Mystery news from Mr. Bedford

Over at sci-fi novelist Adrian Bedford’s blog, he’s taking great pains to not announce something really cool and amazing that he has in the works. I think he should follow Dean Kamen’s example (he invented the Segway scooter), and give the secret news a codename. Kamen already used “Ginger”, so Adrian could call it “Nutmeg”, for example. That’ll create a huge buzz while people speculate and make crazy predictions.

“The ‘Nutmeg’ project? It’s a penguin farm! What else could it be?”

“Are you nuts? Nutmeg is obviously a secret project to adapt Orbital Burn into a remarkable TV documentary about sharks that attack!”

It also helps if well-known individuals drop vague hints about its nature. For example, someone might overhear Steve Jobs saying, “I can’t say exactly what Adrian’s ‘Nutmeg’ project is, but what I will say is that it will revolutionize the way we make coffee and/or brush our teeth.”

How long will Adrian keep us in suspense??

Link: kabedford.com: “Mmmmmmmmmph, Mmmmmmph, Mmmmmmph!”

The professor’s rocket

Yet another story fragment…

The professor’s rocket taxi descended on a plume of light and settled delicately on its three landing fins. As the atomic engine faded slowly into silence, its impressive bulk towered over the waiting press corps who rushed from the nearby bunker to the foot of the now-extended gangway. At last, with a chuff of air, a crack of light appeared around the curved door in the rocket’s side, and it swung open majestically to reveal the professor himself.

“Gentlemen,” he declared grandly. “Today is the dawn of a new day in science. Today I, Professor Falkensteinbrautsengen, will take mankind to the moon!”

“I tell you it can’t be done,” Carter exclaimed, slamming his open palm against the side of the travel pod. “And not only can’t it be done, it not also can’t be not done!”

Inside the lab, away from the thronging mobs outside, Carter looked from face to face, looking for support, but found none. All of Professor Falkensteinbrautsengen’s assitants were loyal and, moreover, knew which side their bread was buttered. At present, it was buttered on the top side, with a nice layer of strawberry jam.

“Unghkna ngh dmph?” the youngest assistant observed.

“For god’s sake, Smythe, don’t speak with your mouth full of bread,” Carter chided.

The youth swallowed and started again. “How can you say that? Professor Falkensbrau… Falkensteiber… Professor F is the most brilliant scientist on earth!”

Carter nodded. “Is he? Is he really the most brilliant scientist on earth? Or do we simply believe that because he has the press eating out of the palm of his hand?” Carter gestured at the silent travel pod. “Look at this thing. It barely runs longer than five minutes without blowing several tubes. And the atomic pile leaks!”

“Sure it leaks,” Danforth interjected, “but since we painted it with lead-based paint, the mutation rate has dropped dramatically.” He waved his tentacles pointedly at Carter.

Phwoar

I’m just back from seeing Adrian Bedford at the first stop of his book tour — a reading at The Grind Café. It was excellent to finally meet Adrian and Michelle. It’s an example of the power of the net to allow people to make connections all over this floating ball that we call Earth. Neat stuff.

If you haven’t met Adrian yet, I’d highly recommend it, as he’s a clever and witty guy, and he’ll sign your copy of Orbital Burn, absolutely free! Even in the short time we were able to chat, he imparted a great deal for me to mull. I’m mulling even now. Principally, his advice was to start small and work my way up, which seems far more sensible than what I was doing. I started with an epic, 1,500-year plot and worked up from there, expecting to finish in a couple of months. Maybe that was a bit too much for my first attempt.

I wish Adrian and Michelle all the best as they wend their way across the continent, stopping in Calgary, Regina, Saskatoon, Toronto, New York, and finally Boston for the 62nd World Science Fiction Convention.

A fine example of high-quality book-binding

Raised by PenguinsWell it’s here. After many days eyeing my mailbox eagerly, the first four copies of Raised by Penguins arrived today. I carefully brought in the box and opened it up to find the four shiny books inside. They were indeed rectangular, as Café Press had promised. And also as Café Press had promised, they each contained 352 pages. I chortled merrily as I flipped through said pages…

… until I noticed a strange feeling of déja vu. Hadn’t I seen that page before? Why yes, that was page 60. What was it doing in the middle of the book? As I kept flipping, I encountered the same 80 pages four times over.

I checked the next book. Surely the first was just a fluke and the others would be fine. But alas, this one contained pages 81 to 168, repeated four times. The other two copies were similar, but contained a different page range in quadruplicate.

How could they do this? Did their printers not even look at what they were binding? Did it not seem odd that the first page of each copy of the same book was different and each one started on a different page number? *shakes fist in the direction of Hayward, California*

Well after a little chat with the friendly Café Press representative, they’ve agreed to resend four copies. If I promised to give you a copy, I’m sorry but it will be delayed another week or so, unless you want to read it in 80-page installments.

A matter of the utmost urgency

About a year ago, I posted this entry on a temporary blog for my first blogiversary contest. Since that blog is no longer online, I might as well post it here. It’s a scene called “A Matter of the Utmost Urgency”. I should warn you — it’s painfully bad.

[Exterior, space. S.S. Interesting travels at hyper speed. Intro music.]

TURK [voice over]: Captain’s log, stardate two three four five… uhhh… six. Whatever. I just make those up anyway. We’re on course to rendezvous with Starbase 69 — a personal favorite of mine for R-and-R. And maybe a little S-and-M. Yes, that old starbase is home to the best sardines-and-mayonnaise this side of Rigel Four.

Or is it Rigel Five? Why do they number those damn planets anyway? In a hundred years of colonization, couldn’t they think of a name for their planet?

Anyway, I’ve called a meeting of the bridge officers to discuss a matter of the utmost ugency.

[Interior, meeting room. SPORK, BONER, and O’HARA sit around the table in silence. TURK enters and sits.]

TURK: Gentlemen.

O’HARA: And lady.

TURK: And… lady, of course.

O’HARA: I think you’d better start the meeting now, Captain.

TURK: Of course. I called this meeting to discuss a matter of the utmost ugency.

BONER: What is it, Tim? Hostile aliens?

TURK: No, Boner, it’s—

SPORK: Has Space Command given us a dangerous mission?

TURK: Uh… no. No, it’s not that—

O’HARA: Is it a tear in the space-time continuum, leading back to a time in our past, which will inevitably invoke a quantuum paradox?

[silence]

BONER: That was last week’s episode, O’Hara.

O’HARA: Oh. I took last week off, remember?

BONER: That’s right. How was the crab nebula? Is it as good as they say?

O’HARA: Well it’s mostly imitation crab now.

BONER: That’s a shame.

O’HARA: I hear the quality hit rock-bottom when they made a deal with the Hake system. Then the market floundered.

SPORK: Would anyone like some coffee?

[General assent. SPORK pours cups of coffee all around.]

TURK: I’m afraid that we have a very serious problem on our hands. We are running out of coffee.

[a collective gasp is heard]

We really have to get that air vent fixed.

Now, I understand your feelings, and I realize that we’re still weeks away from Starbase 69. But there’s no denying it: we have only enough coffee to last five more hours. In fact, these cups may be the among the last you’ll have. We need to explore some alternatives. Suggestions?

SPORK: We could synthesize a mild stimulant by fermenting Mr Fugu’s underpants. We could survive on Fugupants-extract for several days, and go without coffee altogether.

TURK: Altogether?

ALL OFFICERS: [together] We could survive on Fugupants-extract for several

TURK: [cutting them off] Gentlemen! GENTLEMEN!

O’HARA: Ahem.

TURK: Gentle…uh…persons. Heh.

O’HARA: [under her breath] Oh, for crying out loud.

BONER: Tim, I respect Mr Spork’s expertise in this area, but… well, quite frankly, I’d rather throw myself into a pit full of bamboo spikes and Celine Dion cross-dressers than consume Mr Fugu’s underpants. Dammit, Tim, there’s got to be another way.

SPORK: Fugupants-extract is quite safe, doctor. As a matter of fact, I add some to the coffee every morning.

[everyone does a spit-take]

BONER: Damn you, you purple-blooded Uvulan bastard.

SPORK: [breaking into tears] I hate you! I hate you all!

[SPORK runs from the room, sobbing.]

TURK: Easy on the racial slurs, Boner.

BONER: Sorry.

O’HARA: I may have an alternative, sir.

TURK: That’s officer thinking, O’Hara.

O’HARA: I haven’t told you what it is yet.

TURK: Yes, O’Hara: officer thinking.

O’HARA: I recently intercepted a transmission from Fowlia, captain.

TURK: The planet of hyper-intelligent space-monkeys?

O’HARA: Penguins. Hyper-intelligent space-penguins.

TURK: Really? What happened to the monkeys?

O’HARA: There are no space-monkeys, captain. There never were.

TURK: That’s a shame. I like monkeys.

BONER: So what was in the transmission, O’Hara?

O’HARA: The space-penguins are in our sector, and on an intercept course with Starbase 69. They’re after the sardines-and-mayonnaise.

BONER: You knew they were going to attack the starbase? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?

O’HARA: I was waiting for a gap in the banter.

BONER: Fair enough.

TURK: So. The penguins are after some S-and-M. What does this have to do with our coffee shortage?

O’HARA: Um. Not a lot. I thought maybe we could intercept the space-penguin ship and—

TURK: [interrupting] And confiscate their supply of coffee! O’Hara, you’re a genius.

Gentle… officers, we’re about to take a step into the unknown. We’re about to boldly go where no m—… person… has gone before. The mission could be dangerous. We could die a horrible death. The space-penguins may blast our hull asunder like a ballpein hammer on an apple strudel. We may be exposed to the brutal vacuum of space. Our eyes may explode in their sockets. Our blood may boil away through our skin. Our skin may freeze in the icy embrace of interplanetary space. We’ll be boiling and freezing and exploding, ALL AT THE SAME TIME! But will we be afraid? Will we retreat from danger? Will we cower behind a rock like little boy when a big, scary clown is at his birthday party?

BONER: “Yes”?

TURK: No!

[presses intercom button]

Mister Fugu! Lay in an intercept course with the space-penguin craft. Ahead twisted-factor seventeen.

FUGU: [over intercom] We only go up to twisted-factor five, captain.

TURK: Well get Spotty to have a look at the engines. Oh, and Fugu… we won’t be needing your underpants anymore.

FUGU: [over intercom] Thank you captain.

[end of scene]