Progress, and a bit of a Chapter

The Telzey book is now half-done or a bit more. A major theme will be the Federation’s blind spot, failing to see how technology might be corrupted. We saw that in The lion Game, in which the Portal system seemed very effective, until people found that it could be corrupted so that travelers, notably the heroine, did not port to where they expected. Far more dangerous is the verifier system which, in addition to finding proof of guilt whether it was there or not, could also influence people’s thinking, not to mention giving ‘absolutely reliable’ evidence based on a secret scheme. Way back in The Universe Against Her Telzey realized that there were dangers, but she then seems to have stopped thinking about them, or had more than enough life-threatening adventures without needing to antagonize a major Federation Service.

I am now up to 90, 000 words. I will give you a few.

Author’s Foreward

I am not James Schmitz.  I do not have his ingenious plot solutions.  I am inclined to a more detailed larger world, including some of the problems that Schmitz suggested, including one that Telzey recognized immediately but never solved.  There was also an interesting character mentioned once, and a minor consequence of the novel third-space drive.

I  was, however, very fond of the Hub and Telzey, so for some time I will be able to bring her back to life.  My sales and your reviews will tend to encourage me to continue.  I say ‘some time’ because I am now 78, not 28, so my writing career is unlikely to continue forever. 

I do introduce a new character, Pamela Morgan.  She already appears in one of the original short stories, except her name is not mentioned.  However, her brief appearance there establishes that she is someone who Telzey knows and trusts implicitly.  She has another piece of  backstory, found at the end of this novel as a shorter work.  You may prefer to read it first.

I should thank the Science Fiction Writers of America Estates-Legacy Program and its volunteer, Todd Dashoff,  for putting me in touch with James Schmitz’s current literary heir.  I reached a mutually amicable agreement with the heir, as a result of which you can read this work.

Chapter At Pehanron College

It was a beautiful spring afternoon.   The temperature was warm enough for a barbecue to be eaten outside, with all but a few students wearing short-sleeve shirts and shorts. Telzey Amberdon leaned back against the massive trunk of a katsura tree, its early spring leaves a mix of colors against the clear blue sky.  A gentle breeze ruffled her hair.  Faint smoke rose from the grills as the steaks cooked. Her contribution, prepared in her half of her bungalow duplex, was a large and complex salad that was visibly already being consumed.   The two boys who had been pursuing her for the last semester, unsuccessfully, had clearly found other girls to chase.

“Telzey?”  The voice came from behind her. Her long amber hair and athletic frame were fairly recognizable. Most of her classmates had experimented with novel hair colors, though a fair number of the girls had gone back from checkerboards to the traditional gold blonde.

“Wilmar?” she asked. She did not need telepathy to identify him.  His voice had the deepest pitch of any of the boys in the complex.

Wilmar Rortak walked around the tree, followed by a trio of young women. She told herself that they couldn’t all be chasing him.  Or could they? She could, of course, simply read their minds and find out.  A few years ago, she would have done that. As a mature nineteen-year-old, she left the trio their privacy.

“We’re the organizing committee,” Wilmar said, “on campus for the Social Democratic Center party for the forthcoming election. We reserved the Great Yard for a rally, the Traditional Union Party being the next day and the Traditional Expansion Party having its rally the day after that. With People’s House elections coming up, we’re trying to ensure the best possible turnout, so our fellow students all remember to go and vote. We wanted to be sure you were coming.”

Telzey shook her head.  “Thanks, but I really don’t do politics.” She decided not to emphasize that her sympathies lay with the other two parties, though not by a great deal. The elections were for the planetary government, not for the Federation, but planetary governments did control most things.

“But it’s really important,” Wilmar said, “it’s one of the things you’re supposed to do as a student, be active in politics.”

“Students do many things,” Telzey answered.  “Study, for example.  You may have heard of studying.  Or maybe not.  I spent enough of the term hearing your lamentations about your grades so far.  Except most people here have had their exams, are finishing course papers, and will soon be done with the semester.  They have time for what you’re doing.   I’m prepping for the Combat Litigation course’s Trial by Judicial Combat sequence.  That’s my last requirement before I graduate. It’s three weeks starting the day after tomorrow.”

“Why did you take Trials?” one of the women with Wilmar asked.  “That was stupid. It’s the hardest course in the college!”  Telzey decided that she was happy she couldn’t remember the woman’s name.

“I’m here to work,” Telzey answered.  “The finest steel is made at the highest temperature.”  Telzey reminded herself that the aphorism was detested by the metallurgists.  “And people who do well in the Trial have an incredible vita resulting.”

“You don’t support one of those crackpot parties, do you?” The shortest of the three women with Wilmar asked.

Telzey tried to recognize the woman. Names she could usually bring to mind, but  most of Wilmar’s friends were in his major, some overlap between art and urban design that she could never remember, so she never met them.

“Me? I’m strictly nonpartisan.” She decided it was time to close down this conversation.  “I have to be. My mom — I don’t think you ever met Jessamine, did you, Wilmar? — is the family’s politician.”

“She’s on the city Arts Commission?” Helga was the shortest of the women following Wilmar around. To the best of Telzey’s recollection, Helga was remarkably tactless, not to mention unpleasant.

Wilmar intervened before matters became even more unpleasant.  “Telzey’s mom is a Federation Junior Councilor. She’s on the Hace Committee, Grand Council Ethics.  You can’t get higher than that.  I haven’t met her, but I for sure know who she is. Mentioning know, I know cooking and it smells like the steaks are starting to get ready.” He shepherded his charges in that direction, pausing to favor Telzey with a wink. She returned a warm grin.  He wasn’t a bad guy to be around, if not very interesting as conversationalist, but life kept insisting on getting too interesting to have a boyfriend in tow.

I am now up to 83,000 words, so surely half-done or more. I am currently in a phase where the word count will not change much, though work is being done, because I am blending something I wrote earlier into the main text. I am clearing up a few loose ends left behind by James Schmitz. For example, it is noted that Holati Tate, as a result of discovering the plasmoids, as seen in A Tale of Two Clocks, benefited from the Federation’s policy of rewarding discoverers, as a result of which he was almost indescribably wealthy. Telzey discovered the crest cats were intelligent, made peace with the Hana, and through fighting the Soad gave the Federation its Third-Space Drive, which should have been worth a fair amount.

The novel is over 75,000 words. Today was slow on word count, because I was reworking something already written to fix inconsistencies, but I still added 700 words. (Yesterday was over 2000).

A few of you will remember SF Author James Schmitz, who mostly wrote a half century ago, including e.g., The Witches of Karres. His most-memorable character and setting were, however, teen telepath Telzey Amberdon and the Federation of the Hub.

In any event, I was able to track down his heir, who continues to hold his intellectual property rights. An amicable agreement was reached. I now have non-exclusive rights to write about Schmitz’s characters from the Hub Universe.

A new Telzey Amberdon novel is advancing. I’m now at 74,000 words, so at a guess I am half-way there.

My New Year’s Revolution, err, Resolution

From “Do not call up that which you cannot put down.”

“Finish that which you began”

I have a series of novels to finish

TZA 55,000 words negotiating on rights. Title secret until then
Terrorforming earth 1920s alien invasion via terraforming, complete with cowgirl versus giant spiders. 26,700 words
Practical Exercise sequel 37,000 words
Disunion 15900 words
Working title only: “The Eddorian Lensman, a tale of Christian redemption” 19,400 words
No Tears for a Princess 89,000 words
The Gathering Storm 7000 words
Indian Summer 102,000 words
Invasion Now 13,000 words SF Authors versus aliens “The host and his wife carry Barret 0.50s.”
Invasion Tibet pre WW1 70,000 words
Thousand Isles Sequel 23,000 words
The Merchant Adventurers 55,000 words
Small Giant Class Liberation Army 6,000 words
The Inspector 2200 words
Ultragirl 3000 words

I will make progress. Honest

Now, if I were Chris Nuttall, it would be a nice set of projects for the year.

“Collapsed?” Montescu said.  “That’s very sad.”  For him, Waters thought, it is indeed sad.  The untold Imperial Credits he and his fellow bureaucrats had hoped to loot from the corpse of the Union would not be reaching his grasping hands, at least not soon.

“I see.  I hope that military cooperation between our fleets will continue,” Marchiesi said.

Davis nodded agreement.  “Yes, so far as I know,” he said softly.

“I note that your visiting battlecruiser is lawfully an entirely civilian ship,” Marchiesi continued, “a wise distinction that will greatly please some barbarians beyond the pale. But what led to this failure in the negotiations?” 

“The Elizavetsian Republic,” Davis answered.  “They have never been part of the Anglic Union, have no interest in joining, and given their history would be entirely unwelcome if they asked us.  Alas, the Imperial government in its wisdom categorically refused to consider accession unless the Republic came in as part of us.”

Governor Montescu looked up at the ceiling.  “I was asked before the latest Decade Talks were opened to advise on possible outcomes.  I received a very polite reprimand for being the only Imperial Governor to predict what I gather has now happened, namely the Elizavetsian question was insoluble, though it was apparent two years ago that no progress was being made on this question.  Now you, too, can criticize me for being right.”

“To the contrary, Governor Montescu,” Waters said, “I would praise you for your perspicacity, though I suspect neither of us was surprised by the outcome.”

“And your ship,” Marchiesi asked, “I’d expected it would have been sent to the breakers after the Imperial navy founded it unfit for purpose.  Is this an example of the Anglic Union’s legendary thriftiness, giving you a ship of dubious soundness?”

Davis shook his head.  “Sir, your Navy and our Space Services have diverged in our ideas on ship design.”  Actually, Davis thought, they never converged in the first place.  “So far, the Langley has proven to be highly reliable, and performs the way we had hoped and wanted. But it is a model of thrift.”

“Thank you for your time,” Montescu said.  David and Waters backed out of the Lesser Throne Room.  The majordomo closed the doors behind them.

Lesser Throne Room of the Imperial Governor of All Barham
Barham City, Barham
Martigale 10, 853 AIS

Hiram Waters, clad in the multiple layers of silk robe Imperial etiquette prescribed for ambassadors of other human powers, waddled to the prescribed ten paces from the Imperial Governor’s throne and bowed the required three times. Andrew Davis walked to his right, two paces behind him. Davis wore the AU Astrographic Service dress uniform, gray trousers, tunic, and jacket, its dullness only broken by the Service’s bright shoulder patches.

The walls of the Lesser Throne Room were synthetic white opal, their colors being reflected by the polished white marble of the floor. The thrones, today, Waters thought, two of them, were elevated on a five-foot high dias; you had no alternative other than to look up at the imperials. Sitting with the System Governor was the System Fleet Commander, Grand Admiral of the Violet Randolph Marchiesi.

Imperial Governor Montescu nodded politely in acknowledgement of the bows. “Consul Waters, welcome to this Our Court. Welcome also to your guest, Captain Davis, Anglic Union Astrographic Service. Thank you both for bringing us so promptly all these interesting messages.”

“Indeed,” Admiral Marchiesi said, “your promptitude in travelling here is most impressive. I gather, however, that the route involves ultradrive passages, meaning that the Invincible Solarian Imperial Navy would have no interest in them.” Captain Davis nodded. “However, a point that was unclear in the messages that we have read thusfar, when the Anglic Union adheres to the Empire, will you still be allowed to use them?”

Waters looked over his shoulder at Davis. “If I might answer?” Davis asked.

Montescu nodded.

“As of the date I left, the accession negotiations had collapsed, and it was understood that they will not be renewed. I just fly a starship; I’m not involved in Diplomacy.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Sergeant,” Winston said emphatically.  “We have four Brownings.  Take two of them.  And a fifth man to bring the car back.  Counting in my head.  Where do I get five men?”

“Special Auxiliary Deputies,” Schroeder said. “I know who is reliable and needs the money.”

“Gramps said if something strange happens, I let the Sergeant tell me which orders to give. Do it!” Winston ordered. 

&&&&&

The next morning found Winston and a deputy at the landing strip.  Mayor Starling, Ulysses Butler and Melanie Hayes stood at is side.  The Mayor had listened half-politely to Winston’s late-night phone call, had driven to the corral the next morning to see the dead spiders,  and promptly agreed that they were not a hoax.  They were, however, remarkably heavy for their size.

“Fortunately,” Mayor Starling had said, “the bounty comes out of the State Treasury, not Prescott’s. Miss Hayes, you are no longer  an entirely poor woman.”

The hum of the motor of a Curtiss Oriole could be heard in the distance.

“They made good time,” Butler said.  “They took off right after first light.”

“It’s amazing,” Starling said.  “Fifty years ago, the fastest you could do was a train, if one was scheduled at the right time,and if rails went in the right places.   That plane left when people reached the airport, flew at seventy miles an hour all the way, and will be here in a few minutes.”

The clip-clop of horse’s hooves came from behind them. Starling turned, then tried to mask a frown.

“Mistress Sarah,” he managed, “As always, good to see our city’s most famous business woman.  I trust ostrich farming is doing well.”

“As always,” she answered. “But I must thank this young man,” she pointed at Winston, “for warning us that my ostriches might be in danger.”

“You called her?” Starling growled at Winston.

“People up late at night,” Winston answered.  “A good stock of guns, and men who know how to use them.”

“Fair enough,” Starling answered.

“Winston, dear,” Sarah said, “you being a young man I never see or talk to, except as you  visit while being a sheriff with two deputies,  I can’t say I believed you completely  until I saw those creatures this morning.  They are truly ugly.”

“Ma’am,” Winston answered,  “I wouldn’t have believed it myself, except I saw them while they were still alive.”

And that is as far as I have written. We have yet to meet President Harding, barbed wire, alien plants, army artillery, air strikes, or, of course, Professor Goddard and his rockets with photocell tracking, not to mention several scientific Congresses and Thomas Edison.

Now the shuttle was visible as a bright white disc, a small-scale model for the huge white disc of the Langley.  The Imperials were firmly convinced that prolate ellipsoids, flying submarines, were the only way to build good spaceships.  Only the Creator, Waters thought, knew what they would make of tetrahedral starships, but they were not about to be asked.

Silently, Pinnace LRRC-1A extended its landing legs and sank to the ground.  As it descended, its drives threw up a cloud of dust, a cloud blown away from Waters toward the rest of the landing field.  A starport shuttle car – not the latest model, Waters thought, but this was the small corner of the field reserved for Anglics  and other foreign species – advanced toward the Pinnace.  If the pinnace had been carrying Imperial Navy officers, there would have been an honor guard, a brass band, a guard battalion in full dress uniform trooping the color, sideboys with piping whistles, a crew serving a signal gun,  a luxury bus, and multiple banquets.  The Fleet ceremony was very complicated and rather expensive.  Here Captain Davis and a few staff would descend the boarding ramp, robots would onload his luggage into a Starport ground car, and he would be shuttled to his reception committee.  A Committee, Waters thought of three, two of whom were his bodyguards when they were not doing useful work.

A few minutes wait brought the Captain and luggage to Waters’ waiting aircar. Andrews and Waters clasped hands.  “Welcome to Barham, Captain,” Waters said.  “My aircar awaits.  I’ve notified the staff at the Eyes Resort to open the Anglic guest wing for your crew.  As Anglic Union consul on Barham, I’ve notified the Imperials that you have messages and request an audience.”  He gestured at the aircar’s now open door.  “We’re good for up to three tons of luggage and a dozen people, so there should be no issue.”  He followed Andrews into the car, and waited for his bodyguards and Waters’ crewmates to board and sit. 

“This vehicle actually manages Security Level Five,” Waters said.  “But please be introduced to Agent Smith and Agent Jones.”

“Our names when not doing useful work,” Jones said.  “You’ll meet our other persona at Headquarters.”  Andrews nodded understandingly.

“And this is my second in command, Martina Thistlewaite, and my Yeoman, Patrick Ploughman,” Andrews said.  Waters offered his hand.  Moderns seemed to have remarkably firm handclasps.  He asked himself how many times over his centuries polite handclasps had cycled between firm and gentle.  He couldn’t remember.  ‘Yeoman’ was a remarkably bland title.  It happened to include resupplying, so no one would be surprised if he wandered about the local city making purchases, but Ploughman was also the ship’s lead Intelligence Officer.

“Makes sense,” Melanie said.

“You have more horses here?” Schroeder asked.

“No, Sir.” Melanie shook her head. “There were a bunch this morning, sent off toward Salt Lake City by train, and the ones here were gone tomorrow, meaning my guard duty was done and I’d be laid off.  Now I get to be fired first. My horse is with Wilson’s corral east of here.  You folks don’t know someone looking to hire a cowgirl, or a newspaper looking for an artist and cartoonist, do you?”

Butler smiled and waved his hand vigorously.

“If you aren’t guarding anything,” Winston said, “You might be safer coming back to the station.  Those things might return. You have much luggage?”

“Saddlebags, one duffle, what’s left of my ammunition,” she answered, “in the shed. Packed to go, as I’d be gone after tomorrow morning. I’ll be back with it in a moment.”

“Schroeder,” Winston said.  “Walk with her, in case another one shows up.”

“Yes, Sir!” Schroeder answered.  “My wife would shoot me if I didn’t.”

“And I’ll bring the car up, Melanie,” Winston said, “so there’s less time spent shifting luggage.”

“Sheriff,” Butler asked, “what if there are more of them out there, and they show up tonight?”

“You can hear them coming,” Melanie announced, “Really strange noise, heard it must have been ten minutes before they showed, and the horses spooked from the start.  They have lots of legs, but they don’t walk fast.”

“Now what do we do?” Butler asked.

“First, I get back to the jail,” Winston said. “Then I get on the phone.” He allowed that he had a few minutes to consider whom to call. “This late, most people are asleep.  Mayor will be annoyed if I don’t call him. Gramps…no, they’re on a  field march, no phones.  Mister Butler, your photographer is of course welcome back.  He might want some bodyguards.  And we need some people to stand watch over the corral, so the corpses don’t disappear overnight. ”  He started writing in his pocket notebook. 

“Sheriff,” Butler asked, “how can something that big just disappear?”

“More show up and eat them,” Winston answered.  “Or they just vanish, like all the people on those trains.  Or souvenir hunters grab one, before they get weighed for Miss Hayes’ bounty.”

“Sheriff Cooper, Sir?” Schroeder said.

“Yes?”

“Sir, if you don’t mind listening to an old Sergeant we fought in Alsace-Lorraine, you want a guard position, second floor of barn,” Schroeder announced.  “Four guys, one napping, three awake. Bottom doors barred.  Break out the heavy machine gun, just in case.   And the ammo.   And two guys who know how to man it. I looked at those things close up.  Miss Hayes here is a right fine shot.  I’m not.  If a bunch of those things show up, or one of the things in the corral wakes up, because we only think it is dead, I want more hitting power than my service revolver.”