Washed Up – Part 2
Sometimes, the hardest part of writing is doing so when you don’t know where to take the story. With Washed Up, there’s not really any direction to go, so I will rely on one of the most crucial elements of my writing style.
I’m going to let the character lead the way.
You heard me. The protagonist of the story is going to help me tell it. It’s far more common than you’d think. All you do is lean in, and focus on what the character would be doing in each situation. Would she want to explore further, would she waste time screaming at the sky, or would she just knuckle under and find a way to keep going? I have found that when your back is against the literary wall, the best way to escape is to follow your character out of the mess you’ve made.
So join me as we follow our hero.
Washed Up – Part 2
Her helmet lay abandoned on the slurry where wave met shore, and the only competition for the sound of the water was the shouting from one Flight Lieutenant Abigail Weathers.
And she was furious.
“What do you mean you don’t know where I am?!? I didn’t suffer brain damage John, I know my etheric system is still working just fine BECAUSE I AM TALKING TO YOU RIGHT NOW!!”
After a brief delay, the indistinct voice on the other end of the tether quickly began listing out what the signal captures were saying about her position. The unlucky John tried to keep things short and professional, but you could tell he was dying to release his own verbal salvo. Abigail felt no such desire for restraint.
“So you’re saying that a routine jump managed to somehow, someway, strand me so far out of range that you can’t even locate me on the etheric network? How did I go from Andromeda to ENTIRELY OUTSIDE OF THE MILKY WAY JOHN?!?!”
The other end of the tether was silent. Even at this range, there was minimal delay on the etheric network. Abigail had been forced to set up a small boosting station, and the tiny hydrogen fusion battery and miniature boosting pyramid were on the dry shore next to her. The air was crisp and fresh, and a small, not quite so furious part of Abigail marveled again that she had been stranded on such a habitable world. The horde of nano-bots which swam through her body easily beat back foreign bacteria, viruses, and other contaminants which would otherwise prove lethal.
The quiet, clipped voice of John sounded, and his response was brief. Rage and frustration vanished, and real fear tinged Abigail’s features and voice for the first time since she had awoken on the alien shore.
“You don’t know. I can engage an etheric tether with you, but as far as Mother is concerned, I don’t exist. John, how is that even possible? Did you ask Mother why she couldn’t see me? Can you get an Interface on the tether John? Something is wrong. Mother was only supposed to bubble me back to Earth, not cannonball me away from civilization.”
A cool, quiet, passionless female voice sounded as soon as the tether delay allowed. It was an Interface, and Abigail breathed a quiet prayer of thanks.
“Greetings Lieutenant Weathers. I am sorry that your return to Earth has become such an ordeal, but I do not know where you were sent. An etheric signal was jammed past my defense protocols, and hijacked your personal warp bubble. I blew three entire fusion stacks and made a sizable crater on the Moon in gathering enough power to send you wherever you’ve arrived, and my systems were overloaded by the backwash to such an egregious extent that I was unable record where you had gone. I am sorry Abigail, but I cannot even see you on the Etheric network, let alone pull you back from wherever you’ve been taken.”
Abigail didn’t sink to her knees, but she struggled not to drown in the tide of fear which washed over her. She got angry, her best defense against the fear and her automatic response once her back was to the wall. It was what made her such a good scout pilot, why Mother had been willing to allocate an Interface as soon as she had requested one. She was a necessary part of humanities expanse, and a vital eye for the land-locked central processing units of Mother.
“So what you’re saying is that I’m on my own. I understand Mother, please keep looking for me, and send a packet as soon as you find something.”
The Interface sounded back the same reply that all citizens of the Empire knew as the most ironclad promise possible in this universe or any other.
“If you can be brought home, you will be. If I must move Heaven and Earth to do it, I shall bring you back.”
The tears did flow then, and Abigail let them have their say.
To be continued…
Motherfully,
The Unsheathed Quill
