Seeking a President Who Gives Goose Bumps? So’s Obama.
By MAUREEN DOWD
Published: September 20, 2008
Now that he’s finally fired up on the soup-line economy, Barack Obama knows he can’t fade out again. He was eager to talk privately to a Democratic ex-president who could offer more fatherly wisdom — not to mention a surreptitious smoke — and less fraternal rivalry. I called the “West Wing” creator Aaron Sorkin (yes, truly) to get a read-out of the meeting. This is what he wrote and sent me:
BARACK OBAMA knocks on the front door of a 300-year-old New Hampshire farmhouse while his Secret Service detail waits in the driveway. The door opens and OBAMA is standing face to face with former President JED BARTLET.
BARTLET Senator.
OBAMA Mr. President.
BARTLET You seem startled.
OBAMA I didn’t expect you to answer the door yourself.
BARTLET I didn’t expect you to be getting beat by John McCain and a Lancôme rep who thinks “The Flintstones” was based on a true story, so let’s call it even.
OBAMA Yes, sir.
BARTLET Come on in.
BARTLET leads OBAMA into his study.
BARTLET That was a hell of a convention.
OBAMA Thank you, I was proud of it.
BARTLET I meant the Republicans. The Us versus Them-a-thon. As a Democrat I was surprised to learn that I don’t like small towns, God, people with jobs or America. I’ve been a little out of touch but is there a mandate that the vice president be skilled at field dressing a moose —
OBAMA Look —
BARTLET — and selling Air Force Two on eBay?
OBAMA Joke all you want, Mr. President, but it worked.
BARTLET Imagine my surprise. What can I do for you, kid?
OBAMA I’m interested in your advice.
BARTLET I can’t give it to you.
OBAMA Why not?
BARTLET I’m supporting McCain.
OBAMA Why?
BARTLET He’s promised to eradicate evil and that was always on my “to do” list.
OBAMA O.K. —
BARTLET And he’s surrounded himself, I think, with the best possible team to get us out of an economic crisis. Why, Sarah Palin just said Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac had “gotten too big and too expensive to the taxpayers.” Can you spot the error in that statement?
OBAMA Yes, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac aren’t funded by taxpayers.
BARTLET Well, at least they are now. Kind of reminds you of the time Bush said that Social Security wasn’t a government program. He was only off by a little — Social Security is the largest government program.
OBAMA I appreciate your sense of humor, sir, but I really could use your advice.
BARTLET Well, it seems to me your problem is a lot like the problem I had twice.
OBAMA Which was?
BARTLET A huge number of Americans thought I thought I was superior to them.
OBAMA And?
BARTLET I was.
OBAMA I mean, how did you overcome that?
BARTLET I won’t lie to you, being fictional was a big advantage.
OBAMA What do you mean?
BARTLET I’m a fictional president. You’re dreaming right now, Senator.
OBAMA I’m asleep?
BARTLET Yes, and you’re losing a ton of white women.
OBAMA Yes, sir.
BARTLET I mean tons.
OBAMA I understand.
BARTLET I didn’t even think there were that many white women.
OBAMA I see the numbers, sir. What do they want from me?
BARTLET I’ve been married to a white woman for 40 years and I still don’t know what she wants from me.
OBAMA How did you do it?
BARTLET Well, I say I’m sorry a lot.
OBAMA I don’t mean your marriage, sir. I mean how did you get America on your side?
BARTLET There again, I didn’t have to be president of America, I just had to be president of the people who watched “The West Wing.”
OBAMA That would make it easier.
BARTLET You’d do very well on NBC. Thursday nights in the old “ER” time slot with “30 Rock” as your lead-in, you’d get seven, seven-five in the demo with a 20, 22 share — you’d be selling $450,000 minutes.
OBAMA What the hell does that mean?
BARTLET TV talk. I thought you’d be interested.
OBAMA I’m not. They pivoted off the argument that I was inexperienced to the criticism that I’m — wait for it — the Messiah, who, by the way, was a community organizer. When I speak I try to lead with inspiration and aptitude. How is that a liability?
BARTLET Because the idea of American exceptionalism doesn’t extend to Americans being exceptional. If you excelled academically and are able to casually use 690 SAT words then you might as well have the press shoot video of you giving the finger to the Statue of Liberty while the Dixie Chicks sing the University of the Taliban fight song. The people who want English to be the official language of the United States are uncomfortable with their leaders being fluent in it.
OBAMA You’re saying race doesn’t have anything to do with it?
BARTLET I wouldn’t go that far. Brains made me look arrogant but they make you look uppity. Plus, if you had a black daughter —
OBAMA I have two.
BARTLET — who was 17 and pregnant and unmarried and the father was a teenager hoping to launch a rap career with “Thug Life” inked across his chest, you’d come in fifth behind Bob Barr, Ralph Nader and a ficus.
OBAMA You’re not cheering me up.
BARTLET Is that what you came here for?
OBAMA No, but it wouldn’t kill you.
BARTLET Have you tried doing a two-hour special or a really good Christmas show?
OBAMA Sir —
BARTLET Hang on. Home run. Right here. Is there any chance you could get Michelle pregnant before the fall sweeps?
OBAMA The problem is we can’t appear angry. Bush called us the angry left. Did you see anyone in Denver who was angry?
BARTLET Well ... let me think. ...We went to war against the wrong country, Osama bin Laden just celebrated his seventh anniversary of not being caught either dead or alive, my family’s less safe than it was eight years ago, we’ve lost trillions of dollars, millions of jobs, thousands of lives and we lost an entire city due to bad weather. So, you know ... I’m a little angry.
OBAMA What would you do?
BARTLET GET ANGRIER! Call them liars, because that’s what they are. Sarah Palin didn’t say “thanks but no thanks” to the Bridge to Nowhere. She just said “Thanks.” You were raised by a single mother on food stamps — where does a guy with eight houses who was legacied into Annapolis get off calling you an elitist? And by the way, if you do nothing else, take that word back. Elite is a good word, it means well above average. I’d ask them what their problem is with excellence. While you’re at it, I want the word “patriot” back. McCain can say that the transcendent issue of our time is the spread of Islamic fanaticism or he can choose a running mate who doesn’t know the Bush doctrine from the Monroe Doctrine, but he can’t do both at the same time and call it patriotic. They have to lie — the truth isn’t their friend right now. Get angry. Mock them mercilessly; they’ve earned it. McCain decried agents of intolerance, then chose a running mate who had to ask if she was allowed to ban books from a public library. It’s not bad enough she thinks the planet Earth was created in six days 6,000 years ago complete with a man, a woman and a talking snake, she wants schools to teach the rest of our kids to deny geology, anthropology, archaeology and common sense too? It’s not bad enough she’s forcing her own daughter into a loveless marriage to a teenage hood, she wants the rest of us to guide our daughters in that direction too? It’s not enough that a woman shouldn’t have the right to choose, it should be the law of the land that she has to carry and deliver her rapist’s baby too? I don’t know whether or not Governor Palin has the tenacity of a pit bull, but I know for sure she’s got the qualifications of one. And you’re worried about seeming angry? You could eat their lunch, make them cry and tell their mamas about it and God himself would call it restrained. There are times when you are simply required to be impolite. There are times when condescension is called for!
OBAMA Good to get that off your chest?
BARTLET Am I keeping you from something?
OBAMA Well, it’s not as if I didn’t know all of that and it took you like 20 minutes to say.
BARTLET I know, I have a problem, but admitting it is the first step.
OBAMA What’s the second step?
BARTLET I don’t care.
OBAMA So what about hope? Chuck it for outrage and put-downs?
BARTLET No. You’re elite, you can do both. Four weeks ago you had the best week of your campaign, followed — granted, inexplicably — by the worst week of your campaign. And you’re still in a statistical dead heat. You’re a 47-year-old black man with a foreign-sounding name who went to Harvard and thinks devotion to your country and lapel pins aren’t the same thing and you’re in a statistical tie with a war hero and a Cinemax heroine. To these aged eyes, Senator, that’s what progress looks like. You guys got four debates. Get out of my house and go back to work.
OBAMA Wait, what is it you always used to say? When you hit a bump on the show and your people were down and frustrated? You’d give them a pep talk and then you’d always end it with something. What was it ...?
BARTLET “Break’s over.”
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
The 11th Character. Part I
PG 13
Takes place before the show.
This is the first half. There will be a second half in about a week or so.
Takes place on another planet too so if things are blooming together that aren't supposed to be, well... tough.
Oh, and the Chinese is crap. If you speak Chinese, I am so so sorry.
(Also, I need to finish this too. Maybe I'll finish this first and then get back to Duncan, Kierna, and Lindsay.)
The 11th Character
Rain lashes at Serenity as Wash struggles to land her in their assigned bay on the outskirts of Elparan on Shadow, a moderately sized settlement that has been the lucky recipient of so much Alliance attention since the war. Fortunately, Serenity is the only ship currently ordered to land in this arm of the dock. With the way she is handling, Wash isn’t sure he can control her enough that if another ship had been parked on either side niether that ship or Serenity would have remained undamaged. Zoe sits calmly in the other seat as he swears with gusto at all the powers in the ‘verse he can think of.
Mal steps onto the bridge just as Serenity lands with a teeth jarring thump and cracks, deadpan,“Well now, that’s one way to get her on the ground.”
“My apologies, sir.” Wash responds, not meaning it; all the while hitting buttons seemingly at random to power down the ship, “ but if your jing-chang mei yong duh mechanic can’t get this boat running right, our next landing will be a lot less smooth.”
“No part of that touch down was smooth, Wash.”
Wash swings around in his chair, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Mal ignores his sarcasm, turns to Zoe who is already standing. “How we looking?”
“Thrusters are uneven. Cut out too soon. He’s not wrong about the next time, sir.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Wash protests.
Mal continues to ignore him. “Same as last time?”
“Yes.”
Mal swears, looks out the windows at the horizon, notes absently that the rain is beginning to let up. After a moment he turns his attention back to his pilot, “Wash, see if you can’t figure what the hell is wrong with Serenity. Maybe with your help, Bester can pin point the problem.”
“Bester is the problem.” Wash says calmly, despite having said it roughly a hundred times before. But this time he senses Mal might finally be listening.
“Not much we can do about that now,” Mal says with a sigh. “ Don’t figure on finding another mechanic on this yu bun duh pee-goo rock.”
“Yu bun duh ...?” Wash asks, confused, looking from Zoe to Mal then glances back to Zoe for confirmation. “But I thought... wasn’t this your home?”
Mal catches the look that passes between them and purses his lips at Zoe, crossing his arms. She can read his unspoken question, ‘Now you’re talking about me to him?’
She raises one brow in response and takes a step forward, closer to Wash. Her actions say it for her, ‘Get used to it.’
Damn. Wash and Zoe? Mal did not see that coming. And it did not please him. On board relationships made things complicated. He did not like complicated. But he knows there really isn’t anything he can do about it- not that he would try. More then anyone he could think of, Zoe deserved some happiness. But... with Wash?
He sighs again. “Zoe, ship is yours. I’m taking the shuttle to Gabe's."
"Any idea what he wants?"
Mal had only spoken of the old man once or twice during the war but she figured he had been something of a father figure to Mal after his father passed away. Since he had gotten the wave his mood had become too melancholy for even her comfort. Zoe had been concerned, but Mal wasn't sharing. Not that she would push for answers.
"Shouldn’t be gone more than a few hours,” he says, ignoring her question. He doesn’t wait for a response and leaves the bridge, pausing at the foot of the small set of stairs that lead to the bridge when he overhears Wash complain to Zoe, “Last time? Zoe, you checking up on me?”
“Yes. Captain wasn’t happy with your flying.”
Mal smirks at Zoe's bluntness.
“It wasn’t my flying! It...”
“I know, honey...”
Honey?! Mal moves off, not entirely comfortable with the eaves dropping any longer. Hearing Zoe call someone honey... it was too much for him to comprehend.
~~~
The trip is short and by the time Mal lands outside Gabe’s place the rain has stopped completely. He stands for a moment in the doorway of the shuttle and for the first time in 8 years takes a breath of air from the world he grew up on. Shadow.
To anyone else homecoming would have been a momentous occasion, but Mal barely pauses to let the memories take hold before he steps out onto the rain soaked ground and begins to make his way to Gabe’s ranch.
It is second spring and the wild onion mixes with the scent of apricots on the rain scrubbed air. He has forgotten how clean the air was on Shadow. One could call it delicate even. However it was described, to Mal it just smells like home. A light breeze carries a touch of honey and he remembers suddenly how proud Gabe was of his beekeeping and smiles, wondering if he might get a few jars to take with him.
For a moment it is exactly as it had been the day he left. The same sky, trees… not a blade of grass out of place. He is just beginning to relax when he becomes aware of it. He slows down as the skin on the back of his neck crawls. Alliance patrols, buzzing high overhead, cutting into the silence with their constant oppressive presence. Always watching. His brows furrow, and he continues on.
No. This wasn’t home. Not anymore.
Despite the rain, the dirt path to Gabe’s house remains hard packed, leading in a straight no nonsense line to the simple porch. Mal notices that it has been repainted since he has seen it last, but already that paint is beginning to chip and fade. Gabe sits on the porch, sedately working at something in his hands even though Mal knows Gabe can see him coming.
As he nears the first step, Gabe intones quietly in greeting, “Malcolm.”
Mal continues onto the porch, “Mr. Inness, sir.”
Gabriel chuckles. “Knock it off, son. Take a seat. I’ll be done in a moment.”
Mal uses the action of sitting down to cover the sudden lump that has formed in his throat. He feels old. Tired. It has been too long since anyone that meant a damn to him called him son, and his reaction to it shocks him.
He tries to speak, clears his throat and starts again as casually as he can, “Got you’re wave.”
“Yep. Been wondering when you would finally come around. Started to think you wouldn’t.”
“Would have been here sooner, but had some trouble… got delayed,” Mal finishes, aware of how lame he must sound. How could he feel so old and like a 9 year old that is about to receive a lecture at the same time?
“Relax, son. Wasn’t a complaint. Just an old man’s observation.” Gabe chuckles again, looks up at Mal for the first time. “You look good. Healthy. All that travelin’ suit you fine?”
“It does at that.”
“You get enough sun? You ain’t cooped up in that boat too much are you?” Gabe peers closer at Mal, genuinely concerned.
Mal smiles, reassures him “I get plenty of sun, sir.”
Gabe sits back, looks down to his work again, “Good. Good. You’re ma wouldn’t be too keen on you living all confined. Ain’t natural, she would say. ‘That boy takes up so much room’, she’s told me on more than one occasion.”
Mal says nothing. The two sit in silence for a few moments.
Gabe says finally, quietly, “She was a good woman, your mother.”
“I know,” Mal agrees earnestly.
“She was proud of you.”
Mal looks over at him, not sure about wanting to continue the conversation in this direction. A hurt he had thought long gone flares up, making his breath catch. He doesn’t move, except to clench a fist.
Gabe continues as if he doesn’t notice Mal’s reaction, “Even before the war. Before you signed up to beat back those taan lán Alliance zhi zùn shén bù huó. She knew you were a good man. Told me that on more than one occasion, too.”
Mal blinks once, and tries to take a breath. He wants to speak, part of him wanting to thank Gabriel for his words, the other part to shout him down- tell him to stop talking about his mother in the past tense.
Still without looking up, Gabe continues in the same casual voice, “I never told her. What the Alliance done.” He looks at Mal now, leans forward with his anger clear on his weathered face, “tryin’ you for war crimes, beatin’ on you. No. I couldn’t tell her that.”
Mal swallows hard, nods in understanding.
“She was dying. Knew it, too. Thought she had lost you once after we got word you had been on Hera, in that huaang mò Valley. Day we found out you weren’t dead was the happiest I had seen your ma since the day you were born. Couldn’t take that away from her.”
“I appreciate that,” Mal finally manages.
“All I could do. I couldn’t keep her from dying. We tried. Damn infection moved too fast. Faster then I’d ever seen. Doc was gone, couldn’t get back in time.”
“Weren’t your fault, Gabe.”
“Feels like it.” He states firmly, then stands suddenly. Putting his work down he clears his throat signaling the end of that subject, “Well, come on. Got some of your stuff in the barn.”
~~~
Zoe leans against the doorway to Serenity’s engine room watching Wash tug at his hair in frustration. She smiles. Bester stands opposite Wash, his face the picture of oblivion. Their argument had been going on for at least an hour and Wash was no nearer to getting Bester to understand the importance of a smooth running engine than he was when the day started.
“She’s running fine. I don’t know why you’re so worked up!”
Wash looks at Zoe, his hands pulling at his face, “Running fine, he says.” He turns back to the indignant mechanic, “No, Bester. She isn’t. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks!”
“The only trouble we have is with the left grav boot, but that shouldn’t effect your flying.”
“It’s not the left grav boot. Something’s sticking. I can feel it. Have you checked the pin lock? They gum up sometimes.”
“Pin lock is just fine! You think I didn’t check that when you first started your complaining?”
“Well, something is wrong!”
“Maybe if you’d stop jarring her so much during landing…”
“Jar..! Yuán zhù wo cóng shì jué miàn páng hé jiaang guo tiáo wèi zhii. The damn engine is cutting out! It’s not landing, it’s GRAVITY! If that happens while we’re still burning through atomo, you’d get a whole lot less pretty real quick!”
Bester laughs, “Ooohhhhh. So that’s what this is about. You’re just upset that I turn the ladies heads.”
Wash stares at him, completely incredulous and asks shortly, “What?”
“Worried I might steal your woman.” Bester says laughing to himself, obviously proud of his deduction. He gives Zoe a sly glance and a wink.
Wash turns to Zoe, baffled. She rolls her eyes at Bester then casually shifts her weight from one foot to another.
Wash takes a breath, tries to work through the ridiculous, and tries again, “Bester. Your ability to turn heads,” he turns to Zoe and says emphatically, “Or NOT” then turns back to Bester, continuing, “is not my concern. You keeping the engine turning is.”
“Engine’s turning.”
That seems to be Serenity’s cue to back up Wash and his claims. A puff of smoke escapes from the engine as it slowly grinds to a halt. All three stand and stare for a moments, stunned.
Wash claps his hands together, breaking the sudden unnerving silence. “What was that you were saying?”
~~~
Takes place before the show.
This is the first half. There will be a second half in about a week or so.
Takes place on another planet too so if things are blooming together that aren't supposed to be, well... tough.
Oh, and the Chinese is crap. If you speak Chinese, I am so so sorry.
(Also, I need to finish this too. Maybe I'll finish this first and then get back to Duncan, Kierna, and Lindsay.)
The 11th Character
Rain lashes at Serenity as Wash struggles to land her in their assigned bay on the outskirts of Elparan on Shadow, a moderately sized settlement that has been the lucky recipient of so much Alliance attention since the war. Fortunately, Serenity is the only ship currently ordered to land in this arm of the dock. With the way she is handling, Wash isn’t sure he can control her enough that if another ship had been parked on either side niether that ship or Serenity would have remained undamaged. Zoe sits calmly in the other seat as he swears with gusto at all the powers in the ‘verse he can think of.
Mal steps onto the bridge just as Serenity lands with a teeth jarring thump and cracks, deadpan,“Well now, that’s one way to get her on the ground.”
“My apologies, sir.” Wash responds, not meaning it; all the while hitting buttons seemingly at random to power down the ship, “ but if your jing-chang mei yong duh mechanic can’t get this boat running right, our next landing will be a lot less smooth.”
“No part of that touch down was smooth, Wash.”
Wash swings around in his chair, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Mal ignores his sarcasm, turns to Zoe who is already standing. “How we looking?”
“Thrusters are uneven. Cut out too soon. He’s not wrong about the next time, sir.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Wash protests.
Mal continues to ignore him. “Same as last time?”
“Yes.”
Mal swears, looks out the windows at the horizon, notes absently that the rain is beginning to let up. After a moment he turns his attention back to his pilot, “Wash, see if you can’t figure what the hell is wrong with Serenity. Maybe with your help, Bester can pin point the problem.”
“Bester is the problem.” Wash says calmly, despite having said it roughly a hundred times before. But this time he senses Mal might finally be listening.
“Not much we can do about that now,” Mal says with a sigh. “ Don’t figure on finding another mechanic on this yu bun duh pee-goo rock.”
“Yu bun duh ...?” Wash asks, confused, looking from Zoe to Mal then glances back to Zoe for confirmation. “But I thought... wasn’t this your home?”
Mal catches the look that passes between them and purses his lips at Zoe, crossing his arms. She can read his unspoken question, ‘Now you’re talking about me to him?’
She raises one brow in response and takes a step forward, closer to Wash. Her actions say it for her, ‘Get used to it.’
Damn. Wash and Zoe? Mal did not see that coming. And it did not please him. On board relationships made things complicated. He did not like complicated. But he knows there really isn’t anything he can do about it- not that he would try. More then anyone he could think of, Zoe deserved some happiness. But... with Wash?
He sighs again. “Zoe, ship is yours. I’m taking the shuttle to Gabe's."
"Any idea what he wants?"
Mal had only spoken of the old man once or twice during the war but she figured he had been something of a father figure to Mal after his father passed away. Since he had gotten the wave his mood had become too melancholy for even her comfort. Zoe had been concerned, but Mal wasn't sharing. Not that she would push for answers.
"Shouldn’t be gone more than a few hours,” he says, ignoring her question. He doesn’t wait for a response and leaves the bridge, pausing at the foot of the small set of stairs that lead to the bridge when he overhears Wash complain to Zoe, “Last time? Zoe, you checking up on me?”
“Yes. Captain wasn’t happy with your flying.”
Mal smirks at Zoe's bluntness.
“It wasn’t my flying! It...”
“I know, honey...”
Honey?! Mal moves off, not entirely comfortable with the eaves dropping any longer. Hearing Zoe call someone honey... it was too much for him to comprehend.
~~~
The trip is short and by the time Mal lands outside Gabe’s place the rain has stopped completely. He stands for a moment in the doorway of the shuttle and for the first time in 8 years takes a breath of air from the world he grew up on. Shadow.
To anyone else homecoming would have been a momentous occasion, but Mal barely pauses to let the memories take hold before he steps out onto the rain soaked ground and begins to make his way to Gabe’s ranch.
It is second spring and the wild onion mixes with the scent of apricots on the rain scrubbed air. He has forgotten how clean the air was on Shadow. One could call it delicate even. However it was described, to Mal it just smells like home. A light breeze carries a touch of honey and he remembers suddenly how proud Gabe was of his beekeeping and smiles, wondering if he might get a few jars to take with him.
For a moment it is exactly as it had been the day he left. The same sky, trees… not a blade of grass out of place. He is just beginning to relax when he becomes aware of it. He slows down as the skin on the back of his neck crawls. Alliance patrols, buzzing high overhead, cutting into the silence with their constant oppressive presence. Always watching. His brows furrow, and he continues on.
No. This wasn’t home. Not anymore.
Despite the rain, the dirt path to Gabe’s house remains hard packed, leading in a straight no nonsense line to the simple porch. Mal notices that it has been repainted since he has seen it last, but already that paint is beginning to chip and fade. Gabe sits on the porch, sedately working at something in his hands even though Mal knows Gabe can see him coming.
As he nears the first step, Gabe intones quietly in greeting, “Malcolm.”
Mal continues onto the porch, “Mr. Inness, sir.”
Gabriel chuckles. “Knock it off, son. Take a seat. I’ll be done in a moment.”
Mal uses the action of sitting down to cover the sudden lump that has formed in his throat. He feels old. Tired. It has been too long since anyone that meant a damn to him called him son, and his reaction to it shocks him.
He tries to speak, clears his throat and starts again as casually as he can, “Got you’re wave.”
“Yep. Been wondering when you would finally come around. Started to think you wouldn’t.”
“Would have been here sooner, but had some trouble… got delayed,” Mal finishes, aware of how lame he must sound. How could he feel so old and like a 9 year old that is about to receive a lecture at the same time?
“Relax, son. Wasn’t a complaint. Just an old man’s observation.” Gabe chuckles again, looks up at Mal for the first time. “You look good. Healthy. All that travelin’ suit you fine?”
“It does at that.”
“You get enough sun? You ain’t cooped up in that boat too much are you?” Gabe peers closer at Mal, genuinely concerned.
Mal smiles, reassures him “I get plenty of sun, sir.”
Gabe sits back, looks down to his work again, “Good. Good. You’re ma wouldn’t be too keen on you living all confined. Ain’t natural, she would say. ‘That boy takes up so much room’, she’s told me on more than one occasion.”
Mal says nothing. The two sit in silence for a few moments.
Gabe says finally, quietly, “She was a good woman, your mother.”
“I know,” Mal agrees earnestly.
“She was proud of you.”
Mal looks over at him, not sure about wanting to continue the conversation in this direction. A hurt he had thought long gone flares up, making his breath catch. He doesn’t move, except to clench a fist.
Gabe continues as if he doesn’t notice Mal’s reaction, “Even before the war. Before you signed up to beat back those taan lán Alliance zhi zùn shén bù huó. She knew you were a good man. Told me that on more than one occasion, too.”
Mal blinks once, and tries to take a breath. He wants to speak, part of him wanting to thank Gabriel for his words, the other part to shout him down- tell him to stop talking about his mother in the past tense.
Still without looking up, Gabe continues in the same casual voice, “I never told her. What the Alliance done.” He looks at Mal now, leans forward with his anger clear on his weathered face, “tryin’ you for war crimes, beatin’ on you. No. I couldn’t tell her that.”
Mal swallows hard, nods in understanding.
“She was dying. Knew it, too. Thought she had lost you once after we got word you had been on Hera, in that huaang mò Valley. Day we found out you weren’t dead was the happiest I had seen your ma since the day you were born. Couldn’t take that away from her.”
“I appreciate that,” Mal finally manages.
“All I could do. I couldn’t keep her from dying. We tried. Damn infection moved too fast. Faster then I’d ever seen. Doc was gone, couldn’t get back in time.”
“Weren’t your fault, Gabe.”
“Feels like it.” He states firmly, then stands suddenly. Putting his work down he clears his throat signaling the end of that subject, “Well, come on. Got some of your stuff in the barn.”
~~~
Zoe leans against the doorway to Serenity’s engine room watching Wash tug at his hair in frustration. She smiles. Bester stands opposite Wash, his face the picture of oblivion. Their argument had been going on for at least an hour and Wash was no nearer to getting Bester to understand the importance of a smooth running engine than he was when the day started.
“She’s running fine. I don’t know why you’re so worked up!”
Wash looks at Zoe, his hands pulling at his face, “Running fine, he says.” He turns back to the indignant mechanic, “No, Bester. She isn’t. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks!”
“The only trouble we have is with the left grav boot, but that shouldn’t effect your flying.”
“It’s not the left grav boot. Something’s sticking. I can feel it. Have you checked the pin lock? They gum up sometimes.”
“Pin lock is just fine! You think I didn’t check that when you first started your complaining?”
“Well, something is wrong!”
“Maybe if you’d stop jarring her so much during landing…”
“Jar..! Yuán zhù wo cóng shì jué miàn páng hé jiaang guo tiáo wèi zhii. The damn engine is cutting out! It’s not landing, it’s GRAVITY! If that happens while we’re still burning through atomo, you’d get a whole lot less pretty real quick!”
Bester laughs, “Ooohhhhh. So that’s what this is about. You’re just upset that I turn the ladies heads.”
Wash stares at him, completely incredulous and asks shortly, “What?”
“Worried I might steal your woman.” Bester says laughing to himself, obviously proud of his deduction. He gives Zoe a sly glance and a wink.
Wash turns to Zoe, baffled. She rolls her eyes at Bester then casually shifts her weight from one foot to another.
Wash takes a breath, tries to work through the ridiculous, and tries again, “Bester. Your ability to turn heads,” he turns to Zoe and says emphatically, “Or NOT” then turns back to Bester, continuing, “is not my concern. You keeping the engine turning is.”
“Engine’s turning.”
That seems to be Serenity’s cue to back up Wash and his claims. A puff of smoke escapes from the engine as it slowly grinds to a halt. All three stand and stare for a moments, stunned.
Wash claps his hands together, breaking the sudden unnerving silence. “What was that you were saying?”
~~~
A Pledge
I need to get back to this. I have it in my head. Honest. Just haven't had the time to type it out. I keep coming up with other things to do instead.
Starting Monday. (This Monday. Or maybe next Monday) I'll get back to it.
Starting Monday. (This Monday. Or maybe next Monday) I'll get back to it.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Missing Post
Duncan whispers between gasping breaths, "Where are we?"
"The end of the tunnel," Kierna responds, breathing with just as much difficulty as he. The air had grown thinner the closer they got to the entrance. "Just outside this door and you, my friend, are free."
With her enhanced sight she can tell that Duncan doesn't smile, and she didn't think he would. The drac had kept coming at them, and it seemed an eternity since she had revived him. Never before had he known such fear. He had been in countless battles, traveled the world alone, defeated many enemies; but this was different. Weakened, being dragged in the dark by a women- a thing- he didn't know, attacked over and over by creatures out of nightmare...at times they had to make their way on hands and knees, the only sense guiding him along was by feel; always tense, waiting, wondering when the next assault would come. His strength had returned eventually and he was grateful for the chance to assist in their defense as they tried to escape his prison, but once again they sat in the dark, waiting for her next move.
"Now what?" he asks. "What’s behind the door?"
Unable to see in the dark, he doesn't see her replace the helmet she had removed when first entering the labyrinth. She turns to him as he leans against the wall and says through her comm, "for you Duncan, death. But just for a little while." He is startled by the scratchy electronic voice, but the words penetrate immediately. He begins to protest, but she opens the door and the thin air he had been forcing into his lungs rushes out. Coughing and gasping he falls once again to the floor.
"Relax, Duncan. It will be over shortly." Despite her assurances, he continues to struggle, but is quickly overcome.
She checks his pulse, and sighs regretfully when she can find none. She pauses for a moment in the open doorway, gathering her strength as the fresh supply of oxygen fills her.
Renewed, she lifts him up as if he were a child and carries him into the inhospitable landscape. Placing him back onto the ground gently, she uses the strewn canopy of the parachute as a sling, wrapping him in a cocoon of silver fabric. Tying the ropes around her waist, she lifts him again and places him over her shoulder as she surveys the surroundings.
The walls are rough with many hand holds, and long vertical cuts run from the floor to the top of the chimney shaped cavern, just wide enough for her to use to carry them both up to the surface. She moves to the wall and looks up into the night sky. Faint stars glitter beyond the lip that is a little more then a mile above, but the faint light is enough for her to navigate by.
Resolved, her path chosen, she takes one last steadying breath, places Duncan back on the ground, and begins her ascent. As she climbs, the ropes becomes taught, then groan in protest as his full weight pulls against them.
Slowly, with great care, she moves them upward using her hands and feet to slowly move away from the floor of the cavern as Duncan is being pulled behind like supplies. She regretted the unceremonious way he was being liberated from Sanctuary, but it couldn't be helped. This was her only option. She dared not use any electronic or mechanical means to move him to safety. Those could be detected from too far away. Manually was the only way to assure they both would make it to the top alive.
Well , she amended to herself, not alive .... then returned her concentration to the climb.
Hours later, she begins to notice the cut in the rock was becoming wider, and soon she wouldn't be able to continue along it. Not wanting too look down and be disappointed by their progress, Kierna reluctantly peers over her shoulder. Releasing the wall with one hand, she taps the console on her arm with a spare finger from the other hand. “.47 kilometers,” the display reads, and she curses. Only a fourth of the way. Dismayed, she looks back up, considering. She could move horizontally along the face of the cliff to a cut in the rock about 100 meters to her left, but that would take time.... She sighs, mulling over her options.
Time was running out.
The quickest path between any two points was a straight line. They were point A. She needed to get them to the top as quickly as she could. That was point B. She didn’t have time to move horizontally along the face to another point A, just to continue. She curses again. If only she could make her reach longer...yes, longer. She then reaches with her free hand behind her back for her den’bok. Using it as a brace, she opens it to it’s full length, wedging it between the ridges in the cut they are ascending. The ends pierce the rock and hold, like a ladders rung. Placing one foot on it, she tests it’s strength and is delighted when it holds firm. She moves her other foot onto the slim pole, and stands for a moment, catching her breath. This could work.
Her spirits raised, she spares a glance back to her cargo is horrified to discover it moving. He was awake! The air did have a scant amount of oxygen, but was it enough for his body to reanimate itself? For how long? He must be waking and dying over and over in this thin atmosphere. She shuddered at the thought, but there was nothing she could do about it. The best thing, the only thing she could do for him was get him off this damn planet.
Pulling out the second den’bok, she opens it about 1 and a half meters above the first. Climbing up onto the second pole, she balances herself and braces against the weight of Duncan’s body as she reaches down, releases the first, and repeats the process. Hand over hand is replaced by pole over pole. The work tedious and mind numbing, but if centuries of living with a Vorlon taught her anything, it was patience. She put her own concerns out of her mind, tried to ignore the occasional sounds of struggle beneath her, and concentrated on the task at hand: to not fall.
"The end of the tunnel," Kierna responds, breathing with just as much difficulty as he. The air had grown thinner the closer they got to the entrance. "Just outside this door and you, my friend, are free."
With her enhanced sight she can tell that Duncan doesn't smile, and she didn't think he would. The drac had kept coming at them, and it seemed an eternity since she had revived him. Never before had he known such fear. He had been in countless battles, traveled the world alone, defeated many enemies; but this was different. Weakened, being dragged in the dark by a women- a thing- he didn't know, attacked over and over by creatures out of nightmare...at times they had to make their way on hands and knees, the only sense guiding him along was by feel; always tense, waiting, wondering when the next assault would come. His strength had returned eventually and he was grateful for the chance to assist in their defense as they tried to escape his prison, but once again they sat in the dark, waiting for her next move.
"Now what?" he asks. "What’s behind the door?"
Unable to see in the dark, he doesn't see her replace the helmet she had removed when first entering the labyrinth. She turns to him as he leans against the wall and says through her comm, "for you Duncan, death. But just for a little while." He is startled by the scratchy electronic voice, but the words penetrate immediately. He begins to protest, but she opens the door and the thin air he had been forcing into his lungs rushes out. Coughing and gasping he falls once again to the floor.
"Relax, Duncan. It will be over shortly." Despite her assurances, he continues to struggle, but is quickly overcome.
She checks his pulse, and sighs regretfully when she can find none. She pauses for a moment in the open doorway, gathering her strength as the fresh supply of oxygen fills her.
Renewed, she lifts him up as if he were a child and carries him into the inhospitable landscape. Placing him back onto the ground gently, she uses the strewn canopy of the parachute as a sling, wrapping him in a cocoon of silver fabric. Tying the ropes around her waist, she lifts him again and places him over her shoulder as she surveys the surroundings.
The walls are rough with many hand holds, and long vertical cuts run from the floor to the top of the chimney shaped cavern, just wide enough for her to use to carry them both up to the surface. She moves to the wall and looks up into the night sky. Faint stars glitter beyond the lip that is a little more then a mile above, but the faint light is enough for her to navigate by.
Resolved, her path chosen, she takes one last steadying breath, places Duncan back on the ground, and begins her ascent. As she climbs, the ropes becomes taught, then groan in protest as his full weight pulls against them.
Slowly, with great care, she moves them upward using her hands and feet to slowly move away from the floor of the cavern as Duncan is being pulled behind like supplies. She regretted the unceremonious way he was being liberated from Sanctuary, but it couldn't be helped. This was her only option. She dared not use any electronic or mechanical means to move him to safety. Those could be detected from too far away. Manually was the only way to assure they both would make it to the top alive.
Well , she amended to herself, not alive .... then returned her concentration to the climb.
Hours later, she begins to notice the cut in the rock was becoming wider, and soon she wouldn't be able to continue along it. Not wanting too look down and be disappointed by their progress, Kierna reluctantly peers over her shoulder. Releasing the wall with one hand, she taps the console on her arm with a spare finger from the other hand. “.47 kilometers,” the display reads, and she curses. Only a fourth of the way. Dismayed, she looks back up, considering. She could move horizontally along the face of the cliff to a cut in the rock about 100 meters to her left, but that would take time.... She sighs, mulling over her options.
Time was running out.
The quickest path between any two points was a straight line. They were point A. She needed to get them to the top as quickly as she could. That was point B. She didn’t have time to move horizontally along the face to another point A, just to continue. She curses again. If only she could make her reach longer...yes, longer. She then reaches with her free hand behind her back for her den’bok. Using it as a brace, she opens it to it’s full length, wedging it between the ridges in the cut they are ascending. The ends pierce the rock and hold, like a ladders rung. Placing one foot on it, she tests it’s strength and is delighted when it holds firm. She moves her other foot onto the slim pole, and stands for a moment, catching her breath. This could work.
Her spirits raised, she spares a glance back to her cargo is horrified to discover it moving. He was awake! The air did have a scant amount of oxygen, but was it enough for his body to reanimate itself? For how long? He must be waking and dying over and over in this thin atmosphere. She shuddered at the thought, but there was nothing she could do about it. The best thing, the only thing she could do for him was get him off this damn planet.
Pulling out the second den’bok, she opens it about 1 and a half meters above the first. Climbing up onto the second pole, she balances herself and braces against the weight of Duncan’s body as she reaches down, releases the first, and repeats the process. Hand over hand is replaced by pole over pole. The work tedious and mind numbing, but if centuries of living with a Vorlon taught her anything, it was patience. She put her own concerns out of her mind, tried to ignore the occasional sounds of struggle beneath her, and concentrated on the task at hand: to not fall.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Been a while, huh?
Just a note to anyone that actually cares: I do intend to finish this. I mean, I have it all plotted out in my head, it's just that sometimes the thing in my head gets warped beyond recognition when it comes out my fingers. I don't know what that is. Some kind of disconnect between brain and hand? A glitch in The Matrix perhaps. An Abyss that the uber cool stuff falls into... Well whatever it is, I've got to get over because I have a few very unhappy people running around in my head and most of that have pointy weapons.
A few more weeks. Then I think I'll have my disconnect licked.
A few more weeks. Then I think I'll have my disconnect licked.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Links to B5/Highlander
Edit: 2/2/06 I added a few more links.
OK! I got em all to work!!! Woo hoo!
Ok. In my Triple Virgoness, I have decided that the best way to make this story as I am writing it so far much more easily accesable, it needs its own post with nothing but links to all the parts. (Which doesn't make much sense, but since I am currently working on a knot in the story, doing this makes me feel like I am making progress.)
Part 1 Sanctuary.
Part 2 Kierna & Duncan.
Part 3 Capt. Joe Dawson.
Part 4 The Rangers.
Part 5 Capt. Marcus.
Part 6 Gotcha.
APart 7 Ambush.
Part 8 Dogfight.
Part 9 The Juvat.
Part 10 Dogfight cont'd.
Part 11 Visions.
Part 12 Aboard the White Star.
Part 13 Babylon 5.
Part 14 Detour.
Part 15 Origen's Moon.
Part 16 The Date.
Part 17 Down Below.
Part 18 A Little Reminder.
Part 19 Plan B
Part 20 To the Rescue
Part 21 Quickening
Part 22 Questions
Part 23 Who are you?
OK! I got em all to work!!! Woo hoo!
Ok. In my Triple Virgoness, I have decided that the best way to make this story as I am writing it so far much more easily accesable, it needs its own post with nothing but links to all the parts. (Which doesn't make much sense, but since I am currently working on a knot in the story, doing this makes me feel like I am making progress.)
Part 1 Sanctuary.
Part 2 Kierna & Duncan.
Part 3 Capt. Joe Dawson.
Part 4 The Rangers.
Part 5 Capt. Marcus.
Part 6 Gotcha.
APart 7 Ambush.
Part 8 Dogfight.
Part 9 The Juvat.
Part 10 Dogfight cont'd.
Part 11 Visions.
Part 12 Aboard the White Star.
Part 13 Babylon 5.
Part 14 Detour.
Part 15 Origen's Moon.
Part 16 The Date.
Part 17 Down Below.
Part 18 A Little Reminder.
Part 19 Plan B
Part 20 To the Rescue
Part 21 Quickening
Part 22 Questions
Part 23 Who are you?
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Part 23~ Who are you?
Joe slouches in his cell, numb, his mind and body disconnected. He obeyed the commands issued by the guards when they lead him away from Kage and into his cell in security, but his mind registered none of it.
He can barely summon the energy to wonder, 'Has it been hours or days?'
Guards had come and asked questions. Then came the inquisitor, who also met with Joe’s frustrating silence.
Briefly he was roused from his weariness by Lindsey’s voice in the hall and by the surge of anger at the Ranger woman and the destruction of the life he had made for himself by dangling answers before him. Answers about the missing years of his life, the odd sensations he sometimes felt the need to hide from, but he couldn’t resist chasing when Lindsey showed up on the deck of the Alexa, asking that he come with her.
A cavalier voice in his mind pointed out that if she hadn’t, he would probably be dead.
Dead.
He laughs a little, slightly manic.
The clarity he had felt when he had squared off against Kage has deserted him and has left a void that was threatening to swallow him whole and to his horror he realizes a part of him wants to succumb to the darkness and the imagined peace he might find there, but another part of him recoils from that desire with a ferocity he did not know he had possessed. The war within him was consuming him completely and left no energy for the world around him. Which was why he didn’t hear the door open when she entered. Doesn’t even realize she is in the room with him until her hand slides beneath his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes.
Lyta Alexander… she doesn't say the name, but he can feel her identity.
At first, she says nothing. And he responds in kind. In his apathy, he lets her stare into his eyes, searching for what he doesn’t know, or care. Until, he starts to feel it; her mind probing his, igniting his need to know, like an itch. She could breach the barriers with ease, unlike the others that had tried… and suddenly he was afraid.
She sinks down into the chair in front of him, keeping her eyes on his. Physically, he could have broken free from her grasp, with the exception of the sheer force of her will. That was what was keeping him still, trapped.
She smiled slightly, without much humor however, and says, "This might hurt a little, but only for a moment." And once again the world around him vanished, but his time, to be replaced by the chaos that he knew was his own mind.
Suddenly he is standing with her on a precipice. He has the vague idea of being in a large cavern, standing on a ledge in the middle of a vertical shaft. Before them, images swirled. His memories. Ripped apart in a vortex that stretches in both directions with out end.
He turns to look at Lyta, but finds himself alone, the cavern, the chaos gone and thinks to himself, ‘I am the chaos,’ and knows that she is on the precipice alone, attempting to contain that vortex, and bring it to order.
Lyta stares at the chaos with awe. All her years as a telepath, all the minds she had probed, had never been so... full. No human life at least. Vorlons had a consciousness that were seemingly eternal, as Joe's looked to her now, and with the same clarity as a Vorlon mind.
Life experience left an imprint, an image attached to emotion, but were for the most part a ghost of that fact of the incident. In Joe's mind, however, they were more like recordings. Accurate in every detail the events he had experienced in his life, to be examined at will whenever he chose. Until a block had ripped them apart, preventing him access to all the knowledge he had gained.
And how long of a life did he have? She allows the images to flow past her, passive as the rush by. Was that Rome? Egypt, with an unfinished pyramid? New York City? In the 20th century?
The images overwhelm her for a moment, but she returns to herself, keeping her own consciousness confined, separate from his. If she wasn't careful, she could lose herself to the chaos.
'Focus', she reminds herself. 'Let the memories flow over you, find the key...'
As she watches, a pattern begins to emerge. Similar incident have swarmed together in the vortex. Pleasurable memories here, moments of darkness there... friends, enemies, lovers. Each had a category and had flocked together. But one memory would be the key, the one that would force all the rest to return to their proper places in time, to be accessed again by Joe, to return as his memories. This key would be unique, special...
At first, Lyta fears that the sheer amount of life experience will make finding this unique moment difficult. So much to search through, so many options to choose from. She picks from the chaos memories that seem unique and hold them for Joe to see, but nothing registers with him. The chaos continues to swirl and for a moment it seems to react to her attempts and move faster, trying to make her job more difficult. Instead, the images flow by her more quickly, allowing her to see the patterns with more clarity.
'It will be a women', she thinks to herself with a tiny smile, and concentrates her efforts there. After that initial realization, the rest was easy. The memory stood out for both the love and the loss.
She was frail, lying on her death bed. Lyta begins to pull the image forward, and to her surprise can feel Joe resisting. Was that guilt? Anger? The vortex accelerate in response, trying to rip the image from her, but her will is greater then his. She rips the memory from the chaos.
A pale woman with eyes brimming with tears stares up at him, commands him, "Methos, remember me."
He can barely summon the energy to wonder, 'Has it been hours or days?'
Guards had come and asked questions. Then came the inquisitor, who also met with Joe’s frustrating silence.
Briefly he was roused from his weariness by Lindsey’s voice in the hall and by the surge of anger at the Ranger woman and the destruction of the life he had made for himself by dangling answers before him. Answers about the missing years of his life, the odd sensations he sometimes felt the need to hide from, but he couldn’t resist chasing when Lindsey showed up on the deck of the Alexa, asking that he come with her.
A cavalier voice in his mind pointed out that if she hadn’t, he would probably be dead.
Dead.
He laughs a little, slightly manic.
The clarity he had felt when he had squared off against Kage has deserted him and has left a void that was threatening to swallow him whole and to his horror he realizes a part of him wants to succumb to the darkness and the imagined peace he might find there, but another part of him recoils from that desire with a ferocity he did not know he had possessed. The war within him was consuming him completely and left no energy for the world around him. Which was why he didn’t hear the door open when she entered. Doesn’t even realize she is in the room with him until her hand slides beneath his chin, forcing him to look into her eyes.
Lyta Alexander… she doesn't say the name, but he can feel her identity.
At first, she says nothing. And he responds in kind. In his apathy, he lets her stare into his eyes, searching for what he doesn’t know, or care. Until, he starts to feel it; her mind probing his, igniting his need to know, like an itch. She could breach the barriers with ease, unlike the others that had tried… and suddenly he was afraid.
She sinks down into the chair in front of him, keeping her eyes on his. Physically, he could have broken free from her grasp, with the exception of the sheer force of her will. That was what was keeping him still, trapped.
She smiled slightly, without much humor however, and says, "This might hurt a little, but only for a moment." And once again the world around him vanished, but his time, to be replaced by the chaos that he knew was his own mind.
Suddenly he is standing with her on a precipice. He has the vague idea of being in a large cavern, standing on a ledge in the middle of a vertical shaft. Before them, images swirled. His memories. Ripped apart in a vortex that stretches in both directions with out end.
He turns to look at Lyta, but finds himself alone, the cavern, the chaos gone and thinks to himself, ‘I am the chaos,’ and knows that she is on the precipice alone, attempting to contain that vortex, and bring it to order.
Lyta stares at the chaos with awe. All her years as a telepath, all the minds she had probed, had never been so... full. No human life at least. Vorlons had a consciousness that were seemingly eternal, as Joe's looked to her now, and with the same clarity as a Vorlon mind.
Life experience left an imprint, an image attached to emotion, but were for the most part a ghost of that fact of the incident. In Joe's mind, however, they were more like recordings. Accurate in every detail the events he had experienced in his life, to be examined at will whenever he chose. Until a block had ripped them apart, preventing him access to all the knowledge he had gained.
And how long of a life did he have? She allows the images to flow past her, passive as the rush by. Was that Rome? Egypt, with an unfinished pyramid? New York City? In the 20th century?
The images overwhelm her for a moment, but she returns to herself, keeping her own consciousness confined, separate from his. If she wasn't careful, she could lose herself to the chaos.
'Focus', she reminds herself. 'Let the memories flow over you, find the key...'
As she watches, a pattern begins to emerge. Similar incident have swarmed together in the vortex. Pleasurable memories here, moments of darkness there... friends, enemies, lovers. Each had a category and had flocked together. But one memory would be the key, the one that would force all the rest to return to their proper places in time, to be accessed again by Joe, to return as his memories. This key would be unique, special...
At first, Lyta fears that the sheer amount of life experience will make finding this unique moment difficult. So much to search through, so many options to choose from. She picks from the chaos memories that seem unique and hold them for Joe to see, but nothing registers with him. The chaos continues to swirl and for a moment it seems to react to her attempts and move faster, trying to make her job more difficult. Instead, the images flow by her more quickly, allowing her to see the patterns with more clarity.
'It will be a women', she thinks to herself with a tiny smile, and concentrates her efforts there. After that initial realization, the rest was easy. The memory stood out for both the love and the loss.
She was frail, lying on her death bed. Lyta begins to pull the image forward, and to her surprise can feel Joe resisting. Was that guilt? Anger? The vortex accelerate in response, trying to rip the image from her, but her will is greater then his. She rips the memory from the chaos.
A pale woman with eyes brimming with tears stares up at him, commands him, "Methos, remember me."
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Soon. I promise
For the 2 or 3 people that are keeping up with this... I will finish. Promise. I just got a little stuck...
Consider it a hiatus. Like the networks have in November and they air re-runs or bad movies of the week, only without the sucky movie of the week thing.
Consider it a hiatus. Like the networks have in November and they air re-runs or bad movies of the week, only without the sucky movie of the week thing.
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