Comments on: The Five Page Challenge!

By: B. Mac

B. Mac — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 07:07:28 +0000

No. It was a contest sort of like National Writing Month– the prize is the pride of having completed the challenge. (Also, if you’re interested in getting published, free advice is usually helpful).

By: Deadmanshand

Deadmanshand — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 05:40:03 +0000

Was there ever a winner announced on this contest?

By: B. Mac

B. Mac — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 04:38:27 +0000

Sounds good, SVT. I’m looking forward to it.

By: S.V.T.

S.V.T. — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 04:28:23 +0000

This sounds interesting. When I finish the first chapter, I’ll send mine.

By: Ragged Boy

Ragged Boy — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 12:56:41 +0000

Ugh, I’m so annoyed by the amount of menial mistakes I make. I’m getting there, though. I’d best proofread more often. Overall, I think I did good, though. Hooray, I beat the Five Page Challenge (I think).

Wish me luck on my Powerpoint presentation. I’ve got a chance to win a computer!

By: B. Mac

B. Mac — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 06:47:56 +0000

–There are some grammatical and wording mistakes. “They to make these as gripping as possible,” for example. “The other with a manly one…” — a manly horn?

–Some of the sentences could probably be shortened. For example, “with what appears to be horns on her head (think ram horns, spiraling to the sides)” could be “with ram-like horns.”

–”These are the last of our most, unaware candidates.” This is awkward. First, there shouldn’t be a comma between an adverb (most) and its adjective (unaware). Second, I suspect that you could show us that these candidates are unaware in a smoother fashion rather than tell us.

–”he’s hiding a cards…” singular vs. plural disagreement.

–”Humans display impressive physical potential” — end this sentence with a period.

–”I disagree, they’re quite compassionate, just look.” I’d recommend replacing the comma after compassionate with a period.

–Before you submit this script to an artist, I’d recommend doing a mockup of this page to make sure that you can fit 10 panels in. I suspect that the text will get a bit tight.

–The visuals on page 1 strike me as interesting.

–Period after magnificent.

–”what they are, Aliens.” I’d recommend uncapitalizing aliens.

–Page 1 describes the horns. Page 2 says that “we finally see the aliens for what they are, aliens.” Do we see the horns on page 1? How do you plan to show the horns without giving away that they’re aliens? (Silhouettes and shadows, maybe).

–”Suit up, were set to land in Santa Libra City.” Three things. First, apostrophe in we’re. Second, I’d recommend replacing “set to land” with “landing.” Third, I’d recommend against a three word city name. What would you think about something like San Libre?

“Top right cormer…” –> corner.

–I think “baby mamas” looks more natural with two M’s (mamas) rather than three (mammas).

–I’d personally recommend switching “fuck you!” with something a bit less rough, but that’s just a target audience issue. For example, if you worked in a violent threat instead, you might go farther with editors that are thinking about whether this could work for readers in the mid-teens. “I’m gonna shank you in the face!” or whatever. (Not that threatening cops seems particularly smart, but I think it’d help show how absolutely messed-up this place is).

–What do the cops look like? If there’s no description, the artist might make them look romanticized and heroic (which I think is not quite in-line with what you have in mind). I’d recommend giving the artist a sentence or two of the impression you’re trying to make. Personally, I’d recommend something like coldness (to show that there is a need for a hero like Adrian) or hurt/bruised (to show that the police don’t have a great handle on the situation).

“This is my second home, not the school, but the theatre.” What would you think about getting rid of “not the school”?

Page 4, panel 4 raises camera issues. How could Adrian sit with a script in such a way that his shoes and laces are also on the page? I’d recommend focusing on Adrian at waist-level here and showing his shoes later. PS: Gators fans will approve of the color selection, but I’d recommend consulting closely with your artist about the hues because there’s a lot that could go wrong with an unconventional mix like blue-and-orange.

“…is smirking, making a confident expression.” What about “smirking confidently” or just “smirking”?

I’d recommend cutting Adrian’s middle initial off the notepad.

“I’m going to nail this part.” Is this necessary? If he’s looking confidently at a script in a theatre, I feel that it should be clear that he’s confident he will nail a part. (Sticking up an Auditions sign will help make this clearer).

I love page 5.

Bajillionaire should have a period after it.

SUMMARY QUESTIONS

1. Is there an interesting main character? In particular, how well has his personality been developed?
–Adrian’s a very well-developed character but I don’t feel like we see all that much of him here. One of the consequences of giving Jim/LT 2 pages is that we will see less of Adrian in the five page sample. (Ahem… he only appears on two of the pages). I’d recommend working him into the side-shots on page 3. Do you think you could at least make the relationship between Jim and LT more heated?

2. Is something at stake for the main character? Do we care about whether he succeeds?
–I want him to get the part. The stakes aren’t as high as he thinks they are, but I care.

3. Does the story feel like it is going somewhere?
–I’m kind of intrigued to see how the aliens come into Adrian’s life.

4. Is the story clear and easy to understand?
–I suspect that page 1 might throw some people off. For example, we don’t really find out what they’re “candidates” for. Nor does the synopsis make it clear.

5. Has the author demonstrated a strong sense of style?
–I like the establishing shot of the school. It’s an interesting way to show us how messed up the school is.
–The daydream is awesome. It shows us a lot about the character and is funny to boot.

6. If readers could keep reading past page five, would they urgently want to?
–Personally, yeah.

7. If it’s a comic book script, has the writer worked in interesting visuals?
–Yeah. I’m especially looking forward to seeing pages 1 and 3.

By: B. Mac

B. Mac — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 03:27:01 +0000

RB, I just got back today. I think I’ll have it done by 5 or 6AM Chicago time on Tuesday.

By: Ragged Boy

Ragged Boy — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 22:43:01 +0000

I’d love your review, you guys.

By: Deadmanshand

Deadmanshand — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 02:48:24 +0000

I’m new here but loving it. Just found out about this contest yesterday and it’s not letting me post my entry. SO here is a link directly to my entry.

Synopsis: Jon Allen Fader – a sorcerer and scholar – must come of hiding and face the veil he has created. And in doing so face the life he left behind.

Target Audience: Not entirely sure but I’m thinking males age 18 – 30. Similar to the Dresden Files crowd in taste.

http://deadmanshand-angeluserrare.blogspot.com/2009/07/where-angels-fear-to-tread-revised.html

By: Deadmanshand

Deadmanshand — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 02:41:34 +0000

It’s not letting me post my entry

By: Deadmanshand

Deadmanshand — Sun, 19 Jul 2009 02:39:01 +0000

New to the site and am loving it so far. Just read about the contest yesterday so my entry might be a little rough but her we go.

Synopsis: A man – a sorcerer and scholar – must come out of hiding and face the evil his actions have wrought. An evil that has been waiting and preparing for him.

Target Audience: Not totally sure. I’ve never much considered it. Probably a similar one to the Dresden Files. Males age 18 – 30.

The 5 pages:

Where Angels Fear to Tread

Chapter 1: Sanctuary’s End

Bailey Regional burned. The west wing had transformed from the bland white walls that bounded the courtyard into a roiling mass of black smoke lit from within by tongues of flame. Swirling madly in the courtyard proper patient and staff alike gathered their cries muted by distance and tempered glass. Some sought the safety of the east wing. Others sought control of the chaos. More simply stood and watched.

Leaning against window the fire loomed large in my eyes. Heart racing I searched for signs of what my gut had been telling me. That my former students had found me at last.

I’d always known that I couldn’t hide forever and when they found me we would have one last reunion my students and I. Just like old times. Only this time they would make sure to finish me.

“Jon?” Ethan whispered one hand clutching at my right arm.

A hiss escaped me as I pushed him away. Cradling the slinged arm and taking deep breaths my gaze hit the window and froze there. For a moment the fire had revealed a form only a fool would have called human. Too tall, too lean, and with knees that bent the wrong way. Smoke may have obscured its features but I didn’t need to see them to know it for what it was.

Kendall’s Ishim.

The tempered glass cracked under my fist before I spun away from the window towards my roommate. Pallid features and shaking shoulders made him younger than the 19 years old he claimed. His thin hospital issue tee shirt was near soaked thru as he kept glancing back between me and the door.

“What’s going on? Why haven’t they come to get us? Why aren’t the alarms going off?” he asked eyes wide and growing wider with every word.

Good question.

Cutting off his next outburst with a firm squeeze of his shoulder I caught his eyes and held them.

“It’s time for me to leave, Ethan. The hospital isn’t safe anymore.” I shook my head when his mouth started to open. “There’s no time for questions. Take care of yourself.”

Moving past him to the door I glanced out into the hallway to find the other residents playing the same game. Whispers and wary gazes marked every doorway. At the midpoint of the hall the nurses station sat full of staff talking softly but urgently. The looks cast our way held the same questions ours did.

The lights were off there too. It wasn’t just lights out.

A quiet dry cough behind me brought my head around to find Ethan right behind me. His shaking had grown worse in just moments. A whole body tremor now from lips to calves wracked him though he made some show of controlling it. Sweat beaded and dripped into his eyes forcing him to blink to even see me. He didn’t look old enough to drive.

Shit.

“Ethan,” I said reluctantly. “Stick close to me. Just follow me and you’ll be fine. Okay?”

He took several deep breaths and nodded.

Ethan following I slipped out the door to find a hallway swiftly filling up with the braver of our floormates. A chorus of questions escaped them as they converged on the station and the nurses within. Questions of safety and protocol. Pleas for direction and protection. Demands of answers and action.

The same ones heard within the walls of the psychiatric hospital everyday.

An older nurse took charge coming out from behind her desk. Samantha Cohen – Sam as she was known to her favorites – the head nurse. Leveling her gaze at the at the gathering crowd she set a reassuring smile on her weathered features.

“There is no reason to panic. Everyone please come out of your rooms and we will proceed outside until the fire department tells us that it is safe. “

With a sense of direction they began to pile out of their rooms trusting in the people who cared for them. A mass of men and women disheveled and confused by interrupted sleep or medication. The rest of the nurses and some security supervised the chaos. Some with smiles and words of comfort stood surrounded by the patients who needed them for support. Others with stony faces and flat voices were islands amidst it all.

Leaning in close to Ethan – close enough to smell his fear – I whispered “We’ll follow them till we get outside. Then we’ll slip off in the confusion.”

“What do you mean? W-why don’t we just stay with them?” he asked quietly eyeing the staff nearest us.

“Too dangerous.”

For them anyway.

Brow furrowed he shot me a look from beneath lowered lids but he nodded. Hugging himself with a thoughtless gesture he stepped back but stayed within arm’s reach. Eyes down he seemed just another of the sheep.

Ahead Sam cleared her throat capturing the attention of the thirty plus patients who filled the hallway by now. Their whispers and talk faded quickly. The silence only emphasized the alarm’s absence.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen. We are going to do this in orderly fashion. Each of you stay close to your roommate and follow the closest nurse. Once we get outside we will take a headcount.” she said, head raised, clutching a clipboard to her chest. “Now follow me.”

In twos and fours we marched down the darkened hallways next to old faces and new. The depressed shuffled side by side the bipolar. Schizophrenic by the neurotic. A parade of people tormented by the workings of their own mind or the defects of their biology. Companions of many years.

Camouflage of many years.

Down stairwells we went. One floor, then two. At the ground floor we found other groups. Other floors and other wards merging into a river of refugees. All of them walked with their eyes glued to the floor like condemned men. In many of their eyes they already were.

Hope was a rare commodity in this place.

The hospital doors opened onto a world of light and sound. From a dozen vehicles lights flashed painting the world in blues and reds. Police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances scattered across the pavement. Shouts and orders echoed from the hundred or more men and women scrambling to contain the situation.

Above us smoke masked the stars as it poured from the roof but a glow had taken their place. Fire supplanting starlight.

“All of you over here!”

The police officer’s cry somehow cut through the din as he directed the flow of traffic from the hospital’s interior back beyond the vehicles. Hardened features turned aside all questions as he did his job.

Wending our way back amongst the vehicles I took my chance. Grabbing Ethan’s arm I pulled along with me into the shadow of a fire truck. The others never even slowed down. Pointing towards the trees at the side of the parking lot I started forward with a steady even stride. Breathing too quickly Ethan followed at my heels half formed questions struggling to make it past his lips.

The solitude of the oaks welcomed us with little fanfare. Soft spring grass cushioned and muffled our passage. Perfumes of green growing things masked the smoke and danger of the hospital. Even the raucous first responders outside could scarcely be heard. It was then that I stopped for a moment.

Ethan almost ran into me stumbling out of the way at the last second. I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

“Sit down. We’ll rest for a minute. We have some time before they miss us.” I said really smiling for the first time tonight.

Raising my head I took my first full breath of the night air as a free man in ten years. Ten years of hiding and pretending. Ten years wasted. I opened my eyes to find Ethan staring at me.

“Why did you take me with you? You could have escaped without me.” Despite of his fear he asked and spoke with conviction.

Should I lie to him? Give him some comfort? A sigh escaped me. I knew the answer.

“The people after me would have gone after you when they couldn’t find me.” I said leaning back against a tree. “Kendall would have squeezed every drop of information you had about me from you and killed you after. He doesn’t like to leave loose threads lying around. I brought you with me to protect you.”

And because I need you.

“People are trying to kill you?! I mean for real kill you ? Or are you just another para-…” he cut off mid word and his eyes widened. Stumbling backwards he tripped over a root and went crashing to the ground.

Following his eyes I saw what he saw. The Ishim.

Half again the height of a man and as slender as a woman it slid through the trees. It’s skin – black under the shadow of the trees – I knew would be coarse like the skin of a shark. Bent almost in half it stopped at the edge of the clearing watching us. A harsh charred aroma followed it carrying with it a scent underneath it. Roses.

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” Ethan chanted from where he lay the whites of his eyes showing. “Oh father who art in Heaven…”

Growling I pulled myself up straight. “Heaven?! Heaven is a charnel house and God is not listening.”

Slowly I pulled my right arm from its sling. Agony accompanied it as it always did. Inch by inch until the bandaged arm hung straight out from my side. Panting my eyes met the monsters.

“I did not walk through that charnel house to die here. Go back to your master whimpering my name.” as I spoke a light cold and bright began to pierce the wrappings.

By: Ragged Boy

Ragged Boy — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 01:30:29 +0000

My biggest concern is that a publisher might not know where the story goes after these five pages. I’m hoping that it’s implied that the story will continue with Adrian being enlisted by the aliens. I think it’s alot to imply, but a publisher may be able to put the pieces together.

This is probably obvious, but this is my submission for the challenge. I’d love your reviews.

By: Ragged Boy

Ragged Boy — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 01:21:16 +0000

Synopsis: Showtime is the story of Adrian, a young and stylish actor who is plunged into the middle of a shady alien experiment. He dons the identity of Showtime and must juggles his personal life with his odd and deadly alien life he has begun.

Target Audience: Mostly, I’m aiming for the average comic book audience. I’m hoping that the story will appeal to African-Americans more than most superhero comics.

First Five Pages:

Page One: Ten panels. None of these panels are that big, but emphasize color. They to make these as gripping as possible. The dialogue does not have to be exactly on the panels, but should be generally close to those that the aliens are commenting on. Alternating colors in their text will help to differentiate whose speaking.

Panel One: Two shadowed fingers, one with a feminine figure, with what appears to be horns on her head (think ram horns, spiraling to the sides). The other with a manly one, although tall and lanky, having long antenna-like extensions for where his ears should be. They’re standing in front of a large monitor; the images on it are separated, showing an array of different events. The monitor is actually larger than what is shown, so maybe you’d like to add little tidbits of other images.

(Male)Alien 1: These are the last of our most, unaware, candidates.

(Female)Alien 2: 30,000 clinks worth of fuel, wasted on this.

Panel Two: A shot of a man at a poker table from behind, he’s hiding a cards behind his back.

Panel Three: A woman doing a flip off the nose of a whale

Panel Four: A boxer throwing a haymaker at his opponent, you could play this up by showing the victim’s black-eyed, bloody nose, spit flying face.

Alien 1(Off): Humans display impressive physical potential

Alien 1(Off): The council will most definitely be interested in physical aptitude.

Panel Five: A scientist brilliantly smiling hold a vial of glowing liquid in the air. Use lots of colors in this panel.

Alien 2 (Off): For such a weird-looking race, they’re quite intelligent.

Panel Six: A person in a ski-mask holding a gun to a crying woman’s head, his other arm around her neck, like a hostage human shield.

Alien 2(Off): If not hostile and completely selfish.

Panel Seven: A woman rushing through a burning hallway, a baby wrapped in blankets in her arms. She has a strong expression, determined to get out of the building.

Alien 1(Off): I disagree, they’re quite compassionate, just look.

Panel Eight: A police officer holding a gun at someone off panel. Demanding expression, like he’s yelling.

Alien 2(Off): Sure, if compassion is being able to kill on cue.

Computerized Voice: Destination Achieved, Landing Pending.

Page Two:

Panel One: The monitor is now shown to be larger than it was. It shows a large image of Earth. Magnificent blue, green, and white with a blue glow around it. The two figures are much smaller now, standing in front the huge screen.

Alien 1: This is Earth? Magnificent

Alien 2: Perfect disguise for such a hellacious place.

Panel Two: We finally see the aliens for what they are, Aliens. Waist up. They are lit by the light of the screen. They are looking very slightly above us. The man, Jimelly, is a medium shade of aqua, his blue is darker around the outline of his body. His eyes are large, black, and shiny.

The woman, Lae’Trell, is a salmon color. She does have spiraling horns to the side. Her pinkish hair is in a short Mohawk. She is wearing a black skin suit and has a thicker, but not fat, physique.
Both look generally friendly and harmless, they’re the good guys.
Lae’ Trell stands with her arms crossed looking annoyed, while Jimelly looks excited.

Jimelly: Don’t be such a pessimist, Lae’ Trell.

Lae’ Trell: If you insist. Suit up, were set to land in Santa Libra City.

Jimelly: Sounds most interesting.

Page 3: Splash with two inserts. Top right cormer and bottom left corner.

Panel One/Splash: A huge helicopter shot at Santa Libra High School in all its wretchedness. The building is dull and deteriorated. There are lots of people outside roaming the crowded campus. The school is three stories tall. There is a well visible sign outside with “Santa Libra High School” on it, many letters are missing but the name is still legible. The area surrounding the school is just as worn out as the school. Focus on the wretchedness of the area and the cold feel of winter.

Caption: Welcome to Hell’s Harbor High School.

Caption: Fights, drugs, baby mammas, we’ve got it all.

Caption: I’m into a different type of DRAMA, though.

Insert One: A shot of a large rowdy fight in the hallway.

Insert Two: A shot a person being dragged off by two cops.

Arrestee: Man, fuck you!

Page 4: Six Panels. Panels 1 and 2 take up the top third of the page. Panel 3 takes the middle. 4, 5, and 6 take the bottom third.

Panel One: A shot of a relatively empty hallway in the school, there are a pair of doubles doors visible and a small gold sign next to them. The sign is illegible from this angle. The cold winter light pours into the hallway giving the hallway a cold tint. Peaceful. We see a boy in a bright orange hoody pressing his hand against the door, that’s Adrian.

Adrian: Time to show them what a real actor can do.

Panel Two: A tight shot on the gold sign, it reads “Santa Libra High School Auditorium-Backstage Entrance.”

Panel Three: Looking down at the wide stage, as if sitting on a balcony in the middle of the auditorium. A couple of rows of seats are visible. There are a few people sitting, scattered across the rows . There’s a person on stage walking around, gesturing dramatically.
Adrian (Narration): This is my second home, not the school, but the theatre.

Panel Four: Backstage, there’s a small row of chairs. Adrian, the main character sits here, along with a few other people although they aren’t near him. He is a black student wearing a fitted orange hoody, dark blue fitted jeans, and orange converse with blue laces. It is dimly lit back stage, but lit enough to be able to read.

Panel Five: A tight shot on Adrian’s face, he reading a sheet of paper diligently. He is holding it with one hand. He has headphones in his ears and is smirking, making a confident expression.
Adrian (Thought): I’m going to nail this part.

Panel Six: A close up on Adrian’s other hand rising off the cover of his notebook, it reads “Adrian K. Gaines: Don’t steal this!”

Page 5: Five panels

Panel One: A long vertical shot on Adrian, he is standing and stretching, his full body is visible. His fitted clothes show his thin figure. He is stretching with a triumphant look of his face.

Adrian (Thought): I’ve got it, this is my part. I can see it now.

Panel Two: A tight shot on Adrian’s eyes, dark brown with a tiny twinkle of gold in the center.

Adrian: Yup, I can see it now.

Panel Three: A shot of Adrian’s full body, the same size as panel one. This is one depicts Adrian as way more muscular and defined. He’s wearing gold swim trunks and sunglasses. His brown skin is shiny in the sun. He stands in a dignified pose.

Caption: Sexiest Man Alive, Adrian Gaines.

Panel Three: Adrian in the same pose, but now women in bikinis are swooning around him.

Narration: The President decides as payment for your last blockbuster he’s giving a blank check to the national treasury. You’re a bajillionaire

Caption: Adrian, Best Everything!

Panel Four: Same as before, but now two giant moneybags overflowing with money are behind him. A messy stack of Oscars lay by his feet.

Adrian: I love my life.

Panel Five: Waist up on Adrian, back to reality, he’s still standing in the same position, stretching with a blank stare and dopey smile, drooling.

Eric (Off panel, onstage): “The drugs are gone and the cops are on my ass.”

By: Gurion Omega

Gurion Omega — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 23:03:30 +0000

Hmm…easy. I’ve definitely got to contribute my own…

Something within five pages…

By: J.M.

J.M. — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 19:14:24 +0000

So, time for a second entry, if for nothing more than the helpful critiques. (Sorry if the formatting comes out all funny)
Title: The Shattered
Summary: By the year 2445, humanity has expanded throughout space, and like the old days of Earthbound explorers, is haunted by the tales of ghost ships and objects from beyond the grave. One of these objects, known as "The Shattered," haunts the career of two officers in the United States Orbital Command, Admiral John Thompson and Captain Abraham Sykes. After the Shattered is spotted again on the edge of human space, they both investigate seeking to discover the secrets behind the Shattered.
Target Audience: Adult character-driven science fiction.
//: USOC Silence of Winter (Registry 3443-1098) Location :: Unknown, Deep Space 4 ly from Listening Post Harken Ye Men of Bethlehem 2049h Ship Time; December 7th, 2432 Mission: 1EPF 2432-77891*10-12 (Recovery of the USOC Price of Lusitania) Assignment Designated Clearance Level 10 (Eyes/Analog Only) :\\
Commander John Thompson, stepped onto the command deck of his ship, the USOC Silence of Winter, a long range patrol vessel assigned to the Deep Regions, just beyond the edge of Human territory, wondering just what in the great heavens had he gotten himself into. He was by no means in experienced, being a fifteen year veteran of the Exploratory branch of the Orbital Command, but he had never seen a situation like this. Over two weeks ago, the USOC cruiser Price of Lusitania, on patrol in the Eta Carinae Colonial Cluster had disappeared with all hands.
Nothing ever like it had been recorded in missions, and even some of the staff officers with whom he was good friends declared that the Admiralty was in a full on state of panic. No one had weapons that the Orbital Command and the Directorate of Intelligence – Foreign knew the other interstellar powers possessed could possibly have caused anything like this. Theories were abounding about who had caused this, from anarchist terrorists to human error to xenosentients. Thompson was of the opinion that, while chilling, the Lusitania would simply turn into a ghost ship, like the Terror from 18th century Britain to the Burnaby from the early days of interstellar exploration.
Until a listening post in the sector that the 1st Exploratory and Patrol Fleet was posted in detected a distress call with the Lusitania’s Emergency Distress Code attached. It came in with the usual communication echoes, white noise, and tantalizing unexplained radio signals that listening posts usually swallowed up. It was highlighted and delivered to the Officer of the Watch, an Ensign so green that you could scrape it off from behind his ears. But that probably saved the Lusitania, if it was there was anything left to be saved. Most veterans would’ve tossed it in the deletion stack, as there was nothing on it but static and an unusually precise location from the void beyond Human space, nothing of note. They would’ve cursed the ornery computers, and gone back about their jobs.
But this Ensign, whose name escaped Thompson at the moment. Looking it over, wondering about the precise location its suspicious nature, he then noticed the code attached to the transmission number placed by the computers. It immediately went to the desk of Fleet Captain Noah Robinson, Thompson’s immediate superior, who then promptly assigned Thompson and the Silence to investigate. Such a touchy subject required discretion, a reasonably powerful ship, and a swift response. Thompson and his ship fulfilled all three. Thompson had a level 8 clearance courtesy of some work he did for the NID during his days as a Second Lieutenant, not much older than that Ensign who had found the Lusitania. His ship had the most powerful weaponry in the 1st EePee Fleet, including a flight of attack drones and two thermonuclear warheads, and some advanced counter-detection packages. The Silence was just four hours away by jump from the location of the distress signal when she was given the call. His orders were to get in, stay low, and try to assess the damage to the Lusitania and the threat posed by any foes in and around the area.
Behind him by three hours were advanced elements of the McCain Carrier Group, including the heavy cruiser Battle of Delta Pavonis. The Orbital Command was going all in here. The Lusitania was the first major crisis the Command had faced in about six years since the end of the Sixth Interstellar Insurgency. There was a lot riding on this particular ‘incident,’ as the PR department liked to call it. Even the President himself was making it quite clear that there would be “consequences,” otherwise known as the business end of an entire carrier group, if any government, Earthbound or otherwise, were to be discovered responsible.
And so behind all the bluster, bureaucrats, medal-filled chests, nuclear warheads and colonialist insurgents, was a glorified scout ship with a crew either green to the gills or so grizzled that one had difficulty distinguishing them from the underbellies of the drive core, stationed on the edge of pirate-infested human territory, a full two weeks from a major colony and a commander who had been involved in enough dirty work to give an entire room full of bureaucrats several heart attacks. Thompson chuckled at the thought.
His helm officer called out, interrupting his thoughts, “Approaching exit vector, all hands brace for emergence.” The crew all throughout the ship, grumbling with various amounts of cursing, strapped themselves into the nearest station, ready for the unpredictable exit from slipspace. Thompson went over to the command station and got himself all set, pulling up the various sensor displays and mission orders, as well as priming his missiles and directed energy emitters, or dees, to be ready for anything. He switched on the ship-wide communication system, and announced, “Alright, gentlemen we will be going in weapons hot. Upon emergence, we will be going to DEFCON-2, repeat DEFCON-2. We are unsure of what we are going to encounter, so be ready for anything. Thompson out.” The helmsman announced the exit, and the Silence emerged from slipspace, weapons at the ready, sensors strained to touch, sense, smell and then blast anything bigger than an unfortunate particle of space dust. The sensor disruption that accompanied a slipspace emergence began to fade.
Then every alarm on the ship went off. The ship began vibrating, a noise pierced Thompson’s skull, his bones, and his heart. It was a scream. As his vision began to blacken, he saw a mass of roughly half-terra size no more than 50 km from his ship. Then there was a sharp pain in his head, the scream enveloped him, and then all went dark.
The scream was still echoing around in Thompson’s head when he awoke. His head was pounding, and while he tried to open his eyes, he couldn’t. With a great exertion of will, he managed to pry them open, only to have them quickly close again. He groaned, and tried again, this time successfully managing to keep his eyelids up. Unfortunately, that didn’t translate into the ability to observe his surroundings. Thompson groaned again, trying to stand. It was significantly easier to stand up than it had been to open his eyes, and Thompson raised himself carefully, trying to feel out his immediate surroundings.He heard a sizzle of electricity, a pop and a buzz and the emergency lighting finally turned on.
The rest of the bridge crew was out, and most of the displays on the deck were either flashing shutdown errors or blank. Thompson was standing just in front of his station, and had apparently somehow managed to disengage the safety belts and fall out of the chair. He sat back down and tried to pull up the visual sensors. He was met by impatient buzzing, and a message from the computer telling him to be patient, there had been an sudden power loss and it was rebooting, so stop banging on the command board and go drink a nice cup of tea while it restarted. Thompson wondered who had rewritten the emergency paging messages.
He sighed and looked around the command deck. No physical damage was apparent, but the crew would probably all awake with a massive headache. Thompson decided he needed to get his bearings. Without the computer and it’s wonderfully cheery sarcasm, he would be unable to get a complete picture, but his office was accessible from the command deck, and it was positioned so as to allow a fairly panoramic view of the outside of the ship. He rose from his chair and began to tip toe over unconscious crew members to try and get at the door to his office. The door would of course not open automatically, thanks the loss of the RFID detectors that would have identified him as the captain and allowed him in, so opened the emergency override lock, entered in his emergency access code in the alphanumeric pad, which then gave him access to the colorfully named emergency manual door access override mechanism, otherwise known as a lever, that he then pushed down that opened the door to his office.
He was slightly startled by the pneumatic hiss that followed, but then remembered that the door was only going to open for a set time before the whole thing locked again preventing undue access. He walked through the slowly closing door, and gasped. The space surrounding the Silence was full of debris, pieces of matte grey metal, ripped and torn and mutated. The running lights, also on thanks to emergency power, hauntingly illuminated the small plates of metal that floated down the side of the ship. The surrounding space had a soft green glow, from what, Thompson could not tell. One by one the external lights came on. The thud of the electricity flowing through the coils, echoed down the silent hull. All was quiet. A piece of debris slid past, floating in the vacuum, in memoriam. On it was inscribed the registration number and name of the USOC Price of Lusitania.
It continued to glide past, sliding out from under the illumination of the external lights. John wondered how long it had been since he noticed all he could hear was the beating of his heart and his breathing. An echo rang off the cold metal of the hull, passing fleetingly, as if it had been the mutter of a ghost dead long ago. The cry. He realized what that cry had been. John Thompson jumped into action mode. During his reverie, he hadn’t noticed the return of basic computer functions. He walked up to the door, which opened. Most of the crew was still unconscious, but his sensor operator, a warrant officer first class by the name of Ishmael de la Cruz had come to and was trying to find his captain. “Sir! Are you alright?”
“Just fine, warrant officer.”
His brisk tone surprised de la Cruz. Cruz’ station was close to the captain, but he strode right past him toward the command station, where he stepped over his unconscious executive officer to get to his station.
“Warrant Officer de la Cruz, I need you to access the sensors, scan the wreckage for signs of life,” he called out as he entered a series of commands into his console.
“Wreckage sir?”
“Damn it Cruz, do it!”
“Aye sir.”
The computer responded as it should, no unnecessary dialogue or sarcasm. It would even seemed a little quicker to Thompson had he bothered to notice, as if it sensed the urgency coursing throughout the commander and agreed that whatever the commander needed was vital to the resolving the urgency. Thompson wasn’t sure what he was doing. He was being driven by something other than reason, logic. The crew of Lusitania would’ve most likely died from vacuum exposure long before the arrival of the Silence. What was he looking for? It was like there was some thing that needed to be retrieved or he would be costing uncounted lives. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs, and blinked out the sweat from his eyes.
He came to the video logs from the key areas of the ship, command deck, brig, engine room, and armoury. He selected the most recent video log, from the time just before the Silence cut through the fabric of reality and emerged back into realspace. There! A flash on the log that blinded everything in the camera’s view. Then static, then the image returned. But this wasn’t the command deck of the Silence. The crew wore the uniforms of the United States Orbital Command. The image was slightly distorted, floating in and out of focus. Not like the camera’s autofocus function was broken, but like a gas was floating in front of the camera lens. The image had had its color drained out, so that it was barely anything more than black and white. De la Cruz broke into commander’s the fevered reverie.
“Sir, Sensors are detecting a faint lifesign in the wreckage!” His voice was distant, as if filtered through a pool of water.
“Initiate the retrieval procedures. Is it in a pod?”
The commander could barely hear his own voice, just his heartbeat and his steady breathing.
“Yes sir!”
“Get down to the airlock on deck seven, take the service junctions, and avoid the gravlifts. Once you get the pod aboard, get the man to the infirmary.”
“Aye sir!” he called as he rushed to the junction entrance off the command deck closest to his station, having to get over several unconscious crew members in the process.
The commander turned his attention back to his monitor, straining his eyes to make out the colorless, unfocused video. He was beginning to lose his grip on his sense of time. His breath roared in his own ears, his body was losing feeling. The figures in the video were moving this way and that, he could see them talking, but no sounds were coming forth from their mouths.
Then the video came suddenly into focus, time stopped, and a whisper not from this world drifted through his ears, and out into space. It came so fast and quietly he couldn’t catch what precious tales the voice carried on the wind. Then he felt one breeze past, and soon all around. One happened through his ear again, and straining, the commander could hear it. “Run…run…run…for there is…but darkness…darkness…and the Ravage…RUN!”
Then the scream returned. It pierced his skull, his bones, his soul. The cry did not echo, but was sharp and doubled-edged. His bodied should have convulsed, but it did not. It no longer responded to his commands. The image then disappeared, but the commander lacked the words to describe what came next. What remained could never be forgotten, and in but a fleeting moment later it fled, as if it were the mounted Host of Death itself, chasing on towards their next quarry over the horizon.
Then the darkness came, enveloping the commander.
He did not resist, and clung on as it washed him out of the world.