Entry 11

Click on the picture link to read more wonderful snippets of fantasy and science-fiction! 

(Oh, and if you think it's frustrating reading bits of a story in 10 sentence increments, try WRITING the story that way.)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Entry 11

I write this from memory as I was, obviously, unable to type out an entry as events were occurring.  At some point after my last writing, I fell unconscious.   I remember the over-head lights hurting my eyes but being unable to adjust them.  I remember racking coughs and sweat-soaked sheets.

I remember her.

I thought she was an illusion, a conjuring of my dying brain. Fevers, as I well know, induce swelling of cerebral tissues and make synapses fire irregularly, causing hallucinations.  These typically precede death by the space of a few hours.

But I didn't die, and she wasn't a fever dream.

I am prisoner 1138 but my name is Abraham bin Navi

SFF Saturday 5-25-2013

Click on the picture link to read more wonderful snippets of fantasy and science-fiction!

When last we saw Prisoner 1138, he was convinced the life support systems in his cell were malfunctioning.  This is one scientist who forgot his clinical training...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry 10

This is more effective than any experiment I could have devised.  If I am truly being watched, then surely my captors would have intervened by now.  Uneaten food lies  piled beneath the food dispensing slot. The air reeks of sweat and that particular "sick-room" smell that can never quite be eliminated by aerosolized disinfectant.

At this point I must assume that my med-chip data is not being monitored either, or it is and they are collating data points on my symptom progression. I have not risen from my bed in over a day.  The linens around me are smeared with mucous, some of it, to my horror, now containing blood.  Is this their plan?  A final cruel irony--that I face the misery I inflicted, and will inflict, on so many others?

I am Prisoner 1138.  I am Dr. bin Navi.  I am dying.

SFF Saturday April 13, 2013

Click on the picture link to read more wonderful snippets of fantasy and science-fiction!

Prisoner 1138 isn't feeling so well.....
 _________________________________________
Entry 9

The ridiculous excuses for food taste worse than ever.  I don't know how that's possible, but I'm even less inclined to eat.

The atmospheric filters appear to be malfunctioning as well. Mild irritants have caused my mucus membranes to swell and start leaking. This might be a result of the damaged pressure valve in my cell, though, because my ears and sinuses feel clogged.

I have no energy for experiments.  I cannot focus on the texts regarding extending kinetic battery life.

The temperature controls are fluctuating wildly.  I have been both over-heated and shivering with cold in the span of four hours.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is..... Abraham...bin Navi

SFF Saturday April 6 2013

See the pretty picture?  Click on it, go read some great new fiction.

Prisoner 1138 continues his journal entries.  When last we heard from him, he was devising experiments to see if he was being watched.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Entry 8

 

My experiments to determine whether or not my captors are using video surveillance have so far proven inconclusive.  I tried the dramatic first: sharpening a pilfered eating utensil and threatening--on multiple occasions-- my veins with said instrument.  No concerned orderlies broke into my room to prevent my threatened suicide.  One might point out that the incredibly easy task of retaining my, metal, breakfast spoon was itself a test of the level of surveillance.  But, perhaps I just have lazy monitors who missed my amateur piracy. In the same vein (heh), it is possible the assumed watchers just do not care if I end my life prematurely, and therefore were content to sit back and watch as I did so.

My next attempt involved taking apart my tablet and trying, very visibly, to connect with those back on Earth. I thought this would've prompted intervention; but, as my rudimentary engineering work failed to produce either more battery power or outside contact, it is conceivable that my jailors are merely snickering at my ineptitude and see no reason to intervene. Incidentally, the delay in writing these entries is a direct effect of my tablet experiment.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi.

SFF Saturday 1-12-2013

See the pretty picture?  Click on it, go read some great new fiction.

Prisoner 1138's journal continues....

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Entry 7

I often wonder if they are watching me.  I know this insidious little device in my wrist monitors my heart rate and oxygen level, as well as providing a rudimentary tracking device,--so do my jailers need remote cameras to track my every movement?  My cell was originally a small break room for Lunar Colony miners; therefore, I assume they didn't go through the expense of wiring cameras and motion detectors before locking me in here.  As their continuing policy seems to be "throw him in a hole and hope the world forgets he's there (and what he's done in our name)", I am  more and more convinced that there is no note-taking watcher on the other side of these reinforced walls.

I'm bored, though, and have devised a series of experiments to test my hypothesis.  I shall provide an update on these tests in my next entry.

 

My designation is Prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi

SFF Saturday 1-4-13

See the pretty picture?  Click on it, go read some great new fiction.

Prisoner 1138 continues his journal entries....

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Entry 6

The depression continues, kept at bay with sheer stubbornness and my daily exercise routine. The boredom is more insidious. Yes, my jailers gave me a tablet loaded with the entire contents of the Library of Congress--but they studiously censored anything pertaining to my previous fields of interest. (Not that it would matter, I either have read or wrote all of the major scholarly works on viral genetic manipulation.) No, the problem continues to be the exasperatingly short battery life of the tablet. Reading 15 minute's worth of Candide is enough to drive me insane under the best of circumstances.  I need to find some serialized fiction, something meant to be consumed in small doses. Alternately, I need to read more about modern kinetic battery design.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi.

SFF Saturday 12-15-2012

Something on the serious side for this week's offering.  As many of you already know, 5 years ago this week I lost my younger brother when he took his own life.  I miss him everyday, in some way big or small, and would love to spare everyone the pain my family has gone through.  And, so, today's post is about Prisoner 1138's despair at being isolated for the rest of his life without any human interaction at all.  He has books (e-books, of course), shelter, food, and potable water. He doesn't have a sister's teasing, a mother's hugs, a nephews giggles at being swung in the air.  His friends and family will never again see his face contort with laughter or despair, or hear his voice signing quietly as he works.

(For guaranteed lighter fare, please visit http://scififansat.blogspot.com/ )

----------------------------------------------------
Entry 5

I control the lights in my cell; I find this a remarkable gift, since it would be an easy sadism to toy with my circadian rhythms.  I decide when I rise, when I sleep, and even, through the small button and chute on the wall, when I eat.  I am quickly finding, however, that the deferred sadism of my jailers is more than offset by the masochism of despair.  I've nowhere to be, no one to see, no one depending on me, and no one for me to depend upon.  I can lie in the darkness, never rising from the bed and my own tortured musings, and no one will care or even remark upon it.  Oh, they will note when I die, through their insidious monitoring program, but they do not care if I perish and probably relish the idea of me simply ceasing to exist of my own volition.

I could do it, of course, and easily at that--and I've thought of it, ceaselessly for days on end. I've considered painful ways, quick ways, dramatic ways, ways in which I die and make a final statement for the entire world to witness.

But I don't do it, because the only possession I have left is my life and I will not let them, or the despair, win.

My prisoner designation is 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi and everyday I struggle out of the darkness.

SFF Saturday 11-10-12

Welcome back to my submissions for Science-fiction, Fantasy, Saturday.  Please visit the main site to read more snippets from the worlds of fantasy and science fiction.

Back to prisoner 1138....

-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry 4

I've decided to start a basic cardiovascular regime.  The altered gravity of the moon is still not quite Earth-like and can, over the long-term, lead to muscle degeneration.  Miners and scientists assigned up here are required to participate in regular physical exercise in order to stave off these effects.  In a stunning example of "We don't care if he withers away", the powers that banished me here didn't bother installing exercise equipment in my cell.  Depriving me of food (such that it is) and water would have been cruel and unusual punishment, but stuffing me in a box and letting my muscles slowly turn to jello--that's just the tough life of a political prisoner!

Once a day, I run six laps around the perimeter of my cell(incidentally, I measured this for the first time just yesterday--it's a spacious 24x24 foot space), do 20 sit-ups and 10 pushups.  Who knows, after a couple of years of this, I might lose my scrawny scientist physique.  Yeah, right.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi

SFF Saturday 10-27-2012

I sincerely hope y'all are taking my weekly advice and discovering all of the talent available at Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday.  Fellow SFFSaturday authors, please forgive my delay in commenting on your works.  I'm in the process of moving from San Francisco to Seattle.  My internet connections are spotty, at best. Only the wonders of "scheduling" blog posts allow me to get these entries up with any regularity.

Another week, another entry from prisoner 1138.  And, yes, fellow geeks will recognize that number as a quiet homage to the worlds of George Lucas.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry 3

The food here sucks.  I know, not a very original complaint, from a prisoner especially, but it's been on my mind.  Yesterday I screamed "THIS TASTES LIKE DIRT" at my cell wall.  The acoustics in here are quite fascinating and served to distract me from the dirt-food.  All of our years of technological advances, and we still cannot make protein bars taste like anything except dirt flavored cardboard. My diet consists of a vitamin-protein bar, and instant oatmeal (lukewarm) for breakfast, a protein bar for lunch, and (shocking!) a protein bar for dinner.  Of course I get three bottles of water a day.  I should be grateful for food--even that which is delivered via a wall chute with mechanical regularity--given the mass starvations on Earth. But, damn it, even a few wormy apples would be better than this crap.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi

SFF Saturday 10-20-2012

For more about Prisoner 1138, read here.
For many more forays (by very intelligent people) into the weird, the fantastical, and the universe at large, visit the main SFF Saturday page.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry 2

I'm wondering if writing these notes to my future self makes sense.  If I've lost my sanity, and my soul, to such an extent that I need typed words to remind me what is real, will I actually be able to comprehend the words?  Maybe I should call these "Letters FOR my sanity".  Talking to someone, or writing to someone--even my future self-- is all I really have to do.  I could make longer entries, but the tablet battery life is very short.  I spend three hours running in circles just to recharge it after 15 minutes of power. They didn't approve my requisition for paper and pencil, so I'm stuck with this crappy tablet.  Should count my blessings, meager that they be, and be thankful that I'm not left etching each word into the metal walls. I miss my gadgets, damn it.

I am prisoner 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi

SFF Saturday 10-13-2012

For more information about my new project for SFFSaturday, please read here.  Please, also, be sure to read all of the other entries for this week by visiting http://scififansat.blogspot.com/2012/10/sffs-13102012.html .  Pay special attention to the work of Sue Ann Bowling whose serialized "Jarn's Journal" made me realize that such a concept could be successful.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entry 1

I cannot date these entries. I have no idea how many days I’ve been here or what day it is. Lunar orbit is counter-intuitive to my human brain and I never really paid attention in astronomy classes. In the end it does not matter how long I’ve been here, for there is no calendar-set end-date to my captivity. I’m here until I die. Or until the dumbasses on Earth kill each other off. In which case, I’d probably starve to death or asphyxiate inside this damned prison. I should investigate operational systems more closely—plan for Armageddon contingencies. This is my first letter to my future-self, a reminder of my sanity before the isolation and alien nature of my incarceration take the last bit of my soul.

My prisoner designation is 1138, but my name is Abraham bin Navi.

The Story Before the Story

As if I have no clue about “what’s at stake.” Like I somehow forgot the war that raged during my entire childhood and killed four hundred million people.


The Hudson would carry her forty member crew and one hundred fifty colonists on a seven month journey to Dremiks—a Saturn-sized planet

orbiting the sun Santalas. Santalas, its system of six planets, and its corner of the universe had been unknown twenty-five years before.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

These brief lines from the first two pages of "Dremiks" offer  the succinct backstory of the novel. Humanity has been at war--as it always is-- and has nearly destroyed itself once again.  Aliens need help from humans and offer technology in exchange for that help.  They also broker a peace.  In their naivete, the Dremikians believe that human beings will move past pettiness and genocide once presented with a uniting cause beyond the solar system.  The story of "Dremiks" explores the challenges human's face in trying to overcome the harsh Universe and our own brutal natures.

Before the Hudson's journey, though, there was a war.  Admiral O'Connell rose to power during that war, dragging his motherless daughter along on his quest for prestige.  Four hundred million people died during Maggie's childhood as a direct result of the war.  Many more died from so called "natural causes".  Alliances and countries tumbled at the same time that an alien race made first contact.  There is a story here that needs to be told.

This is why my weekly offerings for Science Fiction Fantasy Saturday will now take the form of snippets serializing the backstory of "Dremiks". Each week, readers will get a ten sentence look at the journal of a man imprisoned for following his conscience.  He gets to be caustic, sarcastic, despondent, and insightful because no one cares what he writes.  He's been sent to Lunar colony to die.


He is prisoner 1138.  His journal is our cautionary tale.