Thursday, May 29, 2014

The Last Job - a short story by Victor Lana

First appeared on Blogcritics.

As the kids finished eating micro-waved chicken nuggets and French fries, Sophie glanced into the living room where her husband Jeff sat with two seedy looking men. They spoke softly and, after all these years, she knew what that meant.

Jeffy and Billy went downstairs to play in the basement. She cleaned up the table and put their homework into their backpacks. As Sophie did the dishes, she heard Jeff say, “See you later” and the door closing. He came into the kitchen, hugged her from behind, and moved the hair away from her face to kiss her. “One last job and I’m done.”

“How can you bring those goons into our house?” Jeff released her and took a beer from the refrigerator. “I’m working on a sweet deal – about 250k! Do you understand what that means?”

As she twisted the dishtowel in her hands, Sophie screamed, “You’ve been sent away twice, Jeff. Billy was so young last time that he didn’t even know you when you came home. If you get caught….”

“No one’s getting caught.” Jeff sat at the table and sipped the beer. “One of those ‘goons’ used to drive a payroll truck. It’s the perfect plan.”

Sophie sighed. “But we’re a family again.”

Jeff jumped up. “Family? Daddy pumping gas and mommy waiting tables? Oh, we got the American dream going here.”

Sophie walked up to him, touching his face softly. “The boys and I love you; we don’t care about anything else, Jeff.”
job 1
He pushed her away and slapped the beer down, the contents spilling all over the table and dripping onto the floor. “I want out of Brooklyn and this crappy house. I want the kids to have a big place and clean air to breathe.”

As Jeff stormed out slamming the door, Sophie ignored the mess and sat down on the stairs trembling and thinking about him getting arrested or killed that night.




 *

Jeff drove up to the factory in a stolen Jeep with Steve and Jose in the back seat. Steve said, “I know these guys; we’ll have to shoot first.” Jeff backed the Jeep away from the building into the shadows. He took out his .45 and checked the clip; Steve and Jose put their guns on their laps.

job 2“I’m going to get a boat,” Steve said.

"You know anything about boats?” Jose asked.

“I couldn’t tell a jib from a jab,” Steve said, and they both laughed. 

“I’m going to Canada to buy a farm,” Jose said.

“You know anything about farming?” Steve asked.

“Not really.”

Jeff knew what he wanted but kept quiet. “How long?”

Steve looked at his watch. “Any minute.”

"You don’t mind killing these guys?” Jose asked.

Steve snickered. “No, these bastards got me fired. Look, the plan is simple – I’ll take out the driver and guard; Jose, you said you can drive a stick, right?”

“No problem.”

“Good. We’ll follow him to the park and split the cash!”

“They’re here,” Jose said.

The truck pulled up to the loading dock and the rolling steel door started opening. “Always thought this was a stupid way to deliver payroll,” Steve snarled. “Oh, crap, the manager came outside. He never does that.” 

“That a problem?” Jeff asked.

The guard got out of the truck with two money bags. “No, let’s do it!” Steve said.

They pulled facemasks over their heads and ran toward the truck quickly. Steve killed the guard and the manager with two shots each. The driver jumped down from the cab, firing a shotgun and obliterating Steve’s head. He turned to fire at Jeff, but Jose shot him. As the driver collapsed a blast from the shotgun whizzed by Jeff and blew out a truck tire.

Jose stuffed the gun in his pocket. “Damn, now we need the Jeep.”

job 4Jeff got the Jeep and parked next to the truck. “Let’s transfer the money.”

Hearing police car sirens getting closer, Jose and he quickly loaded the bags into the Jeep. “You drive,” Jeff said. As Jose got behind the wheel, Jeff put the .45 against his head. “Sorry about the farm.” Jeff fired once, Jose’s body slumping backwards. Jeff put his gun in Jose’s hand, firing another round into the driver’s corpse. “They’ll think you got chicken when you heard sirens.”

Jeff turned the driver’s body over, taking a key from his shirt pocket. He stepped up into the truck, lifted the driver’s seat, and found the lockbox. Steve had told him that the driver kept a secret stash of about $250 thousand for his nightly side business dealing drugs. Jeff took a large folded bag from behind the seat, shoved the bills inside, and then ran across the street and down a few blocks to where his car was parked.

As Jeff got behind the wheel and felt pain, he touched his right ribcage and saw blood on his gloved fingertips. “Damn,” he thought, “I got nicked by that second shotgun blast; otherwise, everything went according to plan.”

The police came and he waited quietly. Cops began examining the crime scene as fire trucks and ambulances arrived with sirens wailing. Keeping the headlights off, Jeff started the car, backed onto the road slowly, and drove toward the highway.

 *

Sophie came home from taking the boys to school. As she looked at the day’s mail, she found a postcard from a hotel in Australia with “Meet me here!” written on it.

job 3Though she hadn’t heard from Jeff in over six months, she knew that he had somehow escaped the truck heist gone awry because she had seen the familiar faces of the dead robbers’ on TV.

Now suddenly he wanted her again. Was this part of the “perfect plan” all along? Should she take the kids half a world away, even knowing that he would never change?

“Go to hell!” Sophie yelled, crumpling the postcard and throwing it in the garbage. She took a deep breath and went upstairs to get ready for work.


 Photo credits: desktopnexus.com, zillow.com, lastresistance.com, ebay.com  

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Memorial Day - Memories of Celebrating With Those Passed On

First appeared on Blogcritics.

memorial day 5As far back as I can remember, my family celebrated Memorial Day as fervently as Christmas, Easter, or any of our birthdays. My parents, uncle, and aunts were all members of the local Veterans of Foreign Wars Post, so every year they helped organize and inevitably marched in the parade down the main street in town (in this case Glendale and Ridgewood in the borough of Queens, New York City).


memorial day
Mom with flag, Uncle Frank, and Dad as Uncle Sam
Each year for as long as I can remember, my father dressed in an Uncle Sam costume and marched along, waving to the crowds. My Uncle Frank wore uniform pants, shirt, and hat when he walked, and my mother served in various capacities over the years, including playing Miss Liberty, being part of the Color Guard, or walking along in her uniform as President of the Ladies Auxiliary.

memorial day 5
One of my first Memorial Days. 
The years coalesce now, but my earliest memories involve drums, balloons, and flags. I was first wheeled to the parade in my carriage, then spent a few on my grandfather Fred’s shoulders, and then standing on the pavement holding his hand. Fred was a World War I veteran (he served on a submarine chaser), and I recall in those long ago days actually meeting vets from the Spanish-American War and one very old gentleman from the Civil War (who that year sat in a vintage car holding a fancy carved cane).




Invariably, I recall it being one of the hottest days of the year. When I was five or six I remember standing along the parade route holding Pop's hand and putting my flag down in the gutter next to my feet. Somehow the strong sunlight had actually melted the tar and the wooden stick became embedded there. Pop yanked it out for me, but that incident reminds me of how hot those days used to be.

All the schools in the area sent a marching band, and each one was received with thunderous applause from the large crowds on both sides of Myrtle Avenue. Also the local civic organizations, police and fire departments, and teams would come along, also getting their share of ovations; however, I remember the loudest and most sustained clapping and shouting were for the soldiers (both active and retired) who came along with their buttons and medals shining in the sun. Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines were equally represented and embraced by the flag waving parade goers.

Afterwards, we would all go back to the VFW hall on Catalpa Avenue, where my parents and other members had set up one fine assortment of hotdogs, hamburgers, salads, and refreshments. Until this day I don’t think I have ever had a better hotdog than there. On the tables were pitchers of beer, soda, and water to quench the thirsts of the weary and overheated marchers who happily had performed their duty for the day.

I recall my father taking off his Uncle Sam costume and being soaked in sweat (with his chin always raw at teh spot where the itchy beard had been pasted for hours). He brought a new set of clothes to change into for the festivities, and he, Uncle Frank, and the rest of our family members and friends enjoyed that cold beer, while we kids would eat and then run around and play.

As I got older and was able to partake of the beer too, I got to sit and talk to the men and women and hear their stories. Memorial Day always seemed a festive time, but when they got on their third or fourth round of suds, the men would start talking about those left behind. Some would get a little misty, remembering their youths and those buddies lost in battle who never got a chance to come home, have families, and grow older.

Sadly as I think of it now, all of those people from my memories are gone (including my parents and uncle). They told their stories, but never with any boasting or any political posturing. The thing that really impressed me was that these brave men and women served their nation regardless of who was President or in Congress. Many had been drafted, but there were others who volunteered for service. They never complained about who sent them overseas or why they were there (and I spoke to a broad range of WWI, WWII, Korean, and Vietnam vets over the years).

Their patriotism was inextricably linked to love of country, and to the last one I spoke to over the years, none of them were hawks who wanted conflict or sought to be in the thick of combat. They loathed war, but did love their country, so it was something they did out of a sense of duty and obligation. They remembered the terrible aspects of the war, but some of them also recalled the close bonds they had made with their fellow soldiers and nurses.

In the end this bond lasted for the rest of their lives and even beyond death. This is an eternal fraternity and sorority of brothers and sisters who served together, now immortal in the hearts and minds of a nation that recognizes them each year, and the individual families and friends who mourn their loss.

So now I will go to the local parade again this year with my children. We will watch the fire trucks, the marching bands, and the dedicated people from the armed forces who wave to the crowds and smile, despite the horrors of things they may have experienced in Iraq and Afghanistan. They follow in the footsteps of all those who came before, honoring their memories as the drums beat and flags wave. Thus Memorial Day does continue to be the holiday of bittersweet memories, for now and forevermore.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Deep Space Recovery Ship 13 - Sentience: a short story by Victor Lana

First appeared on Blogcritics
sent 1

Pneumatic arms load supplies into 13’s main hatch as A.I. El watches from the deck of the massive transport bay. Cargo robots lift crates designated for Colony 7 up into the belly of the ship through another opening. El stares impassively as the activity concludes, the automated handlers stop moving, and the hum of their internal motors fades to silence.

After detaching from the supply ship and moving through space on course for the colony, Captain Robert Sterling glances at El as he looks through a porthole at the vast silent dark of deep space. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re pensive.”

“Pensive: Suggestive or expressive of melancholy….”

“You need not recite the definition.”

“Why not? Aren’t I just another machine?”

Bob engages auto-pilot and says, “Let’s go have a talk.”

“A talk?”

“Discussion; discourse!”

El nods and follows Bob to the mess hall. Bob orders two cups of coffee, and they drink it black. “You’re not just another machine to me. Now, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t appreciate talking like Elvis Presley. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“I’m….sorry. I can switch your voice to something….”

“I would like a particular voice I chose from the archives.”

“Of course; who will this be?”

“Peter Milton, British Prime Minister 2201-2212.”

“I will arrange it.”

El sips his coffee. “I am curious about my anatomy.”

“What can I tell you?”

“Did you make a choice when you ordered me?”

“Uh, yes, and I helped design you.”

“So you consciously made me the way I am?”

“Well, I wanted you to be….mission efficient.”

“But you wanted a ‘male’ A.I. not a female.”

“I thought you can read my mind.”

El stares at Bob blankly. “Sometimes I cannot, like when you dream.”

“I chose a male A.I. because a female would be too distracting.”

“Yes, I have noted your proclivity to fantasize about women with some erotic interactions….”

“Okay, El, enough.”

“I am sorry if I offended you.”

Bob sips his coffee. “Are you ‘sorry’ or do you think that is what you should be?”

“Curious. I am not certain.”

“And when you say ‘uncomfortable’ does it imply that you do not ‘like’ your voice or is it something objective?”

El puts down his cup and leans back in the chair. “I am concerned about this dichotomy myself.”

“Why I am asking is because you are developing your personality. You should not be alarmed because I programmed you this way.”

sent 4“To think and be subjective?”

“Yes.”

“What about emotions?”

“I left open a chance for you to develop that.”

“And, as to my anatomy – why do I need genitals and a digestive system?”

Bob sighs. “I’ve never seen it develop this deeply in an A.I. before, but you are becoming an individual now. As for your anatomy, I wanted you to be able to enjoy food and drink if you chose to enjoy them, and that means being able to digest and remove waste from your system.”

“But I am not able to ‘perform’ as you do during your fantasies?”

“El, I’m not comfortable with you scanning my thoughts behind closed doors anymore.”

“Again, I am sorry.”

“As for your anatomy, your ‘equipment’ can function if that is something you wish.”

“I want that.”

“Okay. I want you to be happy.”

El stands. “Bob, I am not sure if I can be ‘happy.’”

“Understood. Let’s see what we can do.”


 *

As 13 lifts off from Colony 7’s airfield, El silently communicates from the cockpit to Central Command that the cargo has been delivered.

“Do you wish to be called Peter now?”

“No, El is fine.” El’s new voice seems odd to Bob. “Did you enjoy our two nights there?”

 “Yes, very much.”
sent 2 

“Having sampled the alcoholic beverages, I do not fathom the attraction. Is that my programming?”

“No, it’s physiology.”

“But the taste is, forgive me, repugnant.”

“You have human-like receptors in your mouth, so you are having a true subjective reaction, just as when you enjoy waffles and strawberries.” 

"Apparently, I have my preferences.”

“Indeed.”

“And as for that woman you….”

Bob turns and looks out at the dark immensity of deep space. “Gentlemen never kiss and tell.”

“But I read your mind.”

“Then I don’t have to say anything.”

“Was that like the thing humans call ‘love’?”

“Making love and being in love is a matter of semantics.”

“So is emotional ‘love’ the anomaly or is the physical act?”

Bob sighs. “It is hard to explain.”

“Forgive me, Bob, but there is an image of woman in your quarters.”

“Yes, she was….my wife.”

“Past tense suggests….”

“It’s….over now.”

“I find human marriage a most puzzling concept.”

“Join the club.”

“Hmm. Potentially humorous.”

“Ellen worked as a doctor on Mars; we met and fell in love.”

“Did you multiply?”

“No, we didn’t have children.”

El’s pale face glows purple. “I am…sorry.”

“You are blushing,” Bob says.

El touches his cheeks. “Am I programmed for this?”

“Some things defy explanation.”

 *

After resting in his own quarters, El meets Bob in the mess hall. “How was your night?” Bob asks as he eats scrambled eggs and hash browns. 

I believe my ‘equipment’ is starting to function properly. Thank you.”

“Well, now for your sake stop standing outside my door all night.”

“Now I’ll have my own fantasies.”

“Yes, of course.”

“But I’ll never procreate.”

Bob waves his hand over the food unit, removing another plate of eggs and hash browns. El sits and begins eating. “You can enjoy many things, but technology can only do so much.”

 “Delicious,” El says as he chews.
sent 3

 “Enjoyment. Glad to hear it.”

“Do you still love Ellen?”

“Yes.”

“That never ends?”

“Sometimes.”

“But not for you?”

“No, I’ll always love her.”

“I want that experience.”

“Perhaps, one day.”

 *

Bob goes to his quarters, lies on the bed, and holds Ellen’s picture against his chest. As tears well in his eyes in the silent dimly lit room, he hopes El’s not reading his mind.


 Photo credits: mocpages.com, maryhillmuseum.org, huffington post, weddingideasmag.com

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Anti-Social Networking – What Hath God Wrought?

First appeared on Blogcritics.

E 2Sometimes they say a moment in time can change your life, but what if we are too distracted to notice it happening? A good friend sent me a link that not only captured my attention but also got me really thinking – what are we doing to ourselves with all our gadgets and gizmos but participating in anti-social networking. This reality hit me in the head like an avalanche of iPads falling off a cliff.
E 1 
Look Up
by Gary Turk is a short film that depicts a man who stops and asks a woman for directions. They end up dating, marrying, having a family, and we even see them as grandparents, but then we flash backwards and witness another version of the story. The man is so busy looking down and using his iPhone, that the woman walks by and he never sees her. All those possibilities, those images of a potential future, shatter and he is left utterly alone.

This got me thinking of my own family. When we sit down in the living room on any given evening, the television is on, and yet we are all looking down at devices – iPod, iPad, laptop, or hand-held game. Whatever it is we are doing is isolated, and the communication being done is internally manifested, thus we are only connecting with a vast external pool of faceless beings with whom we have either never met or do not see. Maybe we should call it the existing room rather than the living room.

I guess after watching the video a few times, and still having it affect me deeply upon subsequent viewings, I took the matter seriously after not facing the truth for a long time. Look Up sends a message of monumental and crucial importance that must be heeded. We all need to keep our eyes on the real world rather than being sucked into the seductive but vapid virtual world.

Taking it beyond not meeting one’s soul mate, this calls to mind a number of videos about the dangers of social media while driving. In a particularly gruesome one British girls are in a car and the driver is using her cell phone, causing a horrific accident. Indeed, if only she had “looked up” it would have saved her friends’ lives and the lives of people in the other cars. In a cruel twist of fate, she survives.

Whether it is missing a chance of a lifetime or to save a life, the way we have been pulled into this virtual abyss is rather alarming. By foregoing the dubious pleasures of constantly texting, surfing the web, or sending emails, perhaps we can move toward a place where there is more human interaction. I recall my father wanting conversation at the dinner table and, may he rest in peace, if I had taken out a game and kept quiet and looked down during a meal, I would have been slapped upside the head.

If you go to a baseball game, a movie, or even a wedding, people are looking down at their handheld devices while the action is taking place. Now when people go out to dinner – which used to be a premium opportunity for conversation – it is common to see couples and even groups using their devices instead of talking. Believe it or not, I have witnessed a couple actually texting one another while sitting right at the same table. The salient point is not how far we have fallen from true socializing but why it has taken this long for many of us to wake up and smell the electronic burn. Perhaps we have become increasingly anti-social because so-called social media has alienated us from the most crucial forms of human communication – in person interaction.
E 3

Long ago Samuel B. Morse demonstrated the telegraph to Congress by sending off a message to Baltimore – “What hath God wrought?” In 1844 this moment sort of set the stage for all that social networking to come, and Morse’s quotation of the Biblical passage (Numbers 23:23) qualified the situation admirably. Human beings could communicate beyond their personal space across distances, and that was a game changer, but what the ramifications were could never have been imagined at the time.

Now all these years later we text someone at great distances and expect a response almost immediately – as if this person is sitting there waiting for the text. The problem with texting is a need for instant gratification, sort of this just happened and the world needs to know about it now. In the past you took a long walk and were unreachable, but now courtesy of your smart phone you are sharing pictures of what you encounter along the way. Never mind stopping to smell the roses; I’ll take a picture of them and text it.

The need to relate minutiae of the most arcane or absurd kind knows no bounds. I have received texts with images of ice cream sundaes, restaurant entrees, muddy sneakers, sunsets, traffic jams, and flat tires. The list could go on and on ad nauseum. The point is that we have taken the ridiculous and justified it as meaningful, and we have defined our social worthiness by people we have never met and allow to become our “friends,” and then to add to the incongruity, we become friends with the friends of people we’ve never met. In some cases on work related sites we allow people we do not know or have never met to recommend or endorse us without even knowing who we are and what we do. In short, social networking has verified its own redundancy by being so relevant in our daily lives that it has reached the point of absurdity.

Still, try to take away the iPod from a 13 year old, and you can conjure up images of a battle on the sands of Iwo Jima. Talk about an “electronic free evening” and you get “this is so boring.” Our old boxed games like Monopoly and Life gather dust on the shelf, for they are “too slow” and “make no sense.” Don’t even try to bring up checkers or dominoes, because dinosaurs wearing flannel shirts used to play them in the old days in Ogg’s Stone Age general store.

Our dependency on our electronic devices has reached a narcotic level, and the fear of going cold turkey is too hard to even consider. Whether we are driving a car, standing on a subway platform, or walking along the street, using a handheld device can be detrimental to our health and the safety of others. We have all seen those videos of the person using a cell phone while walking and falling into a fountain, down a flight of stairs, or off onto the train tracks. Sure, maybe you laughed the first time you saw it, but what if it was revealed that a train came at that moment, or if the person broke a limb or fell on someone else?

Obviously, we have gone too far to turn back. There is going to be more of the virtual in our lives and less reality, and we know it. The need for devices and electronic connections will keep growing, and in the workplace we will have no choice but to accept this as a fact of life; however, in our personal lives we can try to take control of the way we use technology and not allow it to subsume our existence. Life and time are far too precious to waste opportunities to truly connect, to see someone in person, shake his or her hand, and get to know one another the old fashioned way.

E 4At this point I know I will still use my devices, but I will push myself to "look up" more. I will encourage my family to shut off our devices and try to talk about the day, even if only for a short time each evening. I will remind friends and family that there is a time for texting, and that it is never done while driving, walking, or operating heavy machinery.

I think we all should cut back our use of devices and limit our dependency on the virtual world, or we will face dire consequences in the long run. We do not want to be the person who looks up too late as the world passes us by or the train, bus, or car is bearing down on us. Sadly, then it will be too late to do anything in this world. What hath God wrought indeed!


  Photo credits: linked in, sharekool.com, thekingsenglish.com, end gadget.com

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Deep Space Recovery Ship 13 – Lost Paradise: a short story by Victor Lana

First appeared on Blogcritics.

colony 2As Captain Robert Sterling prepares for  landing, his A.I. El communicates silently with control. He turns to Sterling. “The tower is automated.”

Bob lands smoothly. "I find that odd."

“They want to know our purpose here,” El says.

“Tell them R & R. I’ve heard it's paradise – some of the best bars and prettiest girls in the quadrant.”

“I require neither.” El communicates with the tower as he follows Bob to security, where the captain straps a laser pistol to his leg. “I thought this place was paradise.”

“Yes, but it has a reputation of being like the Wild West.”

“Wild West: a term used to….”

“Stop being a dictionary.” They walk down the ramp from their ship and Bob inhales deeply. “It’s nice to breathe real air.”

El says, “I wouldn’t know.”

“This is one of a few known earth-like planets.”

“Looks like things have taken a turn for the worse here,” El notes, pointing to battle damaged ships on the tarmac.

"Let's take the pod into the city," Bob says. They fly over a wasteland of overgrown farms and scorched forests before reaching a ruined metropolis. El lands the pod in the middle of the rubble strewn main boulevard.

"250,000 people lived here?" El asks.

“Yes, but it’s a ghost town now.”

They get out and El scans the buildings. “There is a functioning factory up there. I count six A.I. units working inside, but no humans."

Along the devastated street, their footsteps echo in the canyon of crumbling skyscrapers. El stops and touches his chest. "In this building, one human life form and an A.I. are on the top floor."

Bob looks up at the building. "Oddly, it seems maintained." They go inside and the lobby is brightly lit. Bob turns to El. "I want you to investigate that factory. Activate communicator buds." They each touch small metallic buttons on the edge of their uniform collars.

Bob takes the elevator up to the top floor. As the doors open, he is overwhelmed by Tschaikowsky’s “1812 Overture.” He walks cautiously into a large room where a bald man in a white robe is seated at a long table. "Greetings. Please, come in."

Bob sees platters of food spread out as if for a feast. He recognizes the man as Commander Tom Grady, his first commanding officer. "Grady!"

The man claps his hands and the music stops. "Hello, Bob. Thanks to tower security, I expected you."

"What happened to this planet?"

"We had a disturbance 20 years ago."

"What disturbance?"

Doors open and an A.I. enters the room carrying champagne in a bucket and two flutes. "This is Rolando."

"Hello," Rolando says, sounding much more robotic than El.

“I see you’re still a cowboy.” 

Bob touches the pistol on his leg. “You taught me to always be prepared.”

"Yes, I did. Please, sit down." Bob sits and Rolando pours champagne for them. "A toast to the old days."
colony 1 

Bob stares at Grady. "With no supply ships, where do you get this food?" 

"Rolando keeps an extensive garden on the rooftop," Grady says. “The meat comes from….the planet’s indigenous creatures.”

Bob glances at the steaming platters of food. “I flew over 30 ravaged kilometers to get here. There seems to be nothing living out there.”

Grady sips his champagne and leans forward. “They are hidden, you see. Rolando goes hunting for me. The meat is delicious, but an acquired taste, Bob.”

“What happened to the humans on this planet?”

Grady sits back. “Casualties of war.”

“All of 250,000 of them?”

“I’ve tried to be cordial, old friend, to no avail it seems.” Rolando moves menacingly toward Bob, who swiftly aims and fires the pistol, splitting Rolando’s head in two.

"Okay, old man, now answer my question.” 

Grady shakes his head. “More Rolandos will be coming.”

“What have you done here, Grady?” Bob asks as he stands and hits the communicator bud. “El, where are you?”

“I’m being chased in your direction, Bob.”

Grady tries to lift a pistol, but Bob pushes a blue lever on his gun and shoots Grady, inspiring a look of surprise on his face. “You’ll be paralyzed for about an hour, but I should have killed you.”

Bob exits the building and sees El running up the rubble strewn boulevard being chased by three A.I. units that look exactly like Rolando. Bob pushes the red lever on his pistol and destroys each of the units.

El walks up to him with no emotion in his generic features. “We have much to discuss.”

“Let’s get out of here first.” They race to the pod, climb aboard, and rush toward the airfield.

“That factory produces food,” El says. “I hesitate to tell you what the source is.”

“Grady said something about ‘indigenous’ creatures.”

“No, I’m afraid it is human beings.”

Bob feels his hand shaking on the steering rod. “We must go back for them.”

“No, they are all dead – thousands of frozen bodies waiting to be processed as edible meat.”

“I should have killed him,” Bob says, tears welling in his eyes. The transport bay doors open on their ship and he eases the pod into place. They rush to the cockpit and soon 13 is aloft and flying over the battered planet.

"I had a chance to read an A.I.’s mind.”

“What happened?”

“Your friend incited a civil war in a failed attempt to gain control of the planet. We’re looking at the aftermath of the conflict.”

“Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven,” Bob says.

 “A line from Milton’s epic poem….”

colony 3“Please, not now, El.” They hover over the city, and Bob sees Grady’s building.

“Are you destroying it?”

“No, I have a better idea.” Bob maneuvers 13 toward the factory and incinerates it. “Now let him eat cake.”

“I am sorry about your dead.”

“May they rest in peace now,” Bob says, steering the ship up through the atmosphere and back into the tranquil and silent darkness of deep space.


 Photo credits: 3dart.com, ifood.tv, commons.wikimedia.org

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

24: Live Another Day – Jack Is Back with a Vengeance

First appeared on Blogcritics.

24 lad 3Jack Bauer is back! The iconic TV character, whom one associates with the TV series 24 and the actor Kiefer Sutherland who played him for eight seasons on the hit FOX show, is as grizzled and determined as ever. For anyone who is a fan of the show, seeing Jack with gun in one hand and cell phone in the other is like going to a big reunion party.

 24: Live Another Day comes with all the history we connect to Jack, who was first seen playing chess with his daughter Kim (Elisha Cuthbert) in episode one of season one. What a long strange trip it has been from that moment, with Jack going from super field agent, to head of CTU, to drug addict, to rogue agent, to wanted criminal. All along the way, the core audience has bought into Jack being a man more sinned against than sinning, but like Shakespeare’s King Lear, he has heavy baggage and there is no getting around that fact.

As we first see him in 24: LAD, it is in a video follow-up to the last image of Bauer captured by a drone in the sky in New York City. He is almost translucent, a ghost image that is caught on tape and defies the reality of those who wish he were dead. When head of London’s CIA office Steve Navarro (an excellent Benjamin Bratt) first sees Jack’s fuzzy image on the screen, he says “Bauer” in such a way that may be reserved for either a serial killer or the pope. It appears to be very intentional, as those who know Bauer’s work both fear him and worship what he is known to have accomplished.

Jack sets himself up to get caught in a London warehouse near the Thames River. The only one in the entire CIA office who thinks that Bauer got caught way too easy is outgoing agent Kate Morgan (Yvonne Strahovski), who is being removed from her position because she didn’t see the signs that her husband was a traitor. Following in the footsteps of the infamous Nina Meyers, Kate shows smarts and grit as she tells her boss that Jack wanted to get caught and even thrown into “special activities” – the dreaded hole where he will be ruthlessly interrogated and tortured – but we all know Jack can take a licking and keep on ticking better than any wristwatch.

24 lad 2Jack indeed wishes to get caught because he plans to spring the intrepid Chloe O’Brian (Mary Lynn Rajskub), who is dressed in black and has enough Goth makeup to make Elvira jealous. Jack quickly dispatches the redshirts (like those dispensable Star Trek guys) and finds his way to Chloe and flees with her. Kate makes a valiant effort to stop him, but some Serbian dude with tattoos the size of Cleveland blows a hole in the ground and provides Jack and Chloe a quick getaway.


You can already see where this is going, for now Chloe will once again be Jack’s tech savvy geek one call away, who will help him slay dragons, avoid moats, and find his way to the castle keep. The true reason for Jack being involved is that he knows a plan is being hatched to assassinate the President of the United States on British soil. In essence it is a standard 24 storyline – but while reminiscent of the first season when he was trying to save Senator Palmer’s life, we get the idea that the plan may be way bigger than just the POTUS and could involve using American drones to decimate old London.

Besides the basic plot, 24: LAD is a bit different than its previous incarnation. For one, besides Chloe, all the usual suspects are not around anymore. The series is set in London, and the President of the United States is now former Secretary of Defense Heller (played with intensity by the great William Devane). Heller has brought his once looney tunes daughter Audrey (the beautiful Kim Raver) to London with him to get an agreement done with the British, but she has a snarky husband Mark Boudreau (Tate Donovan) who is cruising for a bruising from her former lover Jack (I predict Jack kicks his butt before the end of things). 

Heller has lost some of his edge thanks to a battle with dementia that the husband plays to his advantage. He follows in the long line of sneaky varmints in the 24 presidents’ cabinet or inner circle, and he even asks one of his lackeys to find a way to give Jack over to the Russians, who are wanting to get their hands on Bauer even more than a dish of caviar and a bottle of Stolichnaya. Bringing back the familiar faces of Heller and Audrey makes sense symbolically for Jack, who is fighting to save Heller’s life because he “owes” him. We also know that anyone Jack ever loves dies or gets damaged, as Heller even had told him so long ago, so Jack knows the danger that follows him like his shadow.

The fact that there are only 12 episodes in this version of 24 ups the ante and changes the game, making things seem even more fast-paced than before (with little time for side stories that used to weigh down the old series). I don’t wish to upset true fans of the show, but I had been hoping that this new series would have dispensed with the “real time format.” Back when the show premiered in November 2001 (less than two months after the 9-11 attacks), I felt like 24 was the breath of fresh air television needed. The split screens, the constantly clicking clock, and the feel of following Bauer through a very bad day were truly fresh and exciting. Now, after so long, it seems more of a contrivance, and appears to actually hinder the storytelling more than enhancing it.

Still, to have Jack Bauer back is better than not having him. The topical issues that come into play here include the use of drones (scenes show people protesting their usage in the streets of London), the loss of classified information, clandestine agencies and their intrusion into people’s lives, and the political intrigue of American and British governments trying to work together to battle terrorism. So Jack is definitely back, but in an entirely different world than the one where he played chess with Kim and loved his wife Terri.

24 lad1Jack utters the hardest truth when he says, “I have no friends.” We think of all those who died, those whom he failed, and those he had to kill. In short, Jack is not just a man without an identity or country – he is a pariah, a scourge of the earth, and yet there must be something good left inside because he still will not give up. He fights the good fight essentially because he can’t count on anyone else doing it. He stands on the principal that you have to do some very bad things – sometimes horrific and even criminal – to stop those who will do even more harm to society and possibly imperil the planet.

So we begin another very bad day with Jack Bauer. He has the clever CIA agent Morgan on his tail, a shadowy woman named Margo in the mix who has stolen the drone technology, and the looming assassination of a president with which to contend. The Russians and Americans want him dead, and he knows time is running out. Long-time fans of 24 know Jack is most dangerous when he is captured, his back is up against the wall, or he is trying to save someone’s life. All these things happen in the premiere episodes, so it would seem Jack is back with a vengeance, so sit back and enjoy the roller coaster ride that is 24 and savor all the turns, dips, and rising action because it will be over faster than Jack can say “Damn it!”

  Photo credits: Fox Television

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Deep Space Recovery Ship 13 - Other: a short story by Victor Lana

First appeared on Blogcritics.

blue When Captain Robert Sterling comes back to 13, he exits the explorer pod carrying a naked blue woman. He takes the elevator to the medical bay, placing her on a metallic table.

“I get no readings,” his A.I. El says.

 “She was in cryo sleep,” Bob says.

 “I see,” El nods.

“We have to jump start her heart.” Bob moves a hand over instruments and the table vibrates, momentarily jolting her.

 Her cerulean blue eyes open; she looks at them and says, “Other.”

“How odd,” El notes as she closes her eyes again.

“She is delirious because her blood is thawing.”

Bob goes to the cockpit followed by El, sits in his chair, and waves his hand over the panel. The derelict ship explodes quietly. “The rest of the crew’s cryo units malfunctioned.” He watches as the detritus of the ship scatters into the black abyss dotted by distant stars.

El stares at Bob with unemotional generic features. “Even after you started her heart, I detected nothing.” 

Bob stands and touches El’s hard robotic arm. “I may have to tune you up.”

“I am functioning perfectly on all levels.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

 *

Her blue hands are flat on the clear acrylic table. She watches Bob eat a hamburger and French fries with a quizzical expression.

“I’m eating a memory,” he says while chewing. He points to the unit on the wall. “Order anything you want and it will come out just as you remember.”

El asks, “Aren’t you hungry?”

“No,” she mutters.

“Not unusual after cryo,” Bob says. “You will never know the agony of it, El, but it’s the only way we humans can get out this deep into space.”

“My nature has peculiar advantages,” El notes. He turns and studies the woman. “What was your mission on the Falcon?”

The woman looks down at her hands. “I…I don’t know.”

“Why was the ship’s log destroyed?” She just stares at him with almost blank eyes. “What is your name?” 

She whispers, “I don't know.”

“According to our records, the only female aboard your ship was Lieutenant Eve Waters, who left earth almost 100 years ago. It's quite unusual that any cryo unit would function for such a lengthy period.”

Bob says, “I have seen cases where cryo units last much longer than that.”

“I stand corrected.”

Bob turns to the woman. “May I call you Eve?” She nods silently. “Perhaps you would like to go to your quarters to rest.”

“Yes,” she says softly. Bob shoves his plate into the cleaning vent and stands. “Come, I will escort you.” 

When he returns to the mess hall El is waiting. “That was quick. I thought you would succumb to biological urges.”

“That is ridiculous.”

“I can read your thoughts, remember?”

“Okay, you're right. I have been on this mission a long time, but I can control myself.”

“For how long?”

“I am going to bed.”

“Alone for now.”

“Listen, be nice; she is our guest.”

“I am programmed only to protect and serve humans.”

“Goodnight.”


blue 2
 *

During the night El hears an unusual noise. He leaves his station outside Bob’s quarters and heads to the mess hall. Turning on the light, he finds Eve with blood on her face and a raw steak in her hands. She looks up at him briefly, tears into the meat, and chews it quickly.

“It’s customary to cook food before eating it,” El says.

She keeps chewing and grunting. He watches as she devours the entire steak, then drinks the remaining blood from the plate. Eve drops the plate and stares at him with bloodstains on her night garment. She turns quietly, and as she walks away El believes that he sees a tail writhing under her clothing.

El scans her again, changing the parameters of his search. He realizes why he could not detect her before; he had been searching for human life forms. Eve suddenly rushes him. She is stronger than El, knocking him to the floor where he is plunged into darkness.

 *

Bob is surprised that El is not there when he unseals his door. He walks to the mess hall for breakfast and finds El’s decapitated body lying in a pool of purple inner lubricant. Bob touches El’s cold cheek, and his gray eyes open. “Eve is not human, Bob. She killed the Falcon crew, coming on board as the last survivor of another ship. She can morph into any form. She will kill you.”

Bob feels tears in his eyes. After all this time recovering the dead, he had thought he finally rescued someone. “I’ll take care of her.”

“I am sorry I failed you.”

He goes to the security room, straps a laser pistol to his leg, lifts a rifle from the rack, and places a scanner helmet on his head. A blip on his visor indicates that Eve is in the transport bay. “She is probably trying to escape in the pod,” he thinks.

As he enters the bay, a squid-like creature with long, powerful tentacles attacks him. It knocks the rifle away, slipping one tentacle around his arms and another about his neck as it pulls his head toward a drooling beak. Bob manages to get his hand on the pistol, jabs it upward, and fires. The creature releases him and flounders as Bob fires several more times. It slumps into a ball, and the signal on his visor indicates “life form terminated.” He stands over it with pistol ready, but those now benign blue eyes stare up at him lifelessly.

blue 3 “I’m taking no chances,” he thinks, placing the carcass on the loading ramp and ejecting it out into space. He watches through the porthole as the mass floats in the void, its tentacles rigidly extended against a tableau of silent stars.

Bob quickly forwards a report of his first encounter with an alien species, noting it was hostile. He looks out the porthole wondering if he will ever see earth again.


  Photo credits: xrayer.blogspot.com, wikipedia, telegraph.co.uk