To celebrate Archon 35 this weekend, here's an extended excerpt from my latest science fiction tale, Unalone.
Unalone
by Cynthianna
Available from Devine Destinies Books
An excerpt from Unalone:
The dream wouldn’t go away. Calinda kept shaking her head and rubbing her eyes, but still the vision persisted. Oh, what the hell! If I’m dead and this is my version of the hereafter I’d better just relax and get used to it. . .
Seeing her long dead mother wasn’t the most upsetting thing about her hallucination. It was the fact that her mother was taking care of her, nursing her back to health in what appeared to be the remnants of her ship. Where had Mom learned to bandage and set broken limbs? Her mother had been a radio-astronomer, not a medic, and Calinda remembered her saying once how she couldn’t stand the sight of blood. Maybe in the years since her death she had taken on a new career in medicine?
Calinda blinked and rubbed her eyes again. This way lay madness! Her mother was dead, and, furthermore, if she wasn’t deceased how the hell did she get onto this deserted planetoid in the middle of God knows where? That—and a few dozen other pressing questions—needed immediate explanation.
Awkwardly lifting herself up from the makeshift bed, she collapsed with a cry of pain, tears flowing freely down her bandaged face.
“Don’t try to move, Cali,” the mother-image commanded. “Your neck isn’t broken but it’s severely bruised and there could be some other injury to your spinal cord I haven’t yet been able to determine.” “Mom?” Calinda heard herself feebly utter. “Is it really you?”
“Of course, dear. Who else could I be?”
With that the mother-image turned back to what she had been doing, assembling a portable shelter dome and air lock. Her mother a mechanic, too? The thought intrigued her. Her father had always been more of the handy-man.
Calinda blinked. Her eyes were playing tricks on her again. Where once stood her mother, now stood the image of her father. Turning forcefully from his assembly work, he barked in his all too familiar fashion:
“Lie down, girl! I told you there could be more extensive injuries. I have to get this dome together before I can attempt any more. . . any more healing.”
“Father?” she pleaded, “What are you dong here? You and Mom were killed in an explosion at Spacestation 12. I had your remains cremated and scattered over Alta-9 as your will requested. I—”
“Be still! Or will I have to put you over my knee like I did when you were little?”
Calinda immediately obeyed. This has to be my father. No one else besides me and Mom knew how he believed in that ancient method of punishment.
Eyes closed, but acutely aware of the image’s every movement, she summoned the energy and courage to speak once again.
“You still haven’t answered by questions, Father, if I may call you that?”
“You may,” it replied without taking its attention from the task at hand. “Hmm—I’m not too certain where this little bit goes.”
So it wasn’t infallible whatever it was. “Bring it over here. I may be able to help. I once had to use one of those things when our all-terrain transport broke down on Daros-2.”
The father-image laid aside the troublesome piece and approached slowly. Calinda’s fear became engulfed by a luminous mist.
I had not seen that memory before—the trip to Daros-2. I see how the parts fit together now.
What is happening to me? Calinda cried, the thoughts echoing in her mind. I don’t see anything but the mist, but I hear a voice speaking to me? It isn’t my father or my mother….
Do not worry, Calinda. I will not harm you. The voice is mine—or what your mind interprets to be a voice since I have no vocal apparatus. I could only grasp a minute amount of knowledge for the preservation of your species on my world while you lay unconscious, but now that you are awake perhaps I will be able to discover more.
Who—or what—are you?
I am the mist, Calinda. It is beyond my current capability to explain further. Rest assured that when I have fully grasped the complexities and nuances of your communication process I will reveal all that I am to you. It would be better that you sleep now. Your body is healing and will be for some time.
She forced herself to stay alert, but the fatigue quickly overwhelmed her. How can I sleep? I’m alone on a strange planet, dying for all I know, and this strange disembodied voice is telling me to relax! I have to know more! I need more information. . .
Know this then: You are not alone. I am here. I am your friend.
Unalone available in e-formats at Devine Destinies:
Space cargo pilot Calinda crash lands on a desolate world during an intra-galactic conflict. Bitter and injured, she doesn’t expect to live long enough to be rescued. Then she encounters a strange non-corporeal being who can mimic anyone she imagines—who reads her secret thoughts and loves her as she is. But can loner Calinda truly come to accept what it means to become “unalone”?
Chip-chip! Cheerio! We're off on an African safari... Not quite! Keep reading to see where these wonderfully costumed individuals are up to.
Steampunk takes on the science fiction genre from a sort-of-Jules Verne or H.G. Wells point of view. These photos were taken recently at the first annual Steamposium convention. This shot shows Captain (Professor) Theophilus Saxe admiring a bit of steampunk ingenuity at the City Museum in St. Louis, Missouri. "Marvelous stuff!" cried the professor. What does it do? We haven't a clue!
Baron Von Bar demonstrated his portable refreshment device. Quite interesting. I can imagine it would be very popular at fraternity parties and spring holidays for collegiate types.
Professor Saxe stands proudly at the gates. Pith helmets and paramilitary garb seems to work well within the steampunk genre. (And it just plain looks good while standing next to an example of Victorian architecture.)
The professor enjoyed a ride in a Victorian "lift" even while it was grounded at the architectural display at the City Museum.
Who you going to call when you have Victorian era ghosts? You know who--Ghostbusters Steampunk style!
You can never how too many brass bits on your head. Never at a steampunk tea party!
These charming gentlemen were typical of your steampunk enthusiast. Extremely bright and creative, you can see that our gent in the red waistcoat doesn't let the 9 pound mechanical arm resting on his shoulder frighten him away.
Because, after all, steampunk is a fun activity for the whole family--right down to the youngest explorer in the group. The professor and I certainly had a good time at Steamposium and can't wait until we can don our pith helmets and brass goggles once more.
