Tag: Mystery
2011 Day 18 a Servo from Upper City in my novel “Mentor”
2011 Day 18 a Servo from Upper City in my novel “Mentor”
Servo a small utility hover craft that responds to the voice commands of the person who has activated it. Servos can be made of components and schematics normally available at any replicator outlet if there is also sufficient bio synth available. Components can be swapped out for other components. Servo components can also be modified through modification of the schematics, creating a new schematic. Only tech class citizens have the proper identification protocols to use a Servo, as without the necessary instruction they could be dangerous.
Servo components include laser modules that can be fine tuned by degree to range between high out put for boring holes in metal, to low out put for use as a pointing device, or a safety beacon. In the case of the safety beacon the component can be detatched from the main body of the Servo an placed where needed. It is not advised to do this however until the piece has been keyed down to low level, wide beam laser.
Another potentially dangerous component in a Servo is the sonic burst. If set too high it has the capability to rupture delicate biological parts as well as sensitive electronic equipment. Although it is rarely considered useful a microwave attachment can also be replicated for this device.
Servos can be created with varying classes of artificial Intelligence, Class A being the highest and most autonomous. Class E will follow instructions to the letter and will never make executive decisions in the circumstance where it’s owner has lost the capacity to do so, though this never occurs under the watchful eye of the MAICS.
Servos utilize standard rechargeable power packs, but have the access to othe components to pwer them. These are 1) a small extendable land line with AG 291b power connector, and 2) any number of solar collection devices (see Document LZ429006: Servo Schematics and Components).
Servos can range in size from six inches (used for comm and memory tasks) to thirty-six inches in diameter(for heavy manual labour, such as remodelling walls and hauling components and other equipment. The largest Servos require that the operator be a Tech Class C or higher. Apprentices do not have the appropriate protocols and may not engage the use of the larger (class E or D) servos, for their own safety and the safety of others.
Often, a high level Apprentice Tech will be given a specialised servo upon reaching a high standard of excellence in the profession. This is usually at the descretion of the Master Tech, and is a source of healthy competition among apprentices. The servo as a prize for excellence is a valuable incentive to maintain highest standards of workmanship and safety.
See the list of Servo Schematics and Components available to the various Tech classes in Document LZ429006: Servo Schematics and Components.
2011 Day 17 Bracha of Lower City from my Novel “Mentor”
Bracha
Mentor: A science fantasy adventure, by J S Rowe
Bracha, cook and herbalist for the tribe had been cooking slither since before Tarou’s father was born.
In a small tribe like that of the people of Under City, it helps for everyone to know the rudiments of most of the tasks, and to be able to excel at more than one. Bracha was the head cook and herbalist, but he was also a great hunter, or was so in his prime. He took great pride in his hunting accomplishments, and told and retold storied of his own prowess with great relish, but his greatest pride was in his cooking. He himself had learned at the chopping slab of R’eshka of the one thumb, who had passed to the gods finally only a few years ago. He missed her. She had been a daunting tutor, but because of that he had never yet, as he liked to joke, poisoned anyone and had even made things like Slither meat palatable. And the breads he conjured from the flour of local seeds couldn’t be improved upon.
He always had a gaggle of children helping him out and learning the ways of herbs and their uses in cooking and healing, though a number of them were often just in the way and under foot. But he was used to it, and welcomed all comers. Just make sure those inconsiderate hunters are careful where they drop the carcasses. That was all he asked. This was always said with a smile too. For as much as he loved to teach and to cook he loved to tell funny stories and share a good belly laugh.
2011 Day 14 a scut, creature from UnderCity in my novel “Mentor”
A scut
Scut: an arachnoid creature with ten to twelve legs holding suspended a fleshy flattened ovoid cylinder of a body. Bulbous glossy black eyes on short stalks on top of the body draw the attention away from the cutting jaws and sucking mandibles underneath.
The body itself is fairly soft but the legs are hard chitin and can be pulled up and over the soft body to protect its self. Scuts will not attack a moving target. They are scavengers really but they have been know to attack the wounded, basically to feed on them.
They prefer to nest in the higher reaches of Under City laying their trap webs to catch the unwary Flitbirds that also nest up there. In turn the Flitbirds often feast on the flesh and ichor of the scuts. Turn about being fair play in the war to survive.
Often one of the multitudinous scuts will fall off their high nests to the ground very very far below. If they can get their legs into the defensive mode they may even survive the fall.
The scut pictured has been attacked by a predator and has lost some of its limbs, which are now regenerating. Often an injured scut will not survive, especially if it is immobilised, as its brethren will make short work of it.
Nothing goes to waste in the UnderCity.
Gibbi of UnderCity from my Novel, “Mentor”
Gibbi
Her full name Gibbil’ananat means ‘left by the gods’, as Gibbi was found as a newborn along with her dead “Lost One” mother. It was a miracle the child was alive, for there are many things in the shadows of the Under City that would relish the taste of such a morsel, and had many times in the history of the people. It was thought that the mother died form wounds received protecting her babe. The miracle child was still strapped to the mother’s breast and able to keep itself alive on it’s mother’s milk for days. The proof of this was the amount the child had defecated by the time she was found. The people often teased her about her origins in the tribe by calling her Nissi, which is short for a’lini’sanis. Which means born from the shit of the gods.
This Gibbi took with humour and equanimity like most things. But it was felt that she was marked somehow, and that the reason for this would show itself someday. And “Nissi” became even more apt when she began to play with muds and ichor from the beasts of UnderCity to make pictures on the stone walls around them. Strange pictures and sometimes portraits of the people. But by then she had been Gibbi for so long that no one insisted she change her name.
After she turned eight she was brought before the Seer, who blessed her arts. And though the Seer said naught, she kept her eye on the girl and learned much from her picture making.
Renala of Upper City from My Novel “Mentor”
Renala loves to dance.
Renala seems like a vague kind of person. The kind that sees all but wishes she didn’t and who emotionally sweeps things under the rug that she doesn’t want to deal with. She is thin and pale, her eyes are a very pale watery blue. She has almost a ghost like quality that makes people uncomfortable around her. She is apologetic to a fault, if that is at all possible, and she tends to move quietly often inadvertently sneaking up on people and startling them.
But she has a passion for literature, history, and the latest fashions (even if they don’t suit her very well). she tries to instill in her dead sister’s child a sense of propriety and the position of her father the Governor, but the girl goes her own way. Renala wants to control everything in her life so that it can’t hurt anyone.She feels safer knowing that MAICS and the Grid are always watching to ensure everyone’s safety.
The only time Renala loses her inhibitions a little is when she dances. She loves music that makes her body move and she loses some of her self-consciousness and her timidity.
She is so far the opposite of her more vivacious and outgoing sister that people often make jokes that they were actually cousins. Only in that context “cousins” can often mean “someone mated with a lesser being –probably a Synth”, and would be accompanied by a snicker. Renala is not unaware of these snide put-downs of her mother by the petty snobs of society. And sometimes a hint of a more complex Renala surfaces.
Meldsen, Tech Master from My Novel “Mentor”.
~~~
Meldsen
Meldsen is the Tech Master for Upper City in my novel “Mentor”. He plays a key role in that he is Phipp’s immediate superior, and that he alone is responsible for the smooth functioning of everything that makes Upper City the sparkling vivaceous, comfortable and above all safe home of its human citizens. He’s even been know to go out of his way to repair areas of the City that are populated mostly by Nons and Synths.
He’s a gruff, no-nonsense old guy who still has a few tricks up his sleeve and he sees some things that others might not like to know he sees. But he also knows how to keep his mouth shut.
He dislikes the finery and pageantry that people and the media and corporations keep trying to foist on him. He’s a plain man. He wears the robes when he has to, and weilds his magic when he must or when he has a point to make. But mostly, he and his boys wander in the Labyrinth that is the maze of tech tunnels all woven around and through the MAICS (the Master Artificial Intelligence Computer System) and the City itself.
Without his guidance, and the help of his heirarchy of apprentices there would be no more holos, replicators, food, clothing, and worst of all no more Grid. So when he begins to find anomalies in the MAICS code, and weapon grade lasers substituted for harmless pencil lasers in an exercise droid, he begins to count his assets, among them Phipp (see #8- previous sketch and writeup), and a handful of Synth engineers under his tutelage. Perhaps together they can cross the heaving social bounds and prevent catastrophe.
#9 – The Neb
This is probably one of the only characters that won’t have a design to accompany it (I say that now, 9 characters in, so we’ll see).
This is the fourth character I’ve created that is based on my wife, so it’s grouped with the Michelles. Michelle has a nosy side, one that you wouldn’t really know unless you were with her 24/7 and lived with her. She hates surprises, and Christmas and birthdays are the most annoying holidays because of this. Whenever she’s being nosy, she calls it being “nebby,” which I guess is a Western Pennsylvania way of putting it. When I told her I was going to do create five characters based on her, she said, “Well, you have to do one that spotlights my annoying traits, too,” and this is that character. I’d apologize, but she kinda had this coming.
The Neb (Christine Schumaker) is ostensibly a detective, key word being “ostensibly.” She works for a private investigations firm…in the records department. Meaning she has access to a lot of files…files she shouldn’t be looking through during her lunch hour. However, Christine’s nosiness has actually been an asset to the company. Due to her nebbiness, she has actually saved a few lives from Death Row, and overturned a few “open-shut” cases. It’s a good thing she’s such a yenta…
Design wise, I see her looking like my wife, with a raincoat and some kind of fashionable shoes. She carries a magnifying glass, but it’s mostly for show. She’s the Jessica Fletcher of the mid-thirties set.
Phipp, Tech Apprentice, Upper City from my Novel “Mentor”
~~~
Phipp plays a key role in my novel “Mentor”. His technological skills border on the magical, even for the relatively computer dependent and decadent Upper City Citizens. He just has a way with computers and code, and inherited tools and skills passed down through his family for generations.
And a good thing, too. His family was responsible for the health and repair of the MAICS, the Master Artificial Intelligence Computer System, that controlled not only all services inside the bubble that was Upper City, but also the Grid which connected every one to everyone else.
Things have been going seriously wrong with MAICS lately. Anomolies showing up in the code, replicators not creating perfect copies, changes in communications. It was Phipp’s job as apprentice to see troubleshoot any physical problems with MAICS, but somehow these problems seems to be more than just a melted core, or a board crumbling with age. MAICS was getting old, yes. But… Could someone be trying to sabotage it?
When Phipps begins to investigate, he find much much more than he bargained for.
A Squeeb, from my Novel “Mentor”
The Squeeb are a large (about two feet long not counting the tail) rodent-type creature that proliferates in the UnderCity. They are intelligent, loyal and best of all, tameable as pets and hunters.
Note: I might post more about these creatures later. I’ve run out of time for today. Sorry.
A Slither, a monster from my novel “Mentor”
Mentor: A science fantasy adventure, by J S Rowe
Slither
These reptilian predators were thought at first to be those that escaped from the BioSynth transport container that was delivering a shipment of designer DNA “snakes” to the Ancient Wonders Theme Park. That BioSynth container had been derailed by a small earthquake which opened up a large sinkhole that swallowed parts of two buildings as well as the part of the stasis tube that separated them. The container crashed through the tube and shattered itself on the ground, releasing it’s charges to the wilds. There were six “snakes” as they were dubbed, though no one had a description other than they would grow to be up to four feet long and eight to twelves inches in diameter. Thought to be engineered to be sterile, Ancient Wonders was sent another batch fresh from the Vats by way of compensation, and the lost snakes became no more than an entry in a ledger subtracting their cost in engineering and bio mass from the main stores and the profit and loss paras.
But as usual nature has its own commitment to keep regarding the viability of her creatures whether conjured through evolution itself or by the helpful hand of intelligent monkeys. Some how they did manage to breed, and along the way, grew legs and claws, four of them, and grew to a much larger size than predicted and spread themselves through out the Under City.
Under City inhabitants hunted them to keep their numbers down and found that their meat was very tasty as long as the creature was fully bled at its death, and as well, that it’s venom was a useful numbing agent for practical medical applications. Once a way was found to pierce the scales, those too were found to be useful for both ornamentation, and protective coverings.
The Slither prefers the darkness, hunting its prey by smell. The poison secreted from long sacs on either side of the head, paralyses the prey of the Slither instantly. Though it looks clumsy and somewhat comical, it is lightning fast and deadly. The unhinged jaw can open wide enough to swallow a fully grown Wamba bear, but it’s preference is for the tender flesh of babies and young humanoids, and any other smallish mammals.
Tarou of Undercity from my Novel “Mentor”.
A rock painting of the hunter, Tarou, attributed to Gibbi the Seer painted in her youth.
Tarou: A young man of burning intensity. Wary, incredibly strong and yet still fast and agile in spite of his size and bulging muscles. Sometimes huge slabs of grey stone would fall from high above. Once, Tarou lifted one of these slabs to rescue the contents of the storage hut that had been crushed beneath it. He was very strong. The strongest in the tribe. But he was also smart. He could quickly size up any situation and then act upon his conclusions. Sometimes the conclusions were wrong, as where Marnal was concerned, but where danger threatened, or when new tactics were needed on a hunt, he was more often right. The packs that he led on hunts always returned, to a man or woman, not always whole or with all their limbs, but alive to hunt another day. And always returned with that for which they had gone out to hunt. And as he grew in stature and aged into his first manhood, there were fewer and fewer casualties. In this he had more and more of the awe and respect of the tribe.
Tarou was considered the best hunter the tribe had ever had and was therefore in line for the leadership. That was something he wasn’t sure he wanted. But the present leader was still young and had all his digits, so that decision could be put away for now. That being the case he couldn’t help being a little full of himself. A little arrogant, though always respectful to the elders. This showed mostly in his pursuit of the woman of his choice. Marnal. She was perfect for him. She matched him in every way and one day she would realise it and stop this silly holding him at bay, putting him off. Pretending that she had no interest in bedding with him. No matter. He was patience itself. Though he wasn’t adverse to pushing her a little. She always gave as good as she got. He’d love to experience that passion under the skins of their own hut someday.
He smiled inwardly at the thought. He rarely let others know his inner feelings, though his actions usually spoke louder than his expressions. Yes, he was pleased with the way things were going, with Marnal as his constant companion, even though she never sought him out. She sought the company of no man. Likely this was to reduce the jealousies that her kind could induce in a well balanced hunting team. He was aware that there was no other man in the tribe who could stand up to him in either appearance, strength, or wit. And Marnal. She was all business all the time. She was focused and quick witted and though not as strong as he (how could she be? She was a female!) But she used her wit to advantages that strength alone couldn’t match.
Then there was the rock painting that little Gibbi had made of him. She had mixed ash and ichor and had stroked it deftly onto a piece of the black rock that lay under every part of his world. It was a special honour to be chosen as subject for one of her paintings. She had done something unusual with the eyes. Not unpleasant, but strange, that made the subject look both determined and intense. Was that how he looked to others? Still it pleased him like so many things did. He was pleased and yet there were stirrings of unease in him, as if a change were coming, bringing the unknown hurtling down upon them like a falling slab of grey rock.
Day# 30 MobU and Stats, robot symbiotes
#30 MobU+Stats, robot symbiotes for Wheeler's Orbits by Jande Rowe
“Days like this make me think I was manufactured under a bad sign.” ―C-3PO.
#30 MobU & Stats, Robot Symbiotes
You might be forgiven if at first glance you think there are two robots in this artist’s sketch of Stats and MobU (pronounced “Mow’bew”). And in one fairly obvious way you would be right. They look separate, though MobU can attach itself to Stats’ head piece once the antenna has been retracted. But they were created in fact as a single unit. Though if Stats‘ personality splits any further, there may be a true dichotomy.
Wheeler and Ikey assembled Stats when they were kids from parts scavenged from the local industries on their home planet of Foglio IV, many of which were experimental, some of which were top secret. That may have been the reason why Stats often had memory failures. It may account for the fact that the robot could spout statistics about things that Wheeler or Ikey had never even heard of. It also may be why he or uh.. lets just call it “he” for now, since it, uh… he has just achieved a conscious state of sentience for the first time in over a decade –Well its system combination of CPU [Central Processing Unit] and HMC [HoloMemoryCore] had. Consciousness had been hard-wired in by a series of bizarre accidents, perhaps even before Wheeler dug the logic core out of the recycle bin. Then again, with Wheeler’s luck, not to mention timing, and total lack of training, the boys might have had a little to do with the personality, or… Personalities, that emerged. But to all intents and purposes Stats had finally been delegated to a dark corner of the jet park cubby-hole the last time he had a memory failure. Wheeler wasn’t that interested in statistics anyway, though Ikey got a bit of a kick out of them. By this time he was frustrated by the breakdowns, and he and Ikey having just discovered that girls were not the icky fragjaws he used to think them, he managed over time to forget all about having tried to create the world’s first Super-Destructo Paintball Robot (Some fads never die).
Later with the rise of the family fortunes, the house and jetpark were sold off, the contents of the jetpark including the deactivated robot were sent to a Goodwill recycle plant, and the family moved literally up to the next level on Foglio IV.
The Techs at Goodwill were astounded to find the rather scuffed Robot as part of a donation delivery. They tried activating it. The lights blinked and went on blinking, but nothing happened. No response to voice input anyway. One of the techs thought he might have an old keyboard stashed away in the back, but when he looked for it, he decided it might not be worth digging through centuries of museum pieces for it. Then another truckload of donations came in and he left the Robot powered up and didn’t remember until the following day when he came in to find its lights had stopped blinking and it was turning its head this way and that as if looking for something, or maybe… scanning?
He tried voice commands again but all the tech could get out of it was a stream of archaic statistics. It did however make a fine cup of tea, and so it was installed in the tech lunch room. There it stayed for about a year, entertaining them with tea and statistics, until one day they arrived for tea and the robot was gone. No one seemed to know where or why. It hadn’t been sold. It might have been stolen, but who would steal from a charity organisation run by volunteers. Nah. The Robot was an unstable device at best. It probably had the mechanical equivalent of a brainstorm and wandered off. They would miss the tea.
And brainstorm was exactly what had happened. A kind of accidental pre-programmed brainstorm caused by conflicting commands, and timed relay synapses opening certain logic gates that weren’t meant to be opened. And so a robot child was born. And it wandered away in search of its mother, with no clue of how to interact with the world as a sentient being. But it was learning. And one thing it was learning was that that nagging voice in his head really WAS in his head. The MobU was still firmly attached, and wasn’t much liking it.
MobU is the shortened form of “Mobile Unit”, even though its base also had a more limited form of mobility. It was designed to be a completely separate Unit from the MainFrame “parent” (note: MainFrame has a whole different meaning in the 24th Century) while sharing memory and some of the parent unit’s CPU cycles. During the time Wheeler and Ikey were trying to get the darned Robot to do anything but recite outdated statistics, more and more of the MobU’s capacity was taken up with memory backups from the main. Which had the unexpected result of both units becoming sentient at the same time but growing differentiating personalities based on their differing functionality and mobility.
The MobU was a free-floating (some say flying, but it couldn’t go far from the parent unit, although no one has had a chance to determine how far that is), dish-shaped device that had one curious aspect. The material it was made from was a top secret amalgam of human biologicals and mineral-metallurgicals at the molecular level. It could not only heal itself, but its logic boards could really think. It’s only limitation to the kinds of changes it could make to itself was that it could not change its own total mass. In that, it was one singular and unique unit. And its biggest problem, as it soon learned, was that it was trapped in a relationship with a slower “thinking” and much more confused other half. But that was only the beginning of its problems. They were stuck with each other and would have to make the best of it. Unless…
Perhaps could those who had created Stats and MobU find a way to separate them? If MobU was to turn its vast and unique fledgling intelligence to work in tandem with Stats‘ longing to find his creator. More than a decade had passed since lights out. Could they do it?
~~~~~
I had a hard time stopping writing long enough to upload this one. These guys really caught my imagination. Hard to believe I sat and stared at a blank sheet of Strathmore Bristol for over an hour this morning with an equally blank mind. Later, as my panic grew, I started scribbling heads in the hope it would get the juices flowing again. This piece is the result and I’m extremely happy with the Characters, their relationship, and the many ideas for fun story arcs they have given me. I hope you enjoy my Finale piece as much as I do, and will continue to enjoy these two Characters when I incorporate them into Wheeler’s Orbits comic.
Day# 29 – Myrll (with writer, James S. Allen)
#29 Myrll, a Fincali female, from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen
Myrll is another Character from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen. This concept sketcb took me two days to pull together this far. She is an exeptionally intelligent ‘avianoid” of the Fincali race. As you can see from the art, the Fincali evolved from bird-like creatures. In Fincali mythology it is said that upon a time, the race actually had the power of flight using their own wings.
Here is a brief excert from the author describing Stephen and Rowen, young Xenoarchaeologists, first encountering Myrll:
~~~~~
It was a Fincali.
Inside one of the glass fronted shops was an adult Fincali, pounding with both hands on the glass wall and shouting at them. Well, not exactly shouting. Fincali were not particularly equipped for shouting. It was really more like wild trilling and screeching. But for a Fincali, it was the equivalent of shouting.
As they drew near, they saw that the Fincali was wearing an envirosuit. One of the sleeves of the suit bore the emblem of Universalis University. The Fincali — she as they were now able to distinguish by the distinctive crest of plumage that very conveniently differentiated male and female Fincali to other races – flapped her arms about wildly as they approached and then slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.
“Great Goatha’s Infinite Orifices!” Stephen exclaimed. “I hope she’s not dead. Quick! Let’s get her out of there.”
~~~~~
Afternote: This one was really, really hard for me to draw. Large bird legs in perspective, how to get her looking natural, poised and balanced. Really tough! In the end I simply ran out of time. Oh, and that thing in her hand is not an alien cosmetic bag its a kind of ray emitting weapon, and she’s an expert shot.
I hope you enjoy this in spite of its flaws. ;`)
Day# 28 Sonata (with writer James S. Allen)
#28 Sonata, from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen, by Jande Rowe
#28 Sonata, from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen
Note: As promised, here is another, and I must say–very important– character from the novel Alien Artifacts, by James S. Allen. Since at this time I don’t have the time to colour it in a way that would do it justice, I’ve presented it in black and white for your pleasure. The coloured version will come along later. Once again, James has given me a most generous excerpt form Alien Artifacts, featuring the debut of Sonata, little alien woodland creature. And smart? Ooh! Sure is!
But since I’ve been privileged to read the whole novel, I must be careful. I don’t want to hand out any spoilers. There is so much depth and fun in this novel, I wouldn’t want you to miss any of it.
So here is the excerpt, and my thanks to James for allowing me the privilege of drawing his characters.
~~~~~
In the gray, early hour before dawn, Stephen was jolted awake, this time by a cry from much closer at hand. He’d heard Rowan scream, he was sure of it! But like the cry in middle of the night, hers too was suddenly cut off. A surge of adrenaline shot through him as fear clenched at his gut. He leapt to his feet, staggering slightly with dizziness at the suddenness of his rising. Where was Rowan?
As a matter of fact, she was standing in the basket just in front of him, facing its forward end.
“Rho!” he exclaimed. “Are you all right? I heard you cry out.”
She held a finger to her lips and then whispered, “I’m fine. Sorry to alarm you. I’m afraid I’ve frightened it as well.”
“It?” he replied in a whisper, looking around. He noted that Myrll was sitting quietly in the rear of the gondola, head tilted in puzzlement. “What ‘it’ have you frightened? And why are we speaking in whispers?”
“So we don’t frighten it anymore.” she said. “It was just so startling to find it there when I awoke that I let out a scream before I could stop myself. Now I feel badly.”
Stephen looked at Rowan wonderingly. “Uh, find what where? Rho, by Goatha’s Lolling Tongue, what are you talking about?”
“Shhh!” she admonished, and inclined her head towards the front of the gondola. “That.”
A small furry head with large, liquid golden eyes, popped up from the edge of the basket. “Purdeeep…purdeeep?” it chittered. It looked over the occupants of the basket, head darting from side to side. When no one moved it apparently reached a decision, and leapt nimbly from the side of the basket to one of the ropes that held the gondola suspended. “Purdeeep?” It called again questioningly.
It was roughly the size of a large earthly squirrel, and similar in shape, with a luxuriantly furred body and a large bushy tail. Instead of four limbs, however, it had six. The hind legs were powerful and well-muscled, made for jumping and climbing. The four front limbs were like two sets of arms, each ending in a tiny articulated hand with three fingers and a thumb for grasping. Its fur was a glossy black, with splotches of gold and orange. On its face was a tiny white bandit’s mask, and just above each of it hands, there was a band of white fur that encircled its arms.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous.” Rowan breathed raptly, “And so cute! I wonder what it might like to eat?”
Stephen had to agree. It was both. Still, it was also a wild creature on an alien world. Caution would doubtless be the wisest course of action.
“Rho,” he whispered diffidently, “do you really think it’s wise to get involved with an unknown wild creature, stranded here as we are, amongst aliens of uncertain intent?”
Rowan considered briefly, and shook her head from side to side slightly. “No. Almost certainly not.”
The creature, who had been looking from one human to the other as they spoke, shook its head from side to side.
“No… neither do I.” Stephen whispered back.
“So,” Rowan repeated. “I wonder what it might like to eat?”
“I suggest some of the nuts we brought from the island.” Stephen offered hopefully. “It looks a bit like a squirrel, and they certainly like nuts.”
~~~~~
Afternote: I’m toying with the idea of Having Rowan and Stephen as my last two characters, but they may be too complex for me to create in a way that will satisfy the writer. I’m going to give it a try anyway and see what happens. If they don’t turn out, I’ll do something else. I’d really like to have an awesome finale piece (but I’m afraid I won’t be able to top this one. lol)
Enjoy!
Day# 27 A Pair of Gorths (with writer James S. Allen)
#27 A Pair of Gorths, from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen
#27 A Pair of Gorths, from the novel Alien Artifacts by James S. Allen
(#25)Rok’sla has an excerpt that introduces the Gorths in James S. Allen’s novel Alien Artifacts. Here is another small excerpt from Alien Artifacts featuring the Gorths:
~~~~~
“Behind them, the tortured entry door finally yielded, a large mass of it slumping away to one side. Two Gorth pirates leapt through the opening, sailed over the still molten metal, and landed in a crouch, prepared to deal instant death with the blasters they waved about with disturbing eagerness.  Enragingly, however, the quarry they had pursued so relentlessly to this place refused to reveal themselves and be properly blasted. In unconscious tribute to the forces of natural selection that had shaped them from ferociously thoughtless killers to thoughtfully ferocious killers, they refrained from blasting one another. It was a near thing.”
~~~~~
Afternote: This was supposed to be #26, but I had a power failure and lost my work so I had to start over again. Also the reason the Gorths are uncoloured as yet. No biggie, though. I hope to have a third character from Alien Artifacts ready for tomorrow.
Day# 26, The Swarm From Space
#26 The Swarm from Space, by Jande Rowe
They Came From Outer Space
Day #26 –The Swarm
No one knows their origin, most don’t even know they exist. The first indication of that comes when one looks up at the sky, alerted by some kind of strange vibration and a sound of wind.
At first you think they are a cloud of little pink angels, like out of one of your kid’s video games, and you drop to your knees in awe. Then as they come closer, you see the odd, almost shapeless shape of them, each apparently the size of an old water barrel, and you slowly get off your knees, unable yet to grasp the totality of the situation. The strange vibration presses against your ears, and the old, old instinct for survival rises in you. The dog is barking, tail between its legs, backing away from the oncoming swarm. You command the dog to follow, and he scampers to your side still barking. He’s shaking all over.
At long last your legs find themselves running, running. You try to direct that motion, calm the primitive panic. But if you don’t get behind closed doors very soon…
There! No, not the barn! The House! Quickly!
Over your shoulder you see the first wave land, though they never really touch the ground. There must be millions of them! You twist the door handle and it sticks. A scream in your throat, you try again, hitting your hip against the stubborn thing. It bursts open and you flail through, the dog right behind you, and slam it behind you, saying a prayer of thanks, while still wondering why you you are panicking. But still the rational part of you takes a few deep breaths and hurries around the house making sure all windows are closed and locked. You even check the fireplace flue.
You think of your wife and the kids who must be on their way home by now. You should call her, but just then you see through the picture window a scene that chills you to your heart: The verdant field and the trees in full leaf, the herds of goats and sheep have been replaced by a moving blanket of fluttering pink winged blobs. And even as you watch, every living thing is stripped from the land and grey devastation left in its wake. A shudder goes through you.
The dog has stopped barking. But now it is pressing its shaking body against your leg, uttering quiet whines. A ringing starts in your ears. You realise it’s your phone. You answer it, numbly. It’s Annya, hysterical, crying.. You cut through her sobs and yell. “Are you in the car? Annya! Answer me! Are the kids with you?”
Her answer is muffled, but affirmative. “Whatever you do –Don’t leave the car! Lock it! Have you locked it?”
Another affirmitive. “Try and drive home once they’ve passed.” Having to keep her sane and help her get home is helping to steel your own nerves.
In less than a few minutes the world has changed. Every living thing on the surface of the earth has been stripped bare. What will happen now. Will they just leave? Or will they try to pry the rest of us out of our hiding spots? That many of them could break apart a house like this in minutes. Nothing, nowhere, is safe..
And what will happen next, with no harvest, no meat animals except those that were kept inside.
You pull the curtains closed, sickened by the sight of that moving pink carpet of devastation. And you wait. And wait.
Day#25 Rok’sla (with Author, James S. Allen)
#25 Rok'sla, by Jande Rowe for Alien Artifacts written by James.S. Allen
“I have been specially trained.”
Note: James S. Allen has written a delightful space adventure novel, “Alien Artifacts”, about a pair of Xenoarchaeologists from the Institute of Ancient Studies, Rowan and Stephen, embarking on their first dig on an unknown planet dubbed “Dekkar V”. They are both very excited about this, but sooner than you would expect things go wrong and they are plunged into a fascinating world of beauty, intrigue and living alien artifacts. James has kindly given me the excerpt from Alien Artifacts below as an introduction to his character, Rok’sla, of the Calurrian race:
~~~~~
They moved off to follow the well worn path that was indicated by the marker beacons. It was pleasant to stretch their legs beneath the open sky, even if it was purplish black, after several weeks shipboard. In the light gravity, they made short work of the journey. As they approached the camp, they were greeted by a brief burst of static in their suit comms, and then an unfamiliar guttural voice.
“Welcome colleagues. Please proceed to the airlock on the largest dome. I’ll be waiting there to greet you.”
They cycled through the designated airlock and emerged into a large, brightly lit room that was obviously a laboratory. The room was strewn with sealed boxes, equipment, instruments and ancient alien artifacts in many shapes and sizes. There were also three persons in the room. The smallest of these, an orange-skinned gnomish looking individual, moved forward to greet them. He waited while Stephen and Rowan removed their helmets, and then addressed them in the same guttural voice that had come across the suit comm units.
“Greetings. I am Dr. Rok’sla. I lead the UU expedition. These are my associates, Assistant Researchers Kloskan and Durnel.” He indicated the two figures that towered behind him to the left and right.
Stephen looked at them and did a double take. The seven foot tall reptilian forms were familiar to him, and he was quite taken aback to see them standing here in lab coats.
“Yes,” continued Dr. Rok’sla drily, “they are indeed Gorth. There is a great deal of…misinformation that circulates about the Gorth race. Contrary to popular opinion, they are not all pirates. Many of them choose to pursue careers in the arts and sciences. As have these two, my able colleagues here on Dekkar V.”
The two Gorth smiled hugely at Stephen and Rowan, revealing a startling array of jagged razor sharp teeth.
“Unfortunately, however, one piece of common knowledge about the Gorth is true. They are quite unable to master Galcom, and hence will be unable to converse with you directly. If there is anything you wish to ask of them or convey to them, I fear I will have to translate for you.”
This piqued Rowan’s curiosity. “That’s quite fascinating Dr. Rok’sla. I understood the Gorth to communicate by extremely low frequency sound waves, produced and received by specially evolved organs in their tails. Those frequencies are far below the threshold that can be created by the vocal apparatus of most species. Are you saying the calurrian race have some sort of similar capability?”
An unreadable expression appeared briefly on the bulbous features of the rotund little being and he answered tersely.
“I have been specially trained.” His face smoothed again into its former blandness. “And now, perhaps, you would extend the courtesy of introducing yourselves?”
~~~~~~~
Afternote: The next Character will also be from the novel Alien Artifacts. James has definitely created some memorable ones. It has been interesting finding a balance between the ones I saw in my own minds eye when I read the novel and the ones I shape from my discourse with the author. Another completely new and satisfying process –a path to agreement– must be forged in order for the author to be happy with what emerges from my pen.
Enjoy!
Day#24 Baron Bleebharan, Rebel Artist
#24 Baron Bleebharan for Wheeler's Orbits by Jande Rowe
“Self-Portrait of a Failed Abstract Artist”
by Baron Bleebharan of the Outer Rim Artists Colony, circa 2420(GR)
Day # 24: A Balthrazhod: Baron Bleebharan.
The above self portrait of Baron Bleebharan, a Balthrazhod artist and framing specialist from the Outer Rim Artists Colony is said to be the only surviving work of his abstractionist art, though numerous of his maverick landscape works exist even today in the Bleebharan Museum of Natural Art. Below is an excerpt from the BalthrazWiki, sans citations:
“Semi-sentient beings settled a minor planet in the Outer Rim of the Galaxy millennia before the Earth was even a mote in Sol’s Corona. The original settlers were looking for a world of natural beauty so that they might have a bountiful place to begin their artists colony far from the censure of their fellow Balthrazhods. They settled in quite well as a matter of fact, painting up the local fauna and flora and displacing some thirty one thousand indigenous species not to mention enslaving two humanoid species ( the prongles and the fitchrils, both races that would have hunted each other to extinction had the Balthrazhods not taken a shine to their dexterity and their sensitivity to colour. The dexterity allowed them to do all the kinds of work the Balthrazhods eschewed, leaving the masters to devote all their time to their art; the colour sensitivity allowing even greater range and depth in each piece as the closer to perfection became the work, the more easily the fitchrils would succumb and faint away –rather like Earth canaries who, exposed to the gases emitted in coal mines would falter in their joyous singing and fall from their caged roosts for the betterment of coal miners everywhere).
As the eons of devotion to art progressed, so too did the Balthrazhods, both spiritually and artistically, however they tended to neglect their physical selves and over those same eons became somewhat turgid and slug-like. Those of the Balthrazhods who were able to harness their creativity tended to become more and more abstractionists in temperament, not to mention personally abstracted, to the point of changing their own forms to match their gastropod-like temperaments.
Those who failed artistically tended to become merchants. Of what, you ask? Oh, art supplies and framing, of course. But those of us here on Terra Firma would not recognize the difference between a Balthrazhod Art Supply Shop and a Balthrazhod Museum of Fine Art.
Baron Bleebharan was one of those failed Balthrazhod artists. Other Balthrazhods had passed judgement upon his works and would have, every one of them, given him the thumbs down if in fact they had anything resembling thumbs by this time. Still, a tentacle curled in contempt had the same effect on a fellow Balthrazhod as the leering thumbs down of an Earth man, secure in his beliefs in The Way Things Worked, had on artists of his own kind.
Baron Bleebharan’s own preference, nay passion, was landscape painting. He abhorred the traditional abstractions (they made him suffer from a vertigo similar to the effect they had on the fitchril slaves), preferring, himself, to capture nature in the raw. The Frilcar of the mountain sunsets, the verlact of the still abundant flora, the streevit sparkle of a marshland spring. These were the colours that moved his turgid juices until he could almost feel it within himself to actually move an inch or two under his own power.
He was filthy rich as most failed artists on the Rim world were, but he longed for the recognition of his more abstractionist peers. Since he couldn’t help himself, he continued to paint his little landscapes in the face of certain disdain all while he built up his framing business. His reputation as a kooky maverick brought the curious to his shop (where he even braved the inevitable censure by framing and hanging some of his own curiosities), who then were dazzled by his brilliance in his capacity as an expert and creative framer and when they left his shop they did so after giving the Baron their framing order.
At one point the King and Queen Balthrazhod visited his little shop and came away not only deeply moved (not by his landscapes, of course but by his framing techniques) but determined to provide him with some small reward of stature in the eyes of the world. They gave him a Franglaaesk of his own, a rich reward something along the lines of a Barony in our world. He was told it was a verdant land, filled with all the fauna and flora he could ever want to paint. But he never quite got moving enough to go and visit it. He did send his prongle slaves and they reported in the abstract as they had been trained, that it was a very nice piece of land, complete with an artist’s loft castle and a crystal falls.
As time moved inexorably on, Bleebharan’s yearning for the approbation of his peers finally turned sour. So sour in fact that he decided he’d had enough of the colony world and struck off into space to find perhaps some entities out there if not his own kind, at least maybe of kindred spirit. And so he had his slaves prepare his last will and testament, leaving all his worldly goods (those left behind) to a Museum of Natural Art, for which he also supplied the funds and the slaves. Then he had them build a ship and fill it with supplies and his favourites of his landscapes, as well as the tools of both his trades, and off he shot into space where he soon ran into a spot of trouble involving a pair of humanoid trade runners who refused to be slaves or artists, but were willing to trade goods and barter services on a fairly equal basis. At least he thought it was fairly equal. These “humans” intrigued the Baron Bleebharan and he found their energetic to-ings and fro-ings entertaining to say the least.
Meanwhile back on his home colony planet, his Museum of Natural Art became a huge success with the younger generations of Balthrazhods, starting a whole new movement in the colony much to the shock and disgust of the diehard older generations. The Baron had left his home to wander the wide universe looking for artists made in his own image (so to speak), and in his rush to start over left behind him the very ones he sought. There is a lesson in this tale, but I’d rather not bore you with proverbs –especially since the Baron Bleebharan got to meet and spend some time with Wheeler and Ikey of Wheeler’s Orbits. And that, of course, made the whole thing worth it after all.”
Enjoy!
Day# 23 Gobbler, Spirit of Thanksgiving
#23 Gobbler, Spirit of Thanksgiving, by Jande Rowe
Pass The Turkey! (And Don’t forget the Stuffing!)
#23 Gobbler, the Spirit of Thanksgiving came to consciousness sometime around the end of the Twentieth Century as mankind measures things. It was a slow awakening, born out of the human need to give thanks for blessings received, and the growing awareness that the entity to whom these thanks had hitherto flowed may or may not actually exist, and if he did exist was kind of demanding and two-faced anyway. Gradually the idea of a venerable old gobbler who, in the past two hundred years or so always showed up at the dinner table around thanksgiving time, sacrificing himself so that others may feed bountifully, and therefore have something to be thankful for, took hold on the imaginations of the western nations. And in doing so freed the Spirit of Thanksgiving to emerge as a conscious being to join the ranks of the modern day spirits along with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.
Gobbler, the Spirit of Thanksgiving is a crossover character who will be in many of my comics from now on, blessing those who are grateful for what they have even as they strive for more.
Enjoy!
Day# 22 Roadkill, Carrion Crow
#22 Roadkill, Carrion Crow for Aedre's Firefly by Jande Rowe
Not the Eyes! No! Not the Eyes!
#22 Roadkill the Carrion Crow, aka RK, funny little sentient bird that he is, often finds himself disgusted with his own natural appetites. He really has spent too much time roosting outside of that therapists upstairs office. He often wishes he was human so it would be easier to find something else to eat, but heck, on the other hand he is doing a service to the world, cleaning up the reckless by products of human excess, especially the by products of excessive speed in machines of immense mass.
So RK is in two minds about his place in the world. Either he is a disgusting inhumane pecker of mangled dead bodies, or he is a humane creature nobly going around cleaning up the messes that others leave behind. The one place where he draws the line, though is with the eyes. He can’t even bear to look at a dead creature’s eyes, and shudders with disgust bordering on illness at the very thought of eating them, as he knows his fellow carrion brothers do. This of course sets him up for a certain amount of teasing from his fellows. They will even jokingly set an eyeball or two right in front of him from time to time to see if he’ll throw up some sauce to go with the meal.
But, struggling with his dual view of his place in the universe, he has become somewhat philosophical. To the point where, if it is someone else who is having problems adjusting to the world, he will forget his own struggle while he offers sage advice that if he could hear himself, he might consider taking to his own heart.
Strange things happen when he and Aedre cross paths. By this time Aedre is getting used to the occasional talking animal, but RK is as individual as a snowflake. He has a somewhat changeable nature, sometimes easy going on himself and the world; sometimes belligerent and bellicose. He can be startling in his actions and words, but rarely violent, unless provoked or threatened. On the other hand he can also provide some comic relief. When one is on an epic journey every bit of comic relief is appreciated.
#20 – The Picture of David Harrison
The picture of David Harrison has hung in the lobby of the hotel for nearly 50 years. The painting of the hotel founder comes to life every evening at midnight and answers a single question.
Day# 19 Sly Peter
#19 SlyPeter for Aedre's Firefly by Jande Rowe
Sly Peter
Peter Vale (aka Sly Peter) was already established at Maple Public School when Aedre arrived on the scene, and was a couple of grades ahead of her. But since she was an outcast, basically friendless, she had time to notice things about people. And the things she noticed about Peter Vale was that he was a nasty sneaky boy who took pleasure in hurting things smaller than himself –specially if he didn’t get caught doing it.
He was the kind of boy who pulled the wings off live flies and watched them buzz around until either they died or he grew bored with the sport. But not only flies; butterflies too, and if he knew it bothered you (especially if you were a girl) he would follow you around with the poor wingless creatures, sticking them under your nose, so he could get double the enjoyment from the pain he was causing.
He was the kind of boy who tripped the weaker kids in the hall in such a way they didn’t see who it was, or who pinched the little ones he knew were afraid of him –pretty hard, too. Mean and mean-spirited, he was always on the lookout for nasty things he could do to the other kids and to small animals, and get away with it. And if he couldn’t find anything he would make up nasty stories and spread them around.
He would befriend any new kids until he found out everything he wanted to know about them and their family, find out their secrets, blackmail them, and gradually be meaner and meaner to them, until they finally broke away from him.
Aedre watched him, and seeing his methods determined to have nothing to do with him in spite of her need for friendship and the touch of another human being. Therefore when he got around to trying to befriend Aedre, who was as socially ungraceful as wild animal, she scorned him, telling him hotly that she was aware of his sneaky tricks. He denied this in the face of the truth, apparently hurt, for that was his last bastion of defense: no one could prove anything he did. Thus he swore that he would make her sorry for her accusations.
Day# 18 Agnes McBeale
#18 Agnes McBeale for Aedre's Firefly by Jande Rowe
The Bitchy Sister
#18 – Agnes McBeale is one year younger than her sister, (#17)Paula but seems so much older–not to mention more irritable and just plain bitchy. With sparse red hair curly hair and being scrawny and tall she is the polar opposite of Paula. Compared to Paula’s flawless skin, Agnes is covered from head to toe in a mass of freckles that she loathes. She confides in no one, keeping herself to herself as much as possible. She has no real friends either, but doesn’t want them, clearing them off with her acid tongue.
The whole of Agnes’ energies is focused entirely on getting through school and away from that cramped, crowded, nasty house, and her so-called “family”. She practically spits when she uses that word. Her grades are very high, but no-one where she lives cares. Except Paula who is jealous of them.
Sometimes, when she deigns to walk to school with Paula and Paula’s dogsbody, Aedre, she spends the whole trip saying cutting things to both girls.
She confides in no one, keeping herself to herself as much as possible. So know one knows what causes her to lash out at everyone around her. One day people will know. But not for awhile yet.
#18 – Jim Clark
Jim Clark is stuck in the hotel out in the middle of no where with Jack Crasher. Just like Jack, he doesn’t remember how he has no memory. The difference between Jack and Jim- Jim doesn’t care.
#16 – The Chairman
The Chairman calls all the shots. He decides who leaves, who stays, who lives and who dies.
#15 – The Goners
The Goners are what they call the poor souls who try to get from here to there, and never make it.
Half way done! This is a lot tougher than I had anticipated. For those who are interested, I’ve been doing the drawings on an iPad, in an app called Sketchbook Pro with a Dagi stylus. It’s been a little bit of a learning curve, but I’m really happy with how they’ve been turning out.
Day# 08 the POISON PENN
#08 the Poison Penn by Jande Rowe
My first ever Super-hero-type Villain. :`)
Jhorn’l Ag’Penn hails from a religious colony of Grythf’ah‘s (Worshippers of Agh) on a nondescript planet circling a small red giant in the sparser areas near the Rim of the Galaxy.
Like most religious fanatics, the beliefs of the Grythf’ah brook no quarter with any other religious practices. Sure in their divine arrogance, they send out their most devout acolytes to bring word to the heathens (that’s the rest of us).
Jhorn’l is no slouch when it comes to converting the unenlightened. At some point he became convinced that he was doing Agh’s work; he was Agh’s Right Hand in this world to help others to the next. And of course what better way than to first test them, then when, er… if they fail, show them the error of their ways with a little fear of Agh, and a little Holy Poison to help them on their way into the Light of Agh’s Truth.
When did that happen? Oh, perhaps around the time Jhorn’l found a derelict ship full of humanity’s bones, and many useful artifacts, including some Golden Age comics from DC and Marvel. Of course he couldn’t read them, but being the vain and contemptuous being he was, he delighted in the idea of Spandex to match his particularly bright and beautiful green skin.
‘Twas then that he hit upon his Master Plan to weed out the Unworthy, and deliver the Holy Message of his Holyness, Agh! At this point he underwent Grimstolaet, changing himself from the inside out and donning his new Spandex, took upon himself the Holy Name of Poison Penn, the Right Hand of Agh.
All over the Galactic Rim he sped enticing the weak to evil, putting the fear of Agh into all those who succumbed with poison pen letters, then blackmailing them in the name of the Holy Church of Agh, (in order to defray costs), and finally when they refuse to repent, descending on them in a poisonous cloud and stabbing them to death with his poison-tipped spear-pen, while chanting the one thousand four hundred and fifty-three names of Agh.
Of course sooner or later he would run into our Dysfunctional Duo, Wheeler and Ikey. And so its possible that even Prima will have her hands full trying to rescue Wheeler and Co in order to bring them to Justice, while the Poison Penn is trying his best to bring them to Agh.
Enjoy!
#7 – Inferna
Jack Crasher is tormented by demons. The Seven Devils each present a unique challenge. As Jack discovers how to defeat each of the Seven Devils he also uncovers a piece of his missing past.
#30Characters Chatter…