Month: October 2001

and the radio is really strong over the computer speakers.

and now the image is mangled. ::grumble grumble grumble::

f— me gently with a chainsaw.

I just lost a couple of thoughtful paras about Marcus and Aila, and how I need to improve me descriptions of their friendship, etc., and how that might improve the end of the book. And then I linked to eBumperStickies, with the intent of posting one.

and then I got a &*#&Q@# explorer error “I’m sorry…we can’t write software for s—. Would you like to try again, or run away crying?”

I hate Microsoft.

“It was in that same rainy season when Marcus left for the first time; he’d been assigned to another survey, this time in the archipelago on the far side of the planet. He told me as soon as he knew, approaching me cautiously and apologetically.

“‘You’ll be all right?’ he asked, sitting across from me at our midday meal. I nodded, although there was this little knot of anxiety building in the pit of my stomach. I think I even asked, in a burst of youthful optimism, whether I could go with him.

“‘Does’t work that way, dear.’ (He had taken to using a nickname I had taught him, an affectionate term for a child or younger sibling, which roughly translates to dear.) The wry smile told me a little more; over those first few months, seeing him interact with the bureaucrats and military folk, I knew his disdain for them, and for what he obviously saw as useless rules. And that smile was an acknowledgement of that uselessness, and, I think, of his own powerlessness to subvert the rules.

“Over the long years since Marcus first spotted me, crouched in the sand, grasses, and driftwood of the beach at Tanu, I’ve often wondered why he fought so hard for me to go with them, and later fought for me in other ways as well. Most of the time, his wry smile was the best answer I had — at least, for the reason why he’d brought me there in the first place. It was something which could not be done, ought not to be done, and in his mind, in this case, not to do it was far more horrid than to do it. That’s one explanation, anyway. Others may bubble up over the course of this story, for as I said, I often wonder about Marcus’ motives, and more so as I grow older.

[but I digress…]

“Then, one day, I woke to the sound of rain on the roof of the tent — gently at first, but enough so that it woke me in the quiet hours before dawn. By the time I normally got up, it had swelled to a steady beat, and I dashed across the short stretch of ground between the tent and Marcus’ house.

“‘How long does it rain?’ I asked, and he chuckled.

“‘147 days, give or take.’

“Which was, more or less, the truth of it. Not much changed, except that all was done in the rain, or with the sound of rain as a backdrop. Some people wore rainsuits, hats, and the like, but I’d never had weather-proof clothing, and had lived in a far cooler climate, so I simply got soaked. Marcus took to keeping a towel at the front door so I could dry off before I went into the booth. (Even there, I could hear the rain padding against the walls and roof, though much fainter.)

what does it mean to be addicted to your job? not the employment (with all its concomitant meetings, bureacracy, etc.) but what you actually do. I think I’m overly dependent on the Internet. I spend all day working on web pages, reading web pages, strategizing towards better web pages, and then I come home and do the same thing all evening. in fact…where are we? yep, that’s the Internet. damn. and then, fuck.

I gotta get a life.

“But that was later, after I’d fully settled in, after I’d become accustomed to the ways of that place. That first season, after I had left the school and set up the tent outside Marcus’ house, was a season of adjustment.

“I came to the crater in the late summer, when the worst heat was on the wane, but before the heaviest rains began. So it was lovely weather to spend outside — for me, those cooling days were deeply tropical, and I think I would’ve been happy just lounging in the grass in the center of the crater.

“Marcus would have none of it, of course. He had made a promise to Superintendant Xersu, and he would fulfill it. Those first days were spent in the booth in his house, listening to the voice, watching the Imperian letters scroll down across the screen, being tested until I could speak, read, and write in that language as well as in my own. Actually, I have always written far better in Imperian than in my native Tanu, since writing was not expected to be a normal part of my life when I was a child, and was merely taught to me as a diversion and entertainment.

“And when the voice was satisfied, Marcus would test me, asking his own questions, cajoling me to write on his personal tablet. I think he must have been satisfied at the point when he began asking me to translate my language for him, to turn what I’d learned in Imperium into its closest Tanu equivalents. He never said, but even then I knew that I had learned his language much faster than he would ever learn mine. We practiced both languages, together, every day.

“I found these exercises challenging, but at the same time enjoyable for all the challenge, and even pleasurable. After a week or two, I looked forward to afternoons with him.

“This was not enough either. From language, we progressed to math, logic, the basic sciences, literature — where he was not familiar with a subject’s pedagogy, except from his own youth, but he gamely found modules he thought might be good for me. When I balked at higher math — I didn’t know anything more complex than simple addition and subtraction, and had only the slightest conception of the zero — he found another module, and another, and another, until finally something clicked in my mind, and I began to progress in that subject as well.

“Nor was I to be permitted to hide in his company alone, but once my education had progressed sufficiently, Marcus made arrangements with other scientists and technicians in the crater, and I spent many afternoons, once my studies were done, watching various people at their work or being given little meaningless or menial tasks.

“I did notice that I rarely returned to work or visit with the same people — this was part of my overall sense of my standing in the tiny society of the crater. The disdain of the children and dismay of the authorities had seeped through the rest of the people, and while most were cordial, or at worst distant, I never felt quite at home with any of the people.

“When this feeling grew to the point where I felt overwhelmed (by sadness, loneliness, frustration), I would beg and plead with Marcus to leave the outpost and go out into the jungle. Sometimes he came with me, but more often, he would allow me to go on my own, and use that time for his own work.

mmmm…warm brownie with mint chocolate chip ice cream….

wow. that felt really good. now I remember what that’s like. alas, that is simply the overview. I don’t know quite where to drop that, either. at the beginning of the crater section? well, probably after the opening — as the introduction to the several years that she spends there, but after Marcus’ departure?

I’m wondering if it really makes sense to have him gone so much. or perhaps I should just rewrite that to include him: her bunk is in a tent, she spends time working with him (in addition to working with Joan, I think. that interaction needs to come up in order to seed what happens later!), etc.

okay, now it’s time to drag out the draft again.