The Trillian Empire

[clark]

I edited the sublight Suicide, good eyes.

I am trying to hold off untill I have a bit more time to do the next installment- I feel the pacing of the story is a little too quick, and so it undermines the effect.

How long is too long (a story chapter)? Or is there such a thing?

[ June 19, 2003, 22:46: Message edited by: clark ]

[Ragnarok]

Originally posted by clark:

How long is too long (a story chapter)? Or is there such a thing?

There is no such thing. Make them as long as you want. I personally try to keep them not as long because I know not everyone has the time to sit down and read a long chapter. So if I have to I just split a chapter up into two parts.

Another thing I do, this is just me, is I try to keep a chapter to around 4 pages long. That's how long my Last chapter in my story was (link in sig) and to me is a good size. But as I say, that is just the way I personally do it.

But I'm sure no matter how long you make the chapters that people will read and enjoy them just as much as they would shorter chapters.

[CNCRaymond]

I have read that 2000 to 2500 words are a good size chapter. Then again how many words are there in a regular paper back book? On average how many words per page, pages per chapter, chapters per book?

On average there are about 400 to 500 words per page of a paper back book using a normal size font. So do the math.

I don't get how you guys can do it. Writing and not getting paid to do it is a concept far beyond my understanding. (Forum posting not withstanding.)

[CNCRaymond]

Clark I have to admit that amoung all of the stories I have read, your's is by far one of the better ones.

You have peeked my interest and captivated my attention. Please continue posting more of this story.

CNC

[Erax]

Good going, Clark. I agree, the edit made the second part much better.

[clark]

Trillian Star Date 2400.15

Dr. Samantha Bardosa chewed absentmindedly on her left index finger’s cuticle. It was a bad habit she had picked up during her design days working on the predecessor to the soon to be fielded ion drives. All the stress, and the price of failure, had caused her to develop a few neurotic tendencies, nail biting the worst among them. Her therapist said it had some something to do with unresolved emotional issues. Whenever she thought about it though, she felt like the only unresolved emotional issue she had was her deep belief that the man was a quack.

General McDougal gravely voice broke her reverie, "Dr. Bardosa, would you please explain again what your device does?"

The general was used to ordering, not questioning, so Samantha could detect the subtle ire in his voice. She had heard that the extremes of his anger were legendary, and had caused more than one senior research director to break down into bawling piles of mush. For the most part though, she had been able to avoid his wrath by consistently meeting, or exceeding his expectations. The problem for her though was she had to practically hold the man's hand to make him understand ideas well outside his "pay grade", as he put it.

She stopped chewing her nail, and cleared her throat slightly, preparing herself to go through once more the basic properties of the device. "Certainly General. The grava-metric space needle is a small device capable of measuring the fluctuating states of dark matter held in perpendicular to another plane of dark matter by-"

The General waved his hand, shaking his hand in the air, as if to erase what Samantha was saying. "Yes, yes, yes. I know that part," the General said sharply as he picked up a sheaf of research papers that Samantha had sent to him Last week, tossing it back onto his desk with a heavy sigh. "Tell me what it 'does'," he said, exasperated, anger bubbling in his voice.

Samantha began chewing on her nail again. This man could make or break her, and not just figuratively, the man had to be near three hundred pounds of solid barrel-chested muscle. She stared at him for a moment wondering what brilliant mind had decided that this rock of a monkey would be qualified, or even able, to understand the subtly of her work.

She took a deep breath, placing her hands in her lap, just like her quack had told her too, and tried again. "It's a compass." She always felt a little dirty when she reduced her life's work to such mundane comparisons.

The General screwed up his face, the idea visibly working it's way through his small simian brain. "A compass to what," he asked after what seemed an eternity to Samantha.

"Grava-metric-," Samantha began, but realized she should change direction as the Generals face stated turning a pale shade of red. "I mean, it's a compass to pinpoint entrance points for hyper-tunnels," she finished. Samantha was starting to feel sick to her stomach.

"You mean this grava-metric thingy-ma-jig of yours can take us through these 'Hunter-holes'?" he asked incredulously.

The telephone rang on the General's desk, which distracted him long enough for Samantha to roll her eyes and groan inwardly without him noticing. 'Hunter holes', now she had heard everything. The scientific community was still reeling from the reestablishment of Dr. Hunter, as a lead director at the Debian institute, backed by Empress Catharine no less. While Samantha had to admit his mathematics was the basis for most of her work, the man had been part of some damned cult several years back, and as far as she was concerned, he had no place in science. Naming the hyper tunnels after him just seemed to be more of the same mastabatory ego building that pervaded in certain circles.

Samantha waited for the General to finish his conversation, which seemed to be little more than him saying 'yes sir' and getting redder by the second. With controlled rage, the General placed the phone on the desk.

"The compass doesn't take us through General, no one is even sure if it's safe to go through one of these things. But the device will allow us to detect where a stable entrance point is. Right now, all we can do is detect the hy- Hunter holes." She decided that trying to correct the General any further would only lead to either the dissolution of her research project, or more therapy. Neither seemed attractive ends.

The General appraised Samantha for a moment, then opened a drawer in his desk. He pulled out a long cigar, and a small identity card, with the words "CLEARED" printed in large black letters. The General lit the cigar, then threw the card onto the desk, in plain view of Samantha. It looked like her picture was on it.

After a few puffs from his cigar, his office began to fill with the rich spicy aroma of Trill tobacco. He stared at the ceiling, spewing smoke like a volcano. "You know, if it were up to me, I would tell you to take your little toy and come back when you have something useful." General McDougal turned his gaze once more onto Samantha, and continued, "if it were up to me, we would be putting more time into research with a purpose."

Samantha instantly fell to the defensive, "but General McDougal, without this device-," the General cut her off.

"Without that device, we wouldn't worry about what's on the other side of these god-damn holes in space." Samantha could see the General's shoulders tense, his left hand clenching in and out of a fist. "Without that device, I could get more funding for the military research proposals that have been flooding in. Just two weeks ago, I had to postpone funding increases for some new concepts around space based fighters, space mines, and our next generation of troops."

"But General, this device, my research, it holds the promise of a greater future for all of Trillian!" Samantha countered, desperation entering at the edges of her voice. Why was he doing this she wondered, teasing her with the promise of the identity card lying on the desk, yet openly rejecting the merits of her work. Samantha didn't even notice that she was flicking her thumb against her index finger in anxiety.

"Like the promise of a better future with your engine designs. How many aero-pilots did your engines kill again? His words cut into Samantha like a knife. She couldn't recall how many times she woke from her nightmares, filled with the faces of those killed by her design teams engines.

"That's not fair General." Samantha countered weakly, fighting back the tears.

"No, it's not Dr. Bardosa. I don't get paid to be fair. My job is to worry about the peace and security of our people, which I believe is in jeopardy by all of this new technology and science." The General took another long puff on his cigar, staring at Samantha. "At least the powers that be have had the good sense to control the dissemination of this stuff until we figure out a way to prepare the general population," he finished.

Samantha knew what the General was talking about, since the existence of the hyper-tunnels was a State secret. That was primarily why she was in front of the General to begin with, since she needed his permission to publish her findings.

After Dr. Hunter was reinstated, there had been an exhaustive review of all areas of research, and any avenues found to be "socially sensitive", like hers, was to be classified. Any breach of protocols was liable to end in death. But Samantha never realized that the recent push in the psychology science fields was to figure out how to break the news to the people.

Samantha mentally shook herself, preparing for what would obviously be disappointment. It would seem that General McDougal's legend would grow by another story. "Well, General, thank you for considering my-," she replied despairingly.

Again the General cut her off, "As I said Dr. Bardosa, if it were up to me, we would bury this stuff so far that it would take a Trillian mega-mole years to get to it." The General smashed his half spent cigar into an ashtray. "But, it isn't up to me," he replied with contained anger in his voice.

Instantly a wave of excitement coursed through Samantha's body, she felt almost electric. "You mean I can publish my findings?!" She said excitedly. Suddenly thoughts of awards and kudos from her peers didn't seem so far off.

"No, you may not." The General retorted sharply.

Now Samantha was truly confused, "I don't understand, what are you saying," she asked.

"I'm telling you that you are to complete work on the grava-metric space needle proto-type by next month. Any additional help, or resources you require, will be made at your disposal to complete this project." With that, he handed the identity card to Samantha.

"I still don't understand General, what is this all about?"

The General stood up, motioning for Samantha to follow her towards his office door. "You don't need to understand Doctor, you just need to follow orders, just like me." He placed his hand on the door knob, turning towards Samantha before opening it. "And two more things before you go Doctor. One, if you breathe a word of any of this, you will be executed for treason against the Empire." The General paused, letting the brief pause add to the weight of his words. He continued, "and two, be prepared for a very long journey next month." An evil grin flashed across the General's face momentarily, unnerving Samantha. General McDougal opened the door, and Samantha stepped out into an uncertain future.

To be continued...

[ June 20, 2003, 18:02: Message edited by: clark ]

[clark]

Thank you all for your compliments, I must say I am enjoying this!

I think my work is improving at least a little when I allow myself some time to develop it.

I did the .15 to denote mid-month, I needed to move some other things along to prepare for 2400.2

[Ruatha]

Well, to be longwinded and eloquent;
Goodie!

[clark]

Trillian Star Date 2400.2

The room was filled with subdued chatter, as the assembled people filled all the available seats, save two slightly larger chairs located at the head of a long table made from the black oak wood of a Trill tree. Michael Killion wasn't sure what he was doing here, looking at some of the people sitting in the room.

To his immediate right sat General McDougal, a massive man who nearly filled his own, and part of Michael's own chair. To his left, sat Dr. Samantha Bardosa, chewing on what looked like her Last mangled nail. Across from his own seat sat Captain Bruce Maddox, pilot of the Far Star, who seemed to be in an animated discussion with Dr. Hunter, who was sitting next to him. The few others in the room seemed to be various government officials of one derivation or another.

The fact that he was sitting with such people was only slightly less bizarre than the manner in which he came to be here. Two large men in dark suits had stopped by his office only hours ago, demanding to see him. They barged past his secretary, flashing some Imperial summons, and whisked Michael into a waiting hover car before he knew what was happening. He certainly didn't have time to tell his wife, Martha, that he would be late. And no matter his protestations, he was refused a telephone to call her with.

Michael decided to ask the General what this was all about, seeing as Dr. Bardosa was thoroughly engrossed with her nails. "Excuse me, General McDougal, right?" Michael asked nervously.

The General turned slowly, like a slow motion avalanche, his voice rumbling like falling rocks, "yes," he replied gruffly.

Michael waited a moment, then realized that the General was finished answering him. A little irritated, he tried again. "General, thank you. I was hoping you might be able to explain what I am doing here."

General McDougal looked Michael over once, before answering. "Sitting." With that, the General turned away from Michael, staring straight ahead in sullen silence.

Not to be put off, Michael tried once more, tapping the General on the shoulder. "I'm sorry General, I think you misunderstood. I was wondering what this meeting is about?"

Anger flashed across General McDougal's face for a brief moment, and Michael wondered if perhaps the General would smash him into pulp before all of these people. "I understood your question Mr. Killion. If no one saw fit to inform you as to the intent of this meeting, I certainly don't feel the necessity either," he replied sternly.

Now Michael was a bit confused, as well as angered, by the General's comment. How did the General of the entire Trillian military know his name, and why was he being kept in the dark about a meeting he was sitting in, he wondered to himself. Michael glanced over at Dr. Bardosa, and decided it might be more productive to get some information from her. If nothing else, she would be less intimidating than the General.

"Excuse me Dr. Bardosa, I'm sorry to bother you," Michael said to her, tapping her on the hand she wasn't chewing on, "may I ask you a question?" He hoped he was being polite enough, Michael needed to know what was going on.

Dr. Bardosa jumped slightly in her chair when he touched her, she looked a bit shaken, and there were deep circles under her eyes. "Sorry, I've been under a bit of pressure lately." Michael watched as she placed her hands in her lap, but she kept rubbing them together as if she was washing them. He couldn't be certain if she was even aware of what she was doing. "You know, my therapist- he's a quack by the way. He doesn't understand the stress I'm under. And it's not like I can explain it to him."

Michael was confused further, as he didn't understand why she was telling him this. Dr. Bardosa continued, "I hate confined spaces. I get sick at the drop of a hat. I-I-I don't want to die!" Dr. Bardosa's hand shot out and grabbed Michael's forearm, her knuckles turning white with the strength of her grip. He looked into her eyes, and all he could see was plain abject terror.

The man sitting on her other side whispered something into her ear, and magically, her grip loosened on his arm. Dr. Bardosa composed herself, shaking her head as if to clear it of whatever living nightmare had possessed her. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she said haltingly. Michael could still see the glint of terror in her eyes though, but her body seemed to be back under her control.

"It's quite alright," he replied understandingly. "I was hoping you might tell me what this meeting was about."
Dr. Bardosa's brow furrowed slightly, obviously perplexed by the question. "You mean, no one has told you?"

"No. Some guys in suits just came in and dragged me here a few hours ago." Michael leaned in closer to Dr. Bardosa, whispering, "I just asked the General here, and he wouldn't tell me."

Dr Bardosa glanced over Michael's shoulder at the sitting hulk of the General. She turned back to him, whispering back, "that dumb son of a trill-monkey wouldn't know a direct answer if it fell out of a tree and hit him on the head. I still can't believe they left him in charge of my project."

Michael was curious now, seeing some obvious friction surfacing, but he still wasn't any closer to figuring out why he was here. Perhaps the answer laid in finding out why the others were here. "What's your project?" Michael asked in what he hoped was a casual enough voice.

"I'm not sure I can tell you- what was your name again?"

"Sorry, Mr. Killion, I'm a communication specialist working on the Farsight project." Michael was a bit surprised that she didn't know who he was, but the General did, and they were all in the same meeting. "I won't push about your project, but if you are going to talk about it here, I'll find out eventually," he finished. Michael could see Dr. Bardosa mentally chewing on the information, trying to make a decision. She began to flick her thumb against her index finger in apparent agitation.

She seemed to come to a conclusion, turning fully towards Michael, "The Farsight project, that's the project on dealing with the time dilation effects over stellar distances, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, pretty much." Michael had to admit he was impressed that she knew even that much. Most people never even heard of the project, or what the goals of it were. It always surprised him at people's ignorance on the subject given the very real possibility of their people becoming a multiple planet species.

"Alright Mr. Killion, I'll tell you what my project is. I'll even tell you what these other people are doing here. I think you'll figure it out by the end." Michael then listened as Dr. Bardosa explained the workings of her grava-metric space needle, and how it was capable of pinpointing the entrance and exit points of stabilized hyper-tunnels. She pointed out that Dr. Hunter, was responsible for the underlying mathematics that allowed for her device to function, and for them to even detect the hyper-tunnels. She had to explain twice to him how the hyper-tunnels were like short-cuts in space to cover vast inter-stellar distances.

Michael started putting it together, so jumped in. "So then Captain Maddox will be doing more than proving the engines on Far Star," he said proudly.
"Exactly. We all will." She said, her voice flat and dead.

"What do you mean we all will? Certainly you don't mean me." Michael replied uncertainty in his voice. His stomach felt like someone had kicked it.

Before Dr. Bardosa could reply, a man in a dark suit entered the room, "All rise for his and her lordship and ruler of the civilized world, Emperor Augustine Trillian and his wife Catharine," he bellowed. Immediately the room fell silent, as everyone stood and politely bowed as the Emperor and his wife took their seats at the end of the table.

The Emperor waited patiently as all took their seats, the men in dark suits disappearing into the corner recess of the room. Augustine let his gaze linger across the assembled people, letting a small smile creep across his face. "Ladies and gentlemen. I have word that the ship Far Star is nearly ready for her maiden voyage. My only question is, are all of you?"

Michael's stomach dropped, and he felt like he was going to be sick. Martha was not going to be happy when he got home.

To be continued...

[clark]

So am I teasing you enough?