MSC – Nordenskjöld – Slavery
Title: Memoirs of a Space Corsair – Nordenskjöld – Slavery
Author: Jonathan L. Lawrence (Sage/JL Legend on this blog)
Genre: Science fiction
Word Count: 6,796
Warnings/Spoilers: There is violence, foul language, and references other things that may upset the reader, including reference to (but not description thereof) of non-consensual sexual activity.
Credits: Everyone who reads my blog, and has put up with my failed promises of writing, and those following me on Twitter that put up with my Tweets as I was writing and editing this.
Disclaimer: This is entirely an original story, all copyright to this works, and associated works with these characters and the universe I have created belong to me (Jonathan L. Lawrence) and me alone. I do not sanction the use of my ideas anywhere else, other than for linking back to source, and fair use. Please go here to learn more about copyright: Copyright Service
Summary: This is the third instalment in a regular series I am trying to create, set some five hundred years in the future; it follows the trial and tribulations of one man as he tries to survive in a hostile galaxy. In the process, he will become a famous pirate with a cause, a corsair. Arsène Frassin recounts to us himself his life, and we are still early in his adventures. HE has survived captured by pirates, and life in captivity, now the next phase begins – slavery. The fourth chapter in this tale will be forthcoming, however enjoy the third chapter. If you’ve not read the earlier chapters they can be found at:
1st Chapter – Captivity Part One – Terrors of Space
2nd Chapter – Captivity Part Two – Induction
It was maybe an hour after I gave my rousing speech that the door opened. Chris Garland, Connor Wilde, Tim Murail, Garth Bruch, and Terry (I didn’t yet know his real name), all gathered by me, I was now the de facto leader of our motley group. We were waifs, captives of unknown people, some of us had served with me as labourers aboard the Reina del Mar, a luxury space liner, the others had their own stories, all of us had our horrors to bear. However an hour before we had declared ourselves survivors, and whatever was thrown at us with this door opening, after a month of captivity, we would survive, and eventually earn our freedom. That I swore to myself as much to the others.
We were currently held in quarantine with slavers, and the night before we had been told that today we would be sold. Slavery wasn’t practiced in the Epsilon Eridani system, which was home to a large number of us, and we didn’t really know what to expect, other than what we had read about, or seen in vids.
We had known the door was about to open, the light that came through the small window in the door had been blocked briefly. Now as the door opened, we saw a man stood there. Previously, the only outsiders we had seen had been masked, in case we carried an infection of some variety, but this man had no mask.
I recognised him immediately from his eyes though, he had pretty much been with us since we arrived from our capture and transit by pirates to this space station. I didn’t know him really, he had barely said a word, but at the same time, I did have an affinity with him, having been with us since the beginning.
“Out,” he said in English, but with an accent I didn’t recognise, but gestured us to follow him.
We did as we were told, we had no option, the previous night, we had acted out against a traitor in our midst, and we had seen how they dealt with us. I still ached from the repeated hits by some sort of club or bat that had shocked me even as it battered me. Connor too knew the terrifying effect of those bats, having led the violence and earned a beating following by a club to the head with one of those things. Fortunately other than pain, it didn’t seem to have lasting effects, or I would have dreaded what a blow to the head with one could have done.
As we stepped into the corridor, there were wash basins, and fresh overalls to change into. This usually happened once a week, but we had been through this yesterday - obviously we were to look clean and healthy before being sold in. Maybe it raised the price, we had been told by the traitor that fit and healthy slaves sold better, that is why we had had the relative comforts of our current cell.
A prison was a prison to me back then, but I must admit, it was a massive improvement on the month or so, we had spent in transit aboard the pirate ship that brought us to this station, there we had lived in squalid filth, with the only consideration to our wellbeing, a tube that fed a slop into a trough for us to eat. Here we had been fed meat and vegetables, given medication, been allowed to wash, and had a form of toilet to use, rather than just a corner of our cell.
All in all, looking back it may have been a cage, but it had its comforts. None of us knew what comforts, if any, would exist as we left this place.
MSC – Captivity Part Two – Induction
Title: Memoirs of a Space Corsair - Captivity Part Two - Induction
Author: Jonathan L. Lawrence (Sage on this blog)
Genre: Science fiction
Word Count: 7,863
Warnings/Spoilers: There is violence, foul language, and conditions of torture that may be uncomfortable for some
Credits: Everyone who reads my blog, and has put up with my failed promises of writing, and those following me on Twitter that put up with my Tweets as I was writing and editing this.
Disclaimer: This is entirely an original story, all copyright to this works, and associated works with these characters, and the universe I have created belong to my (Jonathan L. Lawrence), and me alone. I do not sanction the use of my ideas anywhere else, other than for linking back to source, and fair use. Please go here to learn more about copyright: Copyright Service
Summary: This is the second instalment in a regular series I am trying to create, set some five hundred years in the futures, it follows the trial and tribulations of one man as he tries to survive in a hostile galaxy. In the process, he will become a famous pirate with a cause, a corsair. However, we’re not there yet, first we must learn where our intrepid anti-hero comes from, this second chapter follows on directly from the events of the first, after being captured by an unknown party from the Reina del Mar, a luxury liner, and seeing many of his friends die, or be maimed, he know must traverse a new reality, and find the steel within himself to be who he must be to survive. The third chapter in this tale will be forthcoming, however enjoy the second chapter. If you've not read the first chapter, it can be found here.
As I wallowed, selfishly, in my own misery, after having dug for days through foul refuse, I barely even registered the jolt in the room. Chris did however.
"What was that?" he exclaimed.
"What?" I asked, only realising the jolt had happened after I responded.
"I felt it," Garth said, "The whole room bumped."
"What do you think it was?" Tim asked.
None of us knew, but we hoped it was the start of the end of our captivity. Whatever it was, for the first time since we had been locked up, it was a change to our situation not of our own making. We had been in our cell for weeks, during that time we had seen neither sight nor sound of anyone else, but the four of us here. We had been captured on the Reina del Mar, a luxury space cruiser, where we each of the four were labourers. With me were Chris (a good friend), and two others, Tim and Garth, who I wasn't that well acquainted with. I think, had things worked out differently, all four of us would have had a bond for life having shared the same hell.
If we thought that jolt was somehow exciting, half an hour later we practically jibbering hens as sirens went off.
"What is it?" we asked in various forms, as if more information would be revealed by repeatedly asking.
The siren paid us no heed though, it just kept going. It was a klaxon noise, a high pitched noise, followed two lower pitch noises.
It was Garth who recognised it first.
"It’s a docking alarm," Garth said, feeling a bit of confidence from how we suddenly all gathered round him, he was now the centre of our group, the man with the information.
"Go on," we urged him.
"Well back on the Reina del Mar, I do some work in the cargo hold when we docked at stations. That sounds like the buzzer that was used when the cargo doors opened," he said proudly informing us. "We must have docked," he added.
"Wonder where we are?" Chris asked.
Garth just shrugged, he had given us all the information we had. It didn't stop us speculating, and for the next hour, in fact that’s all we did.
Our theories ranged from the rescue we all hoped for by one of the major navies of this area of space, to the less certain prospect of one pirate ship in battle with another, that was now being boarded.
We had no real ideas, until there was another jolt, this one was much heavier, and definitely involved our area of the ship. We had the sensation of being moved, (something you don't really feel on a ship, due to the inertial dampeners in place, and the gravity plating commonly employed on large ships), with the occasional sudden jolt. We were sent careening across the room one time at a sudden sharp jolt.
After that there was nothing, even the sound of the klaxon was replaced by silence. By now were tired, smelly, dirty, bruised, battered and hungry, Garth had a nose bleed from when he fell. We were completely miserable and would have done anything to escape - only there was absolutely nothing left to do, but wait.
As it was, we only had to wait an hour (as far as I could estimate), before there was activity once more. This time noises came from the door, a stiff cranking sound, followed by a hiss of depressurisation.
MSC – Captivity Part One – Terrors of Space
Title: Memoirs of a Space Corsair - Captivity Part One - Terrors of Space
Author: Jonathan L. Lawrence (Sage on this blog)
Genre: Science fiction
Word Count: 6,192
Warnings/Spoilers: There is a bit of violence, foul language, and conditions of torture that may be uncomfortable for some
Credits: Everyone who reads my blog, and has put up with my failed promises of writing, and those following me on Twitter that put up with my Tweets as I was writing and editing this.
Disclaimer: © Jonathan L. Lawrence, 2010. This is entirely an original story, all copyright to this works, and associated works with these characters, and the universe I have created belong to me, (Jonathan L. Lawrence), and me alone. I do not sanction the use of my ideas anywhere else, other than for linking back to source, and fair use. Please go here to learn more about copyright: Copyright Service
Summary: This is the first instalment in a regular series I am trying to create, set some five hundred years in the futures, it follows the trial and tribulations of one man as he tries to survive in a hostile galaxy. In the process, he will become a famous pirate with a cause, a corsair. However, we’re not there yet, first we must learn where our intrepid anti-hero comes from, this first chapter is about his launch into space, and the terrifying consequences of his reach for the stars. The second chapter in this tale will be forthcoming, however in the meantime enjoy this opening salvo of what will hopefully be a long and fulfilling tale.
It’s been a hell of a life.
I don't know who will read this or why, maybe it will make this humble man famous, and infuriate those that mean my end. I do not know. I can only hope, a true account of my life leaks out, and pisses off those that seek to vilify me, more than my due anyway. In small acts of vengeance a wrong man can find comfort I guess.
I sit here writing this in relatively sanitary conditions, (compared with some of my other experiences), a prisoner of corruption and criminals, you probably know the type, the ones that style themselves as "leaders of men", the governments of this galaxy.
If this is the end, it’s been a hell of a life, and I wanted to tell my side of it.
My name is Arsène Frassin, formerly of Pôle Nord, Epsilon Eridani c.
I was born there sixty-four years ago, in the Spring of 2522 (or 392PC depending on where you’re from). My father was a bureaucrat, a port accountant, my mother a store clerk at our town's OriMart (a retail wholesaler). You might think, given the account of my life I am about to retell, I would have had a hard, or repressive childhood, but actually it was okay, until I ventured into space. I went to a middle of the road school, nothing fancy, but efficient, well meaning, and thorough, did well enough academically, though I would say that it left me completely unprepared for the realities of life – there are some things I have learnt you just can’t teach, but I wish they could have.
On our town habitat on Eridani c, near the poles (appropriately named Pôle Nord as I mentioned), most of the business and job opportunities revolved around trade, transport and administration. Areas near the poles are the easiest and most efficient to land ships, and have them take off again after. Even with the relatively light atmosphere and gravity of our small planet, this was important. My first job was with the warehouse retailer where my mother worked, however I soon found it wasn't the career for me. I tried to join the local civil service, however times were tough and they weren't employing, despite my father’s position (which was recognised for its importance). Staying in our home city was limiting, it was a specialised place, however all my life I had watched ships land and take off, ships that had drifted among the stars themselves, travelling from world to world, across vast distances.
That I knew, back then, was what I wanted to do. I wanted to sail through the vastness of space, see alien worlds, and become one with the stars. I really did describe it as such back then, the wonders of youth, the poetical vision. I could have sought employment in other areas of our world, my education was good enough to apprentice in a number of positions, but space filled my vision and my dreams.
The following year I was old enough (15) to accept a commission aboard a star liner, and I signed up straight away. Star Liners were huge ships, carrying masses of people, and tonnes of cargo, and they were always hiring. I was to be a cleaner, I reasoned, being smart, and eager I would quickly rise up the ranks, and such a lowly position wouldn’t hold me for long, so it didn’t matter as long as I was sailing. Again the wonders of youth at such an innocent view of life, optimism abounded as I ventured into unknown waters.
I had only a week to get ready after signing up before I was to leave aboard the behemoth ship. I bid my farewells to my family, travelled round, having meals with relatives that I wouldn't see again for four years (which was a "season", or the standard length of a single term commission aboard space craft back then).
The ship I was commissioned on was the Norstel Spaceways deluxe cruiser Reina del Mar, which was only a moderate size ship, but of opulent quality for its high fare paying guests, and more than big enough to make my eyes bulge as I watched out through a scope hovering in space as its shuttles ferried back and forth.
Another update – but good news!
Well the time has finally come, I'm going to actually show some brand new original writing on my part.
The first two chapters of my Memoirs of a Space Corsair are completed, and edited (though I offer no gaurentee to the quality of my self-editing, especially in the small hours of the morning). I've really gone for a bleak start to my characters adventures, and the third chapter will largely be bleak, though of course I can not keep it in such bleak a circumstance, I'm fairly sure if it continued into a fourth chapter, Arsène Frassin (my main character), would probably but aside his principles and simply off himself. He's been through a lot, poor lad.
Hopefully these first two chapters give you a hint of the potential in this boy, trapped by circumstance. It is the foundation for the character, and ultimately the whole series of stories I have planned.
Hopefully, once we move out of these initial chapters, each entry will actually work as its own short story, but feed into the overall plot I intend. However, I must admit, the first three chapters, and possibly into the fourth are sequential, and intended to be read as such. I want to try and keep a word count of between 5,000 and 10,000 per instalment, just because its neater than trying to read 30,000 words in a single posting, and more convenient for the style of writing I want to achieve. As we do move into later chapters, and each adventure is one instalment (albeit with the possibility of an adventure or two being split across two instalments), it should feel a bit more like the pulp fiction of the first half of the twentieth century. I suppose I should come up with a garish and extravagant cover or two to go with milestones in my story.
I am finding this project very exciting, and its been relatively easy to write (albeit in between work, and family), but I can honestly say, the editing has been a lot tougher. I'm sure if I were to re-read either chapter through right now, I'd probably find another hour or two of changes to be made. There is little time for that before the first chapter publishes, so I shall let it lie, plenty of time before the scheduler posts up the second chapter though.
I had to have a little think about the impact of posting a story online, just as with poetry, I want to share my creative works, but a part of you does wonder, what would I do if someone misappropriated my ideas? I've of course added "© Jonathan L. Lawrence, 2010", but also a disclaimer at the beginning, spelling out that this is mine, and mine alone. This may be overkill - however when I ran forum for writers, way back when, the issue of copyright did come up, and I can appreciate the wronged parties point of view.
I want to do a post on copyright, (I did do one previously, but it was more an idea, rather than a real look at the subject), and will probably do this week. I sometimes think copyright isn't really reflective of the time, yet at the same time, I want my creative works protected as I share it with the world. There has to be a balance somewhere, and maybe it lies with the creators rather than the law to find that balance. Of course I am, in my small, untalented way, a creator, so I'm biased.
Anyway, I hope you read and enjoy the first two chapters, and I hope not keep those that do enjoy it waiting with the third and fourth.
Au revoir,
Sage
P.S. Feedback, good or bad, is always welcome - it makes me feel important that someone felt enough about what I've written that they would say something about it. I am an egotist after all is said and done, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Plus, it might just help shape me into a real writer, then if I was ever published, I'd have to acknowledge your contribution - (bribery gets you everywhere, or it does in Arsène's corrupt world).
Aha! Found You!
My muses have elected to return to me it seems. I suddenly have the ability to write again, and am doing so with gusto working on a new project. I know, I have lots of unfinished projects I should be working on, but I'm just enjoying writing right now.
So the new project, it’s currently titled Journals of a Space Corsair, and is a sci-fi piece. Inspired by the concept of the Bio of a Space Tyrant novels by Piers Anthony, which I read recently, and once I finished reading those books, I also read Michael Crichton's Pirate Latitudes, between the two of them, this whole science fiction universe of mine was inspired and created in my mind. What’s more is I've been able to put it into words, something I’ve struggled to do for the past eighteen months.
It’s a nice feeling, not too many words just yet, but just passed the 20,000 mark in two weeks so that’s a comfort.
The way I'm doing this project is blog posts, it’s an auto-biography, so I'm going to write it as a series of confessionals, the man's story in his own words, detailing his good deeds, but mostly his crimes, the lifestyle he led, and the suffering he brought and received. The hardest part is not giving in to my tendency to make the character a flawed good guy, or to have the character swing from bad to good. I'm trying to write something that reflects a man, and not an archetype from a TV series. That isn't to say there isn't an arc, in fact there's a pretty big one, and my aim is the character goes from illegality to legitimacy, and then back to illegality. Times are turbulent, wars rise up and allegiances change.
I do feel the need to acknowledge Piers Anthony, and Michael Crichton, as their books are a massive influence on this story, it was their books that really lit my imagination on fire.
From Michael Crichton I tried to take a sense of how pirates actually operated, and in many ways how the new world worked, the trade routes between the colonial lands, the stopping off points like Jamaica, which I've tried to translate the spirit of into worlds and space stations.
From Piers Anthony, obviously I've tried to take the format, the fictional autobiography of a significant figure in future history, I'm also borrowing some of the technology he mentions in his books, the travelling via a beam of light, over massive distances, which is as reasonable a way to explain interstellar travel as any. Of course it is fraught with its own difficulties in a story that takes place in real time, with politics, wars, and tactics - I can't really afford it taking decades to travel from one planet to the other. Instead, I shall embellish the idea with faster than light energy - so it takes days and weeks to travel between the stars.
I think it is important to acknowledge where a story comes from - it is not my intention to plagiarise these amazing authors, but they have inspired within me a tale which I think is unique and distinct in its own right. Besides when it comes to science fiction, it’s never easy to come up with easy ideas for propulsion, and story telling in general tends to form into archetypes. I think that’s one of the advantages of writing an account of a self confessed bad guy, while not ground breaking or unique, it is a point of view that is carried far less often than that of a hero, heroically battling to save the world.
My intention is to post up a chapter (and if I write it right, it will be more of a self contained short story, which feeds into the overall tale), every fortnight, detailing a significant memory of this space corsair. I won't be launching it right away, as I want to build up four or five chapters ahead, this gives me a nice cushion with which to edit the stories (because while the muse does flow, it tends not to check the grammar for me, nor does it worry about the annoying inconsistencies of writing large pieces of work in small bits). Also, my sister's baby is due next month, I'm on holiday in Prague in August, and I'm off to the British Science Festival in Birmingham this September, so there’s plenty to interrupt my schedule.
Speaking of the British Science Festival, I’m really looking forward to it, it feeds a lot of knowledge in my science fiction, such as the power system for the ships in my story – I learned that from a presentation I went to on fusion energy, I always favoured the methodology employed in the tokamak fusion generators, rather than the method involving lasers, purely because it seems to me that once such devices as ITER are operational and producing massive quantities of energy, we would be able to learn from this and scale the process down to have a device that can sit aboard a starship and produce the kind of energy I need for propulsion, FTL (faster than light) travel, and of course the staple of most space based science fiction, the weapons.
I am genuinely excited to be writing again, and long may it continue. Nanowrimo is in November (it’s always in November, hardly a surprise there), and this year I'm going to ace it. Mark my words.
Imagination: Worlds of My Creation
Writing is a truly amazing thing for me, it allows me to dump my big random imagination, and allows to keep it for all time. Even if I don't get far into a novel, anytime I want to relive that imagination I just read what I've got.
I'm one of those writers that are blessed with hardcore imagination. Ideas come easy to me, anything can trigger an idea. There isn't any work involved in shaping the imagination, if I let it just run wild, and I can reconjure an imaginar episode with just a few mental or physical prompts.
Of course if I want to shape this into a story I have to harness it, and that requires a great deal if force.
I imagine whole world's in my head, a litany of characters, intensive situations, there's detail o'plenty, as a character slams into a building, I'll be stood at the bus stop opposite, I'll see every half broken brick, and bits of mortar. As the protagonists of my imagination move closer for that all but inevitable kiss, I can see it happening, I can see the lines in the woman,s lips, I can see the guys forced face as he struggles not to go too fast, he wants to project a certain image with that kiss, and I see the car speeding towards them, the one who'll brake hard, and speed away, the moment spoiled. The driver by the way has brown hair, a blue denim jacket, and was smoking - he's actually fleeing the scene of a crime, which he had nothing to do with, but he's got form and doesn't want to go back to jail on a mistake.
The reason it needs to be strong armed is two-fold, firstly my imagination can run rampant at the worst time, I can easily switch between genre's, decades (even centuries), and characters, it takes practice to keep it on track. The second reason is writing for a mythical readership, I love my imagination - most of the time it's better than TV, but it's to my tastes (most of the time, there are occaisionally things I can't stand, and even offend me), however whether it's to the taste of a reading audience I'm less sure. Therefore if I want to write an imaginary scene it has to be guided, and then censored and modified further as it flows from the pen.
There is of course another downside, an overly rampant imagination can completely change tracts, starting a whole new story when your only part way through the current one. This does happen frequently, and usually coincides with me losing the will to write. You put all that effort in, and lose the zone for that story, it's a terrible thing, you're not interest in the new scene unfolding - or rather not interested in writing. I have to find a way back to the original imaginary story, if I want to continue. That's one of the things I had to learn during NaNoWriMo last year.
Most of the time, me and the left side of brain are usually on excellent terms, feeding things between us. Living the ideal life, the scary life, the exciting life, the romantic life, and the mysterious life.
The final great thing is I find it wasy to roll into an imaginary story details from research and such.I'm a sponge for information, and I can squeeze me out and spread them over my stories. So if I've read something about a theoretical form of space travel, and find myself in need of a mechanism to travel through space, (in my story, if only I could craft the real world as easily as my story ones), I draw through the details, and give my world a touch of realism that sets it shooting for wherever it needs to go.
My imagination is my most treasured asset as a writer, were I to lose that, were I to go in life without that - I honestly would rather be dead.
Music to Write To
I'm always on a quest for the perfect playlist to write to - but damn it the writing music keeps changing.
I love poetry and writing, and their sibling the song is no different (storytelling is the parent to me), they're all capable of evoking something within us. Sometimes they evoke the writer within, helping to unlock my core creativity.
I find that what music I'm listening to affects what I'm writing, I noticed this during last year's NaNoWriMo, I was in one of those places where I was banging out a few hundred words an hour, and actually progressing towards target. When I read back over my words, there was a pattern, I'd had Pachelbel's Canon in D on repeat, (equally a crap and great piece of music in one - perfect writing music though), my writing had taken on that structure, from number of words per sentence, to roughly where the capitals were placed, and as I read it through, you could kind of feel Canon behind it. You have to be careful though, I would imagine if you're half way through a 75,000 word novel, and feel of the writing suddenly changes, that's going to make it seem disjointed.
Sometimes It’s Good To Worry, Reminds You of the Important Things in Life
I've just been on a glorious walk, went on to Primrose Valley in Leeds. Ever since I was a child, it's been a magical place. Even now, despite the efforts of the council to tame it - it's still magical.
That said, I was puzzled to find: 
Now, I've lived in this area (on one side of Primrose Valley or t'other), for about twenty years. In all that time there were rumours about the council wanting to build houses on there, however there has always been strong local opposition to this.
The council went as far as to stop maintaining it (or so it seemed, I'm sure they would say otherwise).
So when I saw that sign, what first came to mind was bulldozers raking over my childhood memories, memories of football, rugby, laser tag, even school (I went to Crossgates Primary School - for my sins), and other childhood hi jinx. It's a terrifying thought.
You may be asking what's this got to do with poetry, or literature, technically it doesn't much. It's one of the places I used to write though, and a place I've written about plenty of times. It's somewhere special to me. I'm going to re-post one of those special stories at the end of this post.
Anyway, back to the point (yes I digressed, and that's the subject of my latest poem), it turns out, I don't need to be worried. I put on my detective's hat, and tracked down what was going on - despite English Partnerships being co-opted by Homes & Communities Agency, they appear to planning some kind of restoration and care work on the fields. Okay, yes I spent about three hours working all this out, but most of the documentation is from 2006, it's just taken that long for bureaucracy to kick in and do something.
There's very little on the Leeds City Council website about it - but I guess it's been so long since it was announced it's just slipped well down the relevant results.
It makes me happy that it's safe, makes me happy that one of my childhood memories remains intact, even as others vanish and warp out of recognition.
I mentioned before that I have an idea for a new poem - I'm going to be writing it there, in good old fashioned ink and paper. Though, as a matter of respect for the maintenance and improvement of my beloved valley, I'm going to obey that sign (if I'd found out that they building on there, I would have happily risked being arrested in protest).
If you'd like to see some more photo's of my walk out across Primrose Valley, follow this link to more, including Bailey, our three year Yorkshire Terrier, oh and me (I'm the one with the ginger goatee, and bandana on - he's the silver haired little dog, trust me) - Primrose valley with Bailey - May 09
Anyway, as promised here's one of my old stories, written back in December 2003 (I'd like to think I've improved as a writer since then - however it's a story that means something, so I don't mind exposing it):
Oh and I won't bore you with the real history of Primrose Valley just yet - I'll save that for another time.
A Journey into an Old Land
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