Books by George!

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.”

Abernathy yawned and said a few words to his AI.  “Found them,” he finally announced, “the records thought the ship was out of service. The Anglic Union, part of some treaty arrangement, supplies the Imperial Fleet with a certain number of ships of their design that meet certain specifications. They stay in service with us, for not very long, mostly so their officers have some idea of how a real fleet operates. That reconnaissance cruiser was with us for half a year before we ruled it Not Fit For Purpose and credited them with the three years it had been expected to stay. The Langley was then taken off the rolls and marked ‘presumed sent to breakers’.   That whole program, them supplying us with ships and crews, gets changed once the accession talks succeed. ”

“Weirdest design of a ship I’ve ever seen,” Pelham said. “What were they thinking?”

“Anglic Union has a tradition of producing very odd ships,” Wu said, “sometimes ships with interesting performance parameters, though not ships that anyone in their right mind would want to buy.”

“They have access to our designs,” Pelham mumbled, “we even offered them assistance in implementing construction of needed components, but they weren’t interested. The Imperial Fleet has the best ships in the galaxy, after all, but they insisted on making things of their own design. Strange. Well, back to work.”

~~~~~

Eyes on the Skies

Sector Headquarters, Barham

Martingale 6, 853 AIS

Hiram Waters stood by his aircar, inhaling the sea breeze.  There was a stiff on-shore breeze, bringing the roar of the surf to his ears.  If he were to distress his cyborg bodyguards by walking across the parking lot, he could watch the waves break.  When he had been a  young man, two centuries ago, he would surely have done that.  However, when he had been a young man, he had had no need for bodyguards. 

The display in his eyeglasses, eyeglasses being a device the local Imperials thought was a quaint affectation of the backwards Anglic Union, displayed a few words.  The pinnace from the Langley should be in sight to the north.  He peered in the direction the glasses indicated, letting the glasses increase their magnification.   Now he could see a small white dot.

He had been slightly early.  It was an excuse to get out of the office, something he was not often able to do.  Barham was a beautiful world, with warm seas that encouraged swimming, at least when the surf was not too high. Today, alas, he had business to attend to.  While he waited, he re-read the grumblings from the System Governor.  The Imperium was now decidedly late on forwarding Barham’s share of the Imperial Fisc.  That was starting to become a problem, a problem that he had been invited to help solve. Why did the Imperials insist on forwarding  all money from the value added and income taxes to the Imperial Capital, only to return much of Barham’s contribution to Barham?  Surely the Anglic Union would do nothing so Goldbergian.  Well, it was their country, which the Anglic Union would hopefully never belong.