Song time

So I want to post another story, but I thought I'd take a turn at posting a song. This one is one that reminds me of the night I wrote about when David is a child and his older brother Chad is taken by a spacecraft by the General. This is what I call David's defining moment as a child, when he burns a barn down with his unknown abilities trying to save his brother.

The Visitors

"What was that?” H.F. asked, glancing at his captain.  The question was a flavored with a mix of hope and unease.

“I felt it, too.” James replied.  He scanned the inky black expanse beyond their hull, searching for the source of this sudden magnetic pull.

Both men’s nerves had worn raw. It seemed like everything that could go wrong with this mission had gone wrong. Some of it twice. Much of their ship’s instruments had been down since the explosion, leaving them no way to tell how far off course they’d drifted.  With their fuel cells steadily losing charge, James had managed to conserve energy by disabling the propulsion systems, using short bursts to keep them from being pulled into the range of meteor fields and passing planets, avoiding any further damage to the vessel. They shut off every instrument that wasn't absolutely necessary, keeping only the fuel, water, oxygen, heat and atmospheric compression meters running. With no clock to gauge the passage of time they somewhat lost track of how long they’d been adrift. H.F. began marking entries in a log book to help them count the days. But out here, every day looked the same; no hour was different from the next. Had they been adrift for six months or twelve? One year or two?

The best gauge was their food stores. Some penny-pinching budget bastard insisted that NASA was being extravagant when they outfitted the ship with two-years supply of food, since the mission wasn't supposed to take more than six months. After the explosion, they went to emergency rations as a precautionary measure. That two year supply should have easily lasted them three years, four if it had to. As their food slowly dwindled, James gave a silent prayer of gratitude to Barry, their mission director, who told the accountants to go count coffee beans or something equally useful. They were lucky. If Barry hadn't been college roommates with Sen. Reynolds, he wouldn't have had the stroke to give them what they really needed. And what they really needed was to be prepared for the worst of everything. And we still weren't, he thought ruefully.

His attention snapped back to the present when he heard H.F. speak again.

“Can we risk a little power to bring the props back online?”

“We’re running on fumes as it is. If we bring them up we may not have enough to power the oxygen systems much longer.”

“Well then. I guess we’ll wait and see what it is.” The ship lurched, hard this time. H.F. strapped himself into the co-pilot seat, but with almost all of their instruments offline there was little he could do but stare. And wait.

The ship began to creak and groan, jerking forcefully to the left, then down. James felt his stomach doing flip-flops as his mind began to spin.  He could see the wheels turning in H.F.’s head as well.

“It seems too strong to be a standard orbital pull,” James pondered.  “Seems almost…mechanical. You think?”

“It does" H.F. agreed. "Makes me wonder who’s inviting us to visit.”

James nodded slowly, searching the nothingness for any explanation of what was happening.  This ship was NASA’s pride and joy, their most impressive specimen to date.  It made the space shuttle look like a dinosaur (which it was) and rivaled some of Boeing’s best military aircraft in beauty.  It was outfitted with the most advanced stealth technology in the world…technology even the Air Force didn't have clearance to know about yet.  But it was nothing less than they needed.  Barry knew that, too.

Even the good Senator didn't know the purpose of this mission, where they were supposed to go and what they would be bringing back.  Very few did.  Which meant very few people would be looking for them, either.  But James and H.F. knew that long before they boarded the craft at the secret launch site hidden in the Marshall Islands. James let his mind drift, thinking once again of Mary, six months pregnant when he left.

----

“Just promise you’ll be back by his first birthday,” she’d said.

“I can’t promise that.” James had never been one to sugarcoat anything.  He couldn't tell Mary anything about their mission except that it was long, dangerous, and that anything was possible.  She knew that, and gave him one of her famous warm, knowing smiles as she cupped his chin and pulled him in for a kiss.

With an evil twinkle in her eye, she retorted, “Be back by his first birthday, or I’m naming him after your brother.”

“David’s a fine name,” James deadpanned, “A fine name for a fine man.”

“Jim!”  She punched his shoulder and pouted.  She was still the only one who called him that.

James laughed and wrapped his arms around her.  “Here’s a promise I can make: No matter what happens, I will do absolutely everything in my power to come back to you.  Believe that.”

Mary studied him for a moment. “I believe you.”

----

“I wonder how old little David is now.”

H.F. looked at his partner and captain for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “You really think she named him after your deadbeat brother?”

“Probably.” James was chuckling himself now. “It’s fair payback, god knows how many of her birthdays I've missed. Now I’ll be missing our son’s as well.”

“What? You’re worried about this?” H.F. smiled nonchalantly.

“Never said I was worried. I’m stating a fact.”

H.F. looked into the darkness before them, took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“He should be about 15 months now. I bet he’s walking already. Running around and driving Mary nuts.”

James smiled at that. “Well, maybe I’ll make it home in time to sign him up for Little League.”

Just then, the monitor in the center of their instrument panel sprang to life. H.F. frowned as he studied the static.

“Don’t suppose you’re sitting on the remote over there?” he quipped.

“No. Didn't touch anything,” James replied, that nervous, curious feeling creeping back up his neck.

The static grew louder and brighter over several minutes.

“I think the equipment is responding to the magnetic force.” H.F. suggested.  Several needles and gauges on their instruments began to jump haphazardly, prompting him to test the switches. Nothing helped.

As quickly as it started, the static faded out.  A blank, black screen appeared in its place with a blinking green cursor.

 -                 

“Uhhh…Mother?  Is that you?” H.F. laughed nervously.

“That isn't funny,” James muttered in a low voice, pressing the command keys on the monitor in an attempt to reboot the system. “Check the fuel systems.”

H.F. consulted a gauge to his lower left.  “Holding steady.  Huh…that’s weird.  We’re not actually using any power right now.”

“This makes no sense. How’s our oxygen?”

“Still going, our supplies are steady, nothing unusual in the meter.  What are you thinking?”

James stared a long moment at the blinking green cursor.  Something about it was wrong, but he couldn't decide what.  A deep unease washed over him when it clicked.

“Our systems use white text, don’t they?” It had been so long since they had everything running, James wasn't sure he remembered.

“Yeah.“H.F. leaned forward, noticing the green for the first time.  “Yeah….yeah they do.  You’re right.”

“So what is this?”

Before H.F. could respond, the cursor began to move.  Both men sat transfixed, holding their breath.

 HUMANS. WHAT IS YOUR STATUS? - 

James was dumbfounded.

“What the hell…?” H.F. muttered.

“That can’t be Mission Control.” James said slowly. “Barry wouldn’t…”  He stared at the screen a few minutes, unsure of what to do.  The computer continued.

 PLEASE ADVISE YOUR STATUS. - 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” James said, his breath increasing pace slightly.

 KEYPAD. -                    

“Pull up the keypad, James.  I think they want an answer.”

“I don’t know who this is.  I can’t jeopardize the mission.  We don't know that we can trust...whatever this is.”

“I think at this point our mission is toast.  I guess we’ll have to take a leap of faith.”

The green cursor blinked impatiently.

Drawing a deep breath, James pulled the keypad towards him and typed out his reply.

 STATUS: TWO HUMANS, ALIVE, UNHURT.- 

Vague, yet truthful.  That was as clear as he could stand to make it. I don’t like this, he thought.  Not at all.

 WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE HERE? -        

That was a bit more of a pointed question, and not one James would answer without knowing with whom he was communicating.  He worded his response cautiously.

 ARE YOU A FRIENDLY? -               

This time the computer seemed to chew on his reply.  The cursor blinked slowly as no response came.  After what felt like ages, the monitor snapped off, and the ship lurched again.

With his heart in his throat, James looked at his co-pilot.  “Well, looks like this is it.”

“Looks that way. Got a game plan?” Any trace of a smirk vanished from H.F.’s face.

“Sort of,” James said distractedly, scanning the nothingness again, searching for answers that wouldn’t come.

“Spill the beans, I don’t think we have much time.”

“It’s not much of a plan.  Just…whatever happens, I want to go home. Alive.  I need to see my son.”

“Good enough for me. Whatever it takes, then.”

The ship began to turn sharply downward.  All of a sudden a violet-colored planet emerged from the blackness and filled their view.

Breathing slowly, deliberately, James agreed.“Whatever it takes.”

Why is this blog here?

Captain Razzberry is a little storyline I began developing with my best friend something like (yikes!) 20 years ago.  I don't actually like to think about how long ago we started piecing together the first components of the story, because that reminds me how old I really am and I don't feel that old....so there.

The story was born one late night when we were in high school.  We were up 'til some ridonkulous hour cooking, of all things, for a dinner party.  Anybody remember when we still had those?  Well it used to be a thing for me and her back in the day.  You know which day I'm talking about.  Back when people still knew what a letter was, and only the newest, fanciest cars had CD players instead of tape decks.  Yeah...THAT day.

After the first pieces began to emerge, we continued to collaborate on the storyline in a completely serious way.  We were roommates for a time in college, and during that year we spent every Saturday parked at our local Waffle House, surrounded by notes, furiously sketching out character profiles and outlining major events in the story.  We wrote screenplays, and we totally expected to sell them.  One year in a fit of utter madness we even tried to SHOOT one of the movies ourselves.  But over the long haul it just remained something special between me and her.  We told other people about it, they were mildly interested, but we were the only ones who really cared.

We lived and breathed this story on an obsessive level that only a fellow artist can appreciate, where something consumes you and eventually becomes part of your very being, a component of your true identity.  Amid the wide tapestry of characters we generated for this world, two emerged as our favorites.  We each felt ourselves drawn to one character, and began to use the character's name as we ventured onto the Internet (back when the Internet was a "new" thing and people never used "real names").  So committed are we to this story, to these characters...so gripped by all the story has come to represent to both of us...we use the same monikers to this day.

My best friend went on to do all kinds of awesome things, including earning a Masters in Creative Writing from a highly respected university.  Her thesis project?  Captain Razzberry.  I did mention we were consumed by this, did I not?

Life and other crap has separated me from my best friend by half a planet.  She ended up in Chicago married to an awesome dude (I had the great honor of standing up for her recently as one of her attendants) and I ended up in the Philippines married to a totally different awesome dude.  But this story, like our friendship, is much bigger than lil' ol' Planet Earth.

I work in crazy insane places and she's gone on to earn a bunch of different university degrees and has essentially devoted her life to creating and expressing herself artistically.  It may seem nuts, I have a pretty interesting life, but she will never really know how much I envy that of her.  Today was one of those days.  I came across this song by Daughtry (don't judge me!), buried in my mp3 playlist, called Spaceship.  The lyrics just hit right to the core of my Captain Razzberry soul.  It stirred the beast that went to sleep long ago, and suddenly...I had to write.  I mean HAD to write.


Admit it, it's a pretty cool song.

Anyway, it's been so long that I've forgotten so many of the secondary and tertiary character names.  I find myself struggling to remember more than the meanest of highlights from the overall story-arc.  But I honestly did not care.  I had to write.  So I did.

And now I'm starting this blog, and hoping to entice my dearest and oldest friend (two and a half months older than me, to be exact) to join me in bringing our story back to life, by writing episodes or chapters or short stories or whatever you want to call them.  Stuff.  Writing stuff.  With me.  From the other side of the planet.  Because the Internet is awesome.

So here we go!  I'll post my first contribution in a few minutes.  Then I'll send her an invite and see what happens.  ;-)

Enjoy!

Cory (a.k.a. Juleska)