?
Good God...
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2008-06-04 20:06:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
NO. FUCK YOU, AND FUCK YOUR SHITTY, PRETENTIOUS WRITING. I'LL READ THIS SHIT LATER YOU COCK
Submitted by DaBeast (user info) at 2008-06-04 19:41:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
They died and I feasted on their entrails. A touch of garlick makes everything wunnerful! Welcome back!
Submitted by Realpolitik (user info) at 2008-06-04 19:37:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Ok, Here is the deal, this is part one of a much, much, much longer piece. I haven't been here in a while (like, since Bush had a decent approval rating) so I don't really know if the audience is still for serious writing. Last I remember there were some very assholish and talented people who offered terrific literary criticism. God I hope some of them are still here.