An Unstill Life

Morning Light

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Tue, 07 Nov 2017 13:56:00 +0000

Autumn has arrived

Burlington, Iowa

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Tue, 13 Jun 2017 18:26:00 +0000

The Sea of Wait

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Tue, 06 Jun 2017 16:35:00 +0000

The Sea of Wait

By Peter-John Campbell

Drifting...

Drifting. Drifting. Drifting.

Upon the Sea of Wait.

This bitter soul of mine grows cold

My heart has turned to bait.

Aimless, I float this barren tide

through every peek and trough.

The dead calm ever more to bear

then the tempest ever was.

Drifting. Drifting. Drifting.

I waft this lonely brine.

Churning like vultures the shakes await

their meal is soon to find.

Alas, on the horizon found

a glimpse of isle or land.

I strain myself for one last row

a mirage is all that's there.

Drifting. Drifting. Drifting.

My body broke' and sore

I long, I pine, I yearn, to wake

upon some distant shore.

Drifting... Drifting... Drifting...

Drifting...

Note: I wrote this piece many years ago, during a very difficult time in my life. Recently a good friend of mine, who has read much of my unpublished work, encouraged me to release this one.

Let Us Not

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Sun, 23 Apr 2017 21:32:00 +0000

Let us not

by Peter-John Campbell

Let us not be the ones who succumbed

who fail to hold the line,

and lost the battle for our sons and daughters.

Let us not be the ones who yield.

When the sirens call, SCREAMING

in our ears to give in to their poisonous song.

Let us not be the ones who capitulated

and compromised all we hold dear

and follow the path of least resistance.

But, let us be the ones who will be remembered

as those who held firm to the truth.

Who remained strong and stood against the rising tide.

Let us be the ones who will be remembered

as those who withstood the darkness

When the light was dim and all hope was gone.

Let us be the ones who will be remembered

as those who endured when others' hearts fell.

And spoke 'truth' when the world yelled 'lies.'

Let us be the ones

who remembered The Lord

and His Word.

Let us be the ones who stood firm.

Let us not succumb

but rather overcome

and be found faithful.

Old Warehouse

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Thu, 06 Apr 2017 20:07:00 +0000

Wondering around an old warehouse. It was extremely dark in most of the rooms and had to shoot at some high ISO's but I think I captured some interesting spots.

Christmas Bells

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Sun, 25 Dec 2016 02:25:00 +0000

Right now we are living in one of those really tough times of uncertainty. There's a lot of trouble in the world. Washington is in transition. And fear is gripping the nation because we don't know what's going to happen. And it's easy for that fear to turn into despair.

It's also easy to slip into our bubble and think that 'no one else has ever gone through something like this before.' And for that, I always find it helpful to look back on history to look and see how others responded in similar times.

And I find no better story then the writing of one of my favorite Christmas Poems, Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

It was Christmas morning 1864, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow awoke like many other Americans, exhausted and emotionally worn from four unrelenting years of civil war. Caring for his dying son, who had been wounded in battle, Longfellow found little comfort in the news of the re-election of Abraham Lincoln and the recent advances of the Union army.

This would also be the fourth Christmas since his wife’s tragic death, and his grief over her loss had turned to depression. Life for Longfellow was anything but ideal that Christmas.
It was in that moment he heard the bells ringing from a near by church tower, and penned these extremely honest, and now familiar words.

“Christmas Bells”Henry Wadsworth Longfellow December 25th 1864

I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on Earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on Earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime
A chant sublimeOf peace on Earth, good-will to men!

Then from each thundered in the South, And with the sound
The carols drowned

Of peace on Earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent And make forlorn
The households born
Of peace on Earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head; “There is no peace on earth,” I said; “For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on Earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead;
nor doth he sleep!
The wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on Earth, good-will to men!”

As I reflect on these words, I cannot seem to restrain the tears that well in my eyes as I sing the last two verses. Like the Psalmist, Longfellow is moved from despair to joy as he rests in the fact that even in a world of trouble, God is still on the throne.

– Merry Christmas- PJC

Wood Shop

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Thu, 11 Aug 2016 00:51:00 +0000

Hanging out at my father-in-law's wood shop the other day.

Teresa Peterson - He Makes All Things New

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Thu, 31 Mar 2016 19:05:00 +0000

My second music video for Teresa Peterson. I hope you enjoy.

-Peter-John

Discover Teresa's EP on iTunes at http://apple.co/1UV7XVf

http://www.teresapetersonmusic.com

Executive Producers:

Teresa Peterson, James Shackelford, and Peter-John Campbell

Producers: Peter-John Campbell and Joash Bloom

Director/Editor: Peter-John Campbell

Steadicam Operator: Chris Baldwin (http://www.grahamriver.com)

Grip: Jon Krus

Production Assistant: Merleen Campbell

Touch Up and Color Consultant: Nate Caltrider

Special Thanks to: Andres Uhl,

The Schipper Group (http://www.schippergroup.com)

Chicago

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Wed, 19 Aug 2015 20:33:00 +0000

From a recent trip to Chicago, my second home. I took these with my Nikon FM-10 on Fujicolor 200. Nothing beats the texture and quality of film.

The War of the Dandelions

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Thu, 04 Jun 2015 12:14:00 +0000

The War of the Dandelions

By Peter-John Campbell

"A weed is just a plant you don’t want,” the old codger said to me. He took a sip from a small glass half-filled with some kind of brown liquor and ice.

I could see my effort to defuse the brewing situation was not going well. Chuck, the neighborhood torment, sat in a rocking chair on his porch. I, on the bottom step, stood anxious, having crossed the dreaded 30 feet into a yard that none on the block dared to go.

Chuck bore a striking resemblance to Jack Nicholson, which I personally believe he reveled in; I noticed it in his cadence and the deliberate way he spoke. “What’s it to you anyway?”

“I just thought if it was too much for you to handle,” I looked out over the yard, and then reluctantly turned back, “I would be happy give you a hand if you needed it.”

“The fact is, Johnny,” Chuck said, pulling his amber tinted sunglasses down to look me straight in the eye. “I like the weeds.”

Chuck’s yard was the neighborhood eyesore, an overgrown menagerie of towering dandelions, vines, thistles, and countless other species. From the look of it, he had let his yard go years before and had been the bane of the block ever since.

I was new to the neighborhood, and admittedly foolish. I wrongfully assumed that confronting the problem head on and talking to Chuck as a reasonable human being would resolve the matter. The others had warned me that it was no use, but I, being the ever optimist, felt I would give it a try. Standing on the bottom step of Chuck’s porch, I regretted my naïveté.

“Listen, Johnny,” he said. I’m not entirely sure why he calls me Johnny. That isn’t my name. “You can tell old Mrs. McCready, Sparks, and the Three Stooges down the street that you gave it a valiant effort.” He leaned over and picked up a bottle of brown liquor with a faded label marked Snake Oil. “And I will kindly take my leave of you. Good day.” With that he refilled is glass.

I stood there a moment, and looked at Chuck, then his yard, and across the street to mine. My yard isn’t a prizewinner by any means, but it was mowed and kept, like the others in the neighborhood. Frustrated, I was ready to admit defeat and go home. But the wind blew just then, and the breeze wafting over Chuck’s yard lifted thousands of little white parachutes, which drifted towards my lawn. This ignited my indignation once more. I turned back. “But you’re destroying my yard.”

“Are you still here?” he looked up.

“You’re destroying my yard.” I repeated.

“So what if I am?” He mused callously.

I took a step up. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Not in the least.” The ice clinked as he drained his glass again. “I tolerate the way you keep your yard, I only ask that you tolerate mine.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can’t?” he refilled his glass again.

“No.” I stood firm.

“You know, I used to be a prick just like you.” Chuck sat forward. I stood back. “Always worrying about everyone else’s problems, telling them how to live their life. And in the end I found it all so -” he paused staring at me for an uncomfortable moment. “- pointless. People are going to do what they want to do, Johnny, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

I thought on this damning statement. Chuck was right; people will do what they want regardless of the consequences. Such is the way of all men. Still, that’s no excuse. “But your yard is infesting mine.” I finally said.

“I believe a man has the right to do whatever he wants in the privacy of his own yard.” He declared, sitting back in his squeaky chair and examining the contents in his glass. Clearly, he felt he had the moral high ground with this argument.

I looked over his yard again. In the middle, covered deep within the thick weeds and vines, was the rusty handle of a push mower.

“I see you every weekend,” he pressed. “Picking and pruning, mowing and weeding. Only to come back the next week and do it all over again. I ask you, why? Aren’t you tired? Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in?”

“And live reckless, like you?”

"I can tell from your white shirt and your clean teeth that you’re a church goin’ man,” he said condescendingly. “So I’ll put this in terms that you can understand. It’s when we embrace the old Maker’s curse, and in indifference rest on the other six days, that we discover true freedom from Him. Sure my dandelions might not be as elegant as your tulips, but I don’t have to work for my pops of yellow. I choose to sit here and settle for less. Raising my middle finger in the air and telling Him that what He calls ‘cursed’, I claim beautiful.”

He smiled with a cold ugly smile and took a drink. “From dirt we were created and to dirt we will return, but as for now I AM master of this three-quarter acre of dirt.”

He gritted his teeth at me and I at him. There was nothing left to say. There was no changing this man’s mind, nor mine.

I turned to go and he called to me as I walked away. “The way I see it, eventually you’ll give in, like the others. Either you’ll move or finally see life my way and let your yard go, too. Either way, I win.”

I did not look back as I walked away, but rather to the left at his neighbor Jerry’s yard. I hadn’t noticed before, but the twisting vines in Chuck’s yard has woven themselves in and out of his hedges, slowly, ever slowly, making their way in. To the right, dandelions stretched out over Paul’s yard, hidden by his frequent mowing, but when I looked closely I could see the spiny leaves blowing in the wind.

Later that afternoon, back in my front flower garden, spade in hand, I thought on all these things. The weeds had returned with deep roots, twisted and thorny. So much of life we fight to prune and preserve the little we have, only to do it all over again the next day. Chuck was right; eventually we will succumb to the weeds, through exhaustion, frustration, compromise, or indifference - if we’re not vigilant.

I turned and looked across the street. Through the weeds, I could see Chuck still sitting on his porch, drinking and living life on his terms.

I turned back, looked at my spade, dropped to my knees and dug.

---

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Moss

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Wed, 03 Jun 2015 11:54:00 +0000

Moss

Mission San Xavier del Bac

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Sat, 16 May 2015 13:56:00 +0000

I might have gone a little overboard with the amount of pictures I posted from the Mission San Xavier del Bac. However, it was such a great location I had a hard time choosing which pictures to cut.

Lincoln

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Wed, 15 Apr 2015 00:07:00 +0000

I found two rolls of 200 35mm Kodak in a box the other day, and I couldn't remember when I would have shot on them. Since I normally develop my film immediately afterwards. To my surprise this is what I found. At least one of these rolls was shot on an old Iloca Quick-A. The discoloration isn't because of Instagram or post processing but because this film sat on my desk and must have been exposed to heat (which is likely). But who cares, this was a fun find.

Here are a few select images from the rolls. To view the fully gallery click here.

Freely Fully by Teresa Peterson

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Wed, 11 Feb 2015 20:51:00 +0000

This past July I spent two days filming a music video for a recording artist and friend of mine, Teresa Peterson. The video was created to help promote her new EP (extended play) album Freely Fully.

Freely Fully is now available through iTunes and for $3.96 is a total steal! To snag your own copy, go to Freely Fully on iTunes!

A lot of people have asked about the production of this video, so I thought I would take a moment to give a little behind the scenes write up on it.

Calling Me Higher was shot over two days at the end of July 2014.

For the forest scene, we were actually in the middle of a reservoir. The small path that Teresa walks on is mainly a service access road for the gas company to use to get to their pumps. And the occasional fisherman can be seen quietly casting from the shore there. If I would have turned the camera to the right or the left you would have just seen water everywhere. Actually I think there are a few shots where it is in plain view.

I picked that spot because of the tree canopy that it provided, it also allowed us a reasonably private and uninterrupted day of shooting. I say reasonably because at one point we did have a guy and his dog walk through the shot during one take. And it's not like he was off in the distance unaware of what we were doing; he walked right through the shot past Teresa. It was hilarious.

The forest road location was also shot at the reservoir location. It was nice because it gave us a second scene and allow for the transitions between the rocky gravel to the city scene later at the church.

All in all, I think Teresa walked about 15 miles that day. I did too but backwards.

Okay, on to what everyone wants to know. Where did you find that church? I have been asked this question only about a million times.

The church is St. Mary's in Massillon Ohio. The building was built in 1876 and designed by architect Leon Beaver. I discovered this church the year before when I was in Massillon filming another project. The blackened towers can be seen for miles and I was captivated immediately by the building.

Since that point I've been trying to find a project that St. Mary's would be the perfect backdrop for. Father Gretchko and his staff were very generous with their time in allowing us to take over for a day.

The church is very overwhelming to film. I took several takes with a full wide shot but it was really just too much to take in with the camera. Teresa was only a small yellow dot in the middle of the screen, which really ended up being very poetic. I left one take in there to give the full scale of the building but in the end we kept with the medium shots.

The piano belongs to some friends of mine who were kind enough to allow us to take it away for the day. At first Teresa's husband James and I were rather nervous moving it around, but by the end of the day we were just hauling it around and were just like "let's do this".

As you can see in the music video and her EP, Teresa is crazy talented and was loads of fun to work with. If you haven't already bought your copy, I would highly recommend it. I find myself singing her songs to myself throughout the day. They're the kind of songs that get stuck in your head for all the right reasons.

I hope you enjoyed the video and a little look behind the scenes. Be on the look out for more from Teresa. Who knows - there might even be another music video shot in the coming months.

James and Teresa

James, being himself

Freedom

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Sat, 04 Oct 2014 15:52:00 +0000

Freedom

"So-young looked around, slowly scanning the walls, reading what was written. Brushing the soot off of one spot to get a better look, she jerked her hand back as if she had touched something hot. Startled by the obscenity, written in white. It was an illegal word. Article 73: Any speech that is in direct defiance to the State is prohibited. There were nine illegal words. But this one was the most forbidden. So-young looked around with a nervous impulse to make sure no one saw her. To write, speak, or even read one of the nine words was punishable by death." Sargasso, Chapter 3.

In China right now we are seeing the people of Hong Kong protesting for their right to remain free, to have 自由 Self-Will. But what is really going on behind The Great Fire Wall?

I caught this article yesterday on Science Friday about the censorship that the Chinese Government is currently using to limit the speech in their country. It's one thing to write a story like Sargasso, but it really eerie when you see something like this percolate in real life. Take a listen to this interview with Gary King it's very interesting.

Stumbled Upon

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Tue, 30 Sep 2014 23:32:00 +0000

Did you every have one of those days when you are looking for something and suddenly you come across something you completely forgotten about? Today that happened to me. I was looking for an old project for a client and stumbled across a few pictures I took this past year and thought, "How is it that I haven't posted these?"

So without further delay...

Lake Huron

North & Clark, Chicago

At the Beach

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Mon, 29 Sep 2014 02:47:00 +0000

Here are a few pictures from my recent vacation.

Gone - Chapter 4

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Mon, 15 Sep 2014 16:40:00 +0000

Gone – is a serial short story that will be released here over the next several weeks. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to follow my blog in order to get the latest. - Peter-John Campbell

If you would haven't read chapter 3 feel free to click here.

Chapter 4

Jackson sat silently for some time thinking. Staring out on the world that lay below, he watched the never-ending tumult of gray and black stirring from pole to pole. “Nuclear winter?” he said to himself. “This doesn't make any sense. I was only gone one day, how could this have happened so fast?”

“I do not understand the question, please ask it another way.” Ethel replied.

Jackson turned back to his screens. “Ethel, bring up our flight path.”

“Confirm.” The screen shifted, showing the flight path of the Sphinx. Jackson studied the chart, thinking, calculating, when it finally hit him: When are we?

Solemn, Jackson looked up. “Ethel, when were these files recorded?”

“The internal clock in the satellite indicates 156 days ago.” Jackson gasped at the revelation. Ethel continued. “According to the satellite the current date is Tuesday, December 16.”

Jackson sat back, shaken. “Twin Paradox,” he whispered to himself.

“Sir?”

“Twin Paradox. Special Relativity.” Jackson began speaking very quickly. “Ethel, is this even possible? Can it be? It's just a theory. No one ever believed it would be possible. Have we really jumped through time?”

“Given the current data, it appears so, sir.”

Jackson looked out on the Earth. “I don't believe it.” Roiling below, the clouds constricted upon the planet like a snake, gnawing and squeezing whatever faint sense of life that was left from the sphere.

The Sphinx circled once more and slipped beyond the light of the Sun. In darkness it sailed quietly, waiting for the bright rays to reappear once again. The distant starlight was stunningly present in the darkness. The lights that once shone below were snuffed out on the Earth's dark side, now nothing more than an un-seeable black void in space. Jackson was far too engrossed in thought to view the strange horizon, where the eerie blackness of the Earth gave way to a glittering field of space beyond.

Jackson clicked away on the keypad. On the short-range scanner monitor, the 3D model of the Earth slowly tracked with the speed of the Sphinx. Then with a click of the enter key, thousands of little dots began to appear, each representing an object orbiting the Earth.

“Ethel, let's start scanning for any active signal from the other satellites. If we were able to connect with this one, maybe we can with some others as well.”

“Confirm. Scanning now.” As Ethel scanned through the thousands of little yellow dots on the screen, each dot would turn green momentary. If Ethel could identify the object the dot remained green, and if the beacon signal was still active an identifier displayed on the screen next to the object. Jackson began searching through the identified satellites, looking for anything that might help him.

“Sir, I think I found something.”

“Go ahead.”

“30 degrees off our starboard Quarter, I have picked up a signal from the International Space Station.”

“Show me.”

“Confirm.” The green dot on the 3D model turned red and then the screen zoomed in and displayed the estimated path of the I.S.S.

“Alright, Ethel, chart a path.”

The screen zoomed out slightly showing the relation of the Sphinx to the I.S.S. A red line traced across the screen from one point to the other. “The International Space Station is approximately ten kilometers above our orbit and moving at a speed of 7.71 kilometers a second. If we were to increase our current speed by 3%, we should catch up with it in ten minutes.”

Jackson turned back to the ships controls; with subtle moves he turned the joystick. Little blue flames ignited outside, turning the ship up ten degrees. Then with the press of a button the main engines fired thrusting the ship upward. In the distance the I.S.S. approached; a small glint of light flicked as it reflected the sun.

“I.S.S. This is the Sphinx, do you copy?” Jackson called out over the com. The I.S.S. did not respond.

“This is the Sphinx, calling the International Space Station. Do you copy?”

The light of the sun once again began to beam into the cockpit. Jackson looked up and saw the yellow star round the curve of the Earth. Suddenly, a large object passed by dangerously close, momentarily blocking Jackson's view. Several alarms sounded. “Warning, possible impact!” Ethel announced.

Jackson flipped a switch to turn the alarm off. “What was that?!”

“Unknown, sir.”

Outside the window the strange object slowly rotated, revealing itself to be a large solar panel; it appeared as if it had broken off of a large satellite. The alarm sounded again and Ethel once again announced, “Warning possible impact!” Jackson looked down at the short-range scanner and could see a large cluster of unmarked objects approaching. Quickly he pushed the ship down to lower the altitude. Looking up out of the top window of the cockpit a large constellation of parts passed by, some close enough that Jackson could read what was written on them. One long arm read “Canada.” Another piece had part of the American flag. And others were marked with “EU” and “Russia.”

“Ethel, where is the I.S.S.?” Jackson asked nervously.

“We are underneath it, sir. You should be looking at it.”

Jackson looked back at the screen. The beacon claiming to be the I.S.S. was approaching. Jackson climbed out of his seat and floated to the upper window for a better look. Approaching was a large white cylinder. It was heavily damaged. As it passed over the Sphinx, Jackson could see a massive hole in the middle of the hull. “It looks like there was an internal explosion.” Jackson turned to get a better look. “Ethel, are you reading any other signals from the station?

“No, sir, nothing.”

Jackson watched as the debris from the I.S.S. passed by. He thought about the astronauts, many whom Jackson had worked with in his former life, and wondered if any of them got out alive. Eventually the parts passed on ahead and into the glimmering sun light.

Jackson pushed himself back down to his seat. “Let's keep looking, Ethel. Something is going to tell us what happened.”

For next several hours, Jackson searched satellite after satellite attempting to find something, anything, that could tell him more. But all he could discover were bits and pieces of news reports similar to what he had already found.

Eventually Jackson's eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep in his chair.

The soft beep-beep beep-beep of the short-range scanner ticked away. “Elise,” Jackson called out, waking up and squinting his eyes. Then, realizing where he was, he reached for the water tube and took a drink. “Ethel, how long have I been asleep?”

“Fifty-seven minutes, sir.”

Jackson looked over at the monitor. “Report.”

“We have acquired a new signal, sir.” The screen zoomed in on a glowing green dot. Jackson could see the indicator beacon but no identifier was applied to the object.

“From what?”

“Can not tell, sir. The signal seems encrypted. I can only see that there's something there.”

“Chart a course, Ethel.”

“Confirm. Charting course.”

The Sphinx fired its engines and slowly approached the unknown object. Even at a distance, Jackson could tell that whatever it was was very large. A green-blue light glinted off of the mass. Jackson rotated the Sphinx five degrees and brought the ship along side of it. “Ethel, match speed.”

“Confirm.”

Jackson flipped a few switches to his left, turning on floodlights on the outside of the ship. “Alright, let's have a look.” He tapped the joystick slightly to the left. On the starboard bow of the Sphinx three blue fames flared, and the ship turned slowly to the left. The light of the floods passed over the green-blue hull of the vessel. Turning a little more, the light brought into full view the image of the American flag. Below the flag, written in white letters, was DSP-185. “This thing is huge! I've never seen a satellite this big. What is it?”

“Unknown sir.” Ethel replayed. “Scanning my database for any known record.”

Jackson brought the Sphinx underneath the large horn of the satellite; it was sleek but very large. Several solar panels extended out from its side. A large array of other devices was mounted to the side.

“Are we able to link with it?” Jackson asked.

“Not so far, sir. Unfortunately the encryption of the signal is military grade.”

“Keep trying.”

“Confirm.”

Jackson turned the Sphinx up 90 degrees to take a look at the other side of the beast. Then he saw it - the maintenance access panel. “Ethel, what if we hard wired into it? Could we access it then?”

“Unknown sir. But it is possible.”

Jackson pulled the Sphinx up next to the satellite. A few moments later, the hatch on top of the Sphinx opened, and Jackson climbed out. “Alright Ethel, I only have 30 minutes of air in this thing. Give me an update every five minutes.”

“Confirm.”

Jackson reached down and connected two tethers to the hull of the Sphinx. The Earth spun below him, giving him a dizzying feeling. “You know I've always dreamed of doing this, but it’s far more intense than I expected.” He clipped the other side of the tethers to his suit. Then bending his knees he made a jumping motion, propelling himself away from the hull of the Sphinx towards the satellite.

Jackson reached for the handle grip near the maintenance panel but missed it and bounced off the hull. Sliding further, his tether suddenly reached full extension, jolting his body with such a force he thought he might throw up. “Ethel!” Jackson yelled, trying to catch his breath. “Ethel!”

“Sir?”

Jackson grabbed the tether and turned himself around. “Slowly back the ship away twenty feet.”

“Confirm.” Small blue flames sparked out from the starboard side of the Sphinx the ship slowly backed away, dragging Jackson with it.

Jackson reaching his hand out, “Slowly, slowly, slower...now stop!” The flames stopped on the starboard side, and a few counter spurts shot out from the port side to steady the ship. Jackson drifted closer and closer to the handgrip until, reaching out, he was able to grasp it with his left hand. The tug on his arm nearly pulled his shoulder out of its socket. “Ugh!” Jackson cried. But he hung on and gripped onto the other handle to steady himself against the machine.

Taking the clamp from one of the tethers, Jackson connected the Sphinx to the satellite.

“You have 25 minutes of air left, sir.”

“Thank you Ethel.” Reaching down he pulled a drill from the pocket in his right leg. He set the bit and began drilling out one of the bolts that held the maintenance panel in place. “Man, this is harder than I thought it would be. I'm going to need a few extra minutes on this.” He finally broke the head on the first bolt and moved on to the next.

“Twenty minutes left sir.”

Grinding away with the drill, the shards of steel flaked off slowly, ever slowly. Sweat beads began to form on Jackson's forehead. The second bolt head broke. “That's two.” Quickly he moved on to the next, grinding. The drill bit was feeling dull. Jackson pressed down harder, and the drill slowed. “Come on, come on.”

“Fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Alright,” Jackson said annoyed. “Ethel, just tell me when I have five minutes left, alright?”

“Confirm.”

Pressing down harder, the drill bit snapped. Jackson hand slipped off the drill and bounced off the hull, smashing his hand through the glove. “Ouch! Damn it!”

“Are you alright sir?”

Jackson looked at his hand. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I just broke the drill bit.” He looked at the broken bit and tried to drill with it again, but it was no use. Untethering the drill from his hand, he returned it to his leg pocket and grabbed his hammer. Pounding on what remained of the third bolt head, it finally broke. Jackson looked at the fourth bolt, unsure what to do.

He thought for a minute, then flipping the hammer around to the claw side and attempted to wedge it into the seam. “Bagh, it won't go, this is no use.” Jackson looked down, defeated and tired. “I just need something to hit it with.”

A moment passed, “Might I suggest the drill?” Ethel replied calmly.

Jackson laughed. “Ethel, I love you.”

“I won't tell Elise, sir.”

Jackson grabbed the drill and, using the hilt as a hammer, pounded the hammer into the small slit between the hull and the panel. Pulling every so often, Jackson was finally able to wrench the panel up. He slide the hammer claw further up the side, bending it until he was able to push it out of the way enough to look in. “Crap.” Jackson slipped the hammer and drill back into the leg pocket. “It's a DB-25 pin connector.” Jackson grabbed the tether that the snake of cables was tied to and looked over what he had; HDMI, DB-37, RJ-11, TNC, BNC, Coax. “I don't have it!”

“Five minutes sir.”

“And I don't have time to rewire it.” Jackson looked into the small hatch again. “Nothing.” He looked at the oxygen gauge, breathing heavy, then at the group of cable connectors. Then back to the oxygen gauge. Jackson thought for a moment and then laughed nervously. “Ethel, don't freak out, but I'm going to cut off my oxygen.”

If it were possible for a computer to sound concerned at this moment, Ethel would have. “Sir, why would you do that?”

“Because,” Jackson grunted, ripping the Velcro bands that held the gauge to his arm, “Randomly enough, when I wired up this gauge years ago, I made the control line out of a BNC cable to a DB-25 for the display panel.” Jackson reached back and disconnected the BNC adapter from the oxygen tank. The small hissing sound of oxygen filling his suit suddenly stopped. “I need to save my breath, hang on.”

Jackson took the oxygen gauge in his hand and pounded it against the hull of the satellite several times. On the third strike, the case broke. Pulling the case apart he tossed it away. Then, snapping the internal circuit, Jackson disconnected the DB-25 end of the cable. He plugged the cable into the satellite, pulled out a small knife, and carefully cut the fabric channel which attached the cable to his arm.

The air was running thin and Jackson’s vision began to blur. He grabbed the BNC cable from the Sphinx and struggled to make the connection. “Ethel,” Jackson said faintly. “Bring the ship in closer.”

“Confirm.” The Sphinx slowly moved in, rotating 45 degrees, setting the hatch within a few feet of Jackson's position.

Jackson twisted the connector and the BNC cables locked. He turned to reach for the ship, his eyes blurry. Jackson fought to see straight. “Where are you?”

“Right in front of you, sir. Just push out, you can't miss it.”

With blind trust in Ethel's words Jackson pushed himself away from the satellite and grasped in the blur for the Sphinx. It was only a brief moment, but that space between the two vessels felt like an eternity. Jackson held his breath and then banged into the Sphinx. Frantically, he felt for something to hang on to.

“You made it, sir. Now climb in the hatch,” said Ethel.

Jackson, gasping for air, untethered himself and reached for the opening. Once in, he turned back and pulled the hatch shut with a clang, then rolled the wheel-like handle to reseal the ship's door. The indicator light changed from red to green. “Ethel, re-pressurize the ship,” he said weakly.

“Confirm.” There was a high hissing sound of the cab refilling with air. Jackson struggled to unlock his helmet; the clamp was stuck. Panicked, he thrashed around attempting pull it off. “Cabin re-pressurized.”

Suffocating in a room full of air, Jackson desperately reached for his knife and cut through the layers of fabric on the chest of his suit. The seal was broken, and air began trickling in. Gasping, coughing, spitting, the little air slipping through his jacket was what he needed. Fumbling for the helmet clamp again, he found it and forced the clamp open. The helmet, with a click, finally released. Jackson pulled it off his head, taking gulping breaths of air.

After a few minutes, Jackson, having caught his breath, slowly made his way back to the pilot’s seat. “Did it work?” The screen glitched and fuzzed sporadically.

“I'm currently working to unlock the system.” Ethel responded. “These files are heavily encrypted.”

Jackson sucked down a bottle of water. “Can you get it?”

“Stand by.” A moment pasted. “Stand by.”

Suddenly an image appeared on the screen and a voice spoke.

“General Franks, we are linked with NARAD and CENTCOM. They are seeing what we're seeing.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” replied a large man wearing an Air-force uniform, standing at the far end of the room.

Jackson leaned forward. He was looking into a large room, filled with military personnel; it was The War Room. Large screens covered one wall displaying real time information from satellites and other sensors. Workstations were lined in rows, each manned by teams of officers diligently examining their data. The Joint Chiefs paced the room, looking over shoulders, asking questions, analyzing, consulting one another.

“Gentlemen, I'll be brief,” General Franks said looking into the camera. “By now you have seen the rumored reports that we are seeing here. We are working to confirm, but it seems that something has exploded over the Golf of Finland, forty miles east of Saint Petersburg. We are unsure if this is related to or the cause of the large offensive on the northern Ukrainian border near Belarus. But I'm told the President is on the phone with Moscow right now, attempting to resolve this peacefully. However, given the tenuous situation, we are at the current level of defense. I would ask for your patience and your full attention, as this will probably be a long day.” The door opened and General Franks stopped.

The Secretary of Defense entered the room. “Report.”

“We are standing by at DEFCON 1, awaiting the President's orders, Mr. Secretary,” said General Franks.

“Sir, I think you should have a look at this!” a voice called from the other end of the room. It was that of Major Richards, communication specialist. “Russian news is now reporting that they have taken out one of our missiles somewhere over the Baltic Sea.” The bank of screens in front of the Major displayed various news outlets. The screens were filled with people celebrating in the Square of St. Petersburg. A news reporter spoke cheerfully in Russian, shouting into the microphone.

“Will someone translate that!” ordered the Secretary.

Major Richards spoke brokenly. “He is saying. 'We cannot be defeated. The oppressors of the West have drawn first blood. It is now time for the people of our great country to stand up, speaking with one voice with the world, and say that we will not be bullied. We are the superior power, not the United States!” The camera tilted up and zoomed in high in the sky on a strange blue scar in the atmosphere.

Jackson gasped at the sight of of the Sphinx's blue contrail that ran across the screen.

St. Petersburg Russia

“'We are the victors!'” The Major continued to translate unemotionally; he spoke flatly, confused and worried. “'And we call upon our leaders to defend us now! For our future! For our children! For Mother Russia!'”

At the reporter’s last words, the crowd behind him exploded into a mighty uproar. Someone began to shout and sing the national anthem, others quickly joined in until the entire Square was celebrating in one mass ecstasy of patriotism.

"Славься, Отечество наше свободное,
Братских народов союз вековой,
Предками данная мудрость народная!

Славься страна! Мы гордимся тобой!"

The room watched on with a dreadful silence.

Finally, the Secretary of State gritted his teeth and turned away from the screen. “Thank you, Major.”

“My god, Bob! What did you do?” Admiral Mendez accused.

“Me?” the Secretary protested adamantly

“Is this another one of your unilateral actions? You have been saying for weeks that we need to do something about the Ukrainian Conflict.'”

“I have, but not this! I didn't order this!” the Secretary yelled defensively.

“Sir!” cried an analyst. “You need to see this.” The Secretary, Admiral Mendez, and General Franks rushed over to his station.

The Russian Minster of Defense was speaking to the press, in full regalia, standing before a large Russian flag. “This is an act of war.” He spoke haltingly. “As I am speaking, our Ambassador to the U.N. is delivering unquestionable evidence to the U.N. Secretary General that the United States, with full intent of starting a nuclear war, has, less than two hours ago, launched an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile from one of their many hidden silos in Kansas…”

“Kansas?” The Secretary turned and looked at the Admiral and the General, who returned equal looks of confusion. “We haven't had anything out there for sixty years.”

“...and targeted our great city of St. Petersburg.” The Russian Minister of Defense continued, “This unprovoked attack was thwarted thanks to the quick action of our superior air-force. This reckless act is unacceptable, and we, Russia, shall retaliate swiftly and immediately.”

“Sir, we have just picked up a signal which appears to be an SLBM,” a Lieutenant called out. “Twelve miles off our eastern seaboard. Calculating current speed, it should be here in eight minutes.”

“What’s its trajectory?” asked the Secretary.

“Here, sir! Here!” The Lieutenant turned and looked at the Secretary. “Washington.”

Like a hive of bees, the room buzzed into activity. The Secretary picked up a phone. “Get me the President!”

General Franks turned. “Colonel, prepare to launch the counter measures!”

“Rescind that order!” called out a familiar voice. All eyes turned to see President Ego entering the room, wearing a polo and shorts, carrying a racket.

The Secretary of Defense turned to the President, dropping the phone. “Are you mad?” He looked at the Colonel. “Launch the counter measures.”

The President stepped into the room, “I said rescind that order.” The Colonel looked at the President, then back to the Secretary; unsure what to do, he set the phone down.

The Secretary rushed over to the President. “This is not a game--”

“If we fire on that missile,” President Ego said cutting him off, “that will be an act of war.” He spoke arrogantly, with an air of reason.

“Mr. President, we are at war!” the Secretary argued, pointing towards the screen.

“This is not a war, this is a land grab,” Ego countered.

Befuddled, the Secretary stuttered. “Can't you see? They're not playing around!”

“I will not be responsible for the deaths of millions of innocent lives,” Ego responded.

“In about five minutes, this entire city is going to be vaporized. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

The room watch as the President and the Secretary stared one another off, two immoveable stones.

Then, turning to his aid, the President said, “Prepare for broadcast.” He looked back at the Secretary. “I need to know what the people want me to do.” With that, the President walked out the door.

“We do not have time for your damn TV show! We have to act now!”

President Ego turned back, stepping nose to nose with the Secretary. “I am the leader of this country!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

The room was deathly still, save for the rhythmic beat of the computer tracking the missile. Not a soul moved. The Secretary stood firm, calculating his next words, then lowered his deep gravelly voice so only the President could hear. “You are no leader. Just a follower with a title.”

“How dare you speak to me like that!” yelled President Ego. “I am the President of the United States! You are dismissed!”

“You stupid little brat!” The Secretary pulled out a pistol, cocked it, and pointed it at the President's head. “I have been defending this country since before you were in diapers.” In a split second, every weapon in the room was pointing at him. “Colonel, launch the counter measures!” he bellowed. No one moved. “Now!”

The Colonel turned to follow the order.

“You will do no such thing, Colonel,” the President ordered. The Colonel stopped and nervously looked back.

“Put the gun down, Bob,” Admiral Mendez said calmly, attempting to move between the Secretary and President Ego. “It doesn't have to end like this.”

“Doesn’t it, John?” The Secretary's hands were shaking slightly. “How is it supposed to end? Think of your wife, your children; Abby and Johnny.” He looked around at the men in the room. “All of you, is this what you want? Is it? Do you all want to die because of the negligence of this moron?”

“Two minutes until impact,” the voice of the computer interrupted. The speed of the beep quickened. All eyes were on President Ego. The President's eyes were on the tip of the barrel of the Secretary’s pistol. Beads of sweat rolled down the Secretary's face.

“Mr. President, we are all going to die if you don't act now,” the Secretary pleaded.

The beeping of the approaching missile increased. “One minute until impact,” said the computer. The clock ticked.

“The warhead has armed, sir!” called out a Major.

Suddenly, the Secretary lunged forward. Pushing the President out of the way, he reached for the control panel. President Ego, catching his balance, jumped back and tackled the Secretary. The two men fought, grabbing and punching each other, trying to control the gun. The Joint Chiefs and the other officers rush forward. The room was utter chaos. Bang! The gun went off. Several jumped back. The clock raced towards zero.

Admiral Mendez grabbed the Secretary and, pulling him off of the President, slammed him against the control panel. The two struggled, Mendez desperately trying to grab the gun.Struggling, the Secretary managed to free his right hand and slammed his fist down on the com trigger yelling, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

The tracking beep pulsed so quickly it was heard only as a single tone. The men fought, yelled, and struggled, and in a flash of white and screams the signal ended.

Jackson watched, eyes wide, heart racing, racked with fear and disbelief. The screen went blank, then one final image displayed. It was a 3D map of the globe; red dots began to appear, some from land and others from the sea. U.S. to Russia. Russia to the U.S. The lines traced back and forth. Then India to Pakistan. China to Japan. England, Germany, France.... Before long so many red dots trailed across the screen that nothing else could be seen. The file ended, the screen when black, and the world became still.

Silence.

A small water droplet floated through the cockpit, and then another. With each blink, a tear droplet released from Jackson's eye. The threnodial shower drifted about, drops colliding with one another and congealing into new forms, as the ship hummed a mechanized dirge.

Jackson, worn out, wiped his eyes. “Ethel.”

“Sir?”

“Activate landing sequence. We're taking her down.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but with this level of radiation the ship would incinerate before we ever reached the mesosphere.” Ethel protested.

“I don't care. We're taking her down. I need to know what happened.” Jackson, determined, pressed down on the joystick. The Sphinx began to fall back to the earth.

“Even if you were to make it to ground level, we no longer have the hardware in place to run the landing gear,” Ethel reasoned.

“I DON'T CARE!!!” Jackson screamed.

“This is inadvisable. You will die.”

“I don't care! Let me die!”

“Activating emergency protocols.” Jackson's controls deactivated. “I'm sorry, sir, but you are no longer of the proper mental stability to fly this ship.” The Sphinx leveled off and returned to orbit.

“Ethel!” he screamed, jerking the joystick. “Ethel!” Jackson slammed his hand on the control panel. “They’re dead! They’re all dead! Because of me!” Jackson fell forward and wept.

Veiled in the endless night, the Earth lay quietly below as flicks of lighting jumped here and there with vicious force. The Sphinx passed slowly across the equator, crossing the threshold from the southern to the northern hemisphere. All was silent.

Finally Ethel spoke. “If I may, sir, it seems that although you might be responsible for the events that caused this war, you did not kill these people. The leaders of the world did. It was they that chose how to respond. Not you.”

Jackson sat up, taking little comfort in the truth that had just been spoken. “How much oxygen do we have left Ethel?”

“Approximately one and a quarter hours, sir.”

Jackson sighed. “Oh, what I give would for a steak right now.” He looked around to see if there was any food in the compartments. “What a way to end, isn't it?”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“How much power do we have left?”

“Running at low power, I calculate that the ship will run for three years, four months, thirteen days, six hours, and eleven minutes.”

“Do we have enough juice for another jump?”

“No, sir, there is not enough remaining power in the secondary core to engage the light speed engine again.”

“Ethel, without the vitals, how long can you sustain the ship?”

“Several hundred years, sir.”

Jackson sighed, weighing his options. He shook his head, frustrated at himself, at the world, at everything. After a few minutes he finally spoke. “Ethel, I would like to record a message. After I'm done I want you to play it on an endless loop.”

“Confirm.”

“And,” Jackson fought back tears, coming to terms with the inevitable. “When my air runs out, I want you to power down the ship except for this broadcast.”

“Confirm. You can begin recording at any time.”

“You're a good friend, Ethel, thank you.”

“It has been a pleasure, sir.”

Jackson sat silent for a few moments, thinking, then took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves. “Okay, I'm ready. Go ahead.” A red light clicked on with a beep. “My name is Jackson Price,” he began slowly. “I am orbiting the Earth in my ship called the Sphinx, at approximately 30,000 kilometers above sea level. If you are hearing this, then you are one of the lucky ones...”

For the next hour Jackson spoke, explaining the events that had led to the war. His ship, the journey, and how it led to the devastating misunderstanding between two nations; one bent on conquering, the other desiring popularity over wisdom. He gave a simple history of the world and the major cultures that existed when he left the Earth. He explained how to access the limited database housed in the ship’s computer, were anyone ever to achieve space flight and find the Sphinx.

“Finally, if anyone...” Jackson’s voice was faint as he struggled for air. “If anyone hears this.... tell Elise, I'm sorry...” Static filled the line. “...and I love her.” Jackson’s voice faded.

Beep! The com-link clicked, and static fuzzed on the frequencies for a moment. Beep!

“My name is Jackson Price, I am orbiting the Earth...”

Like the winged messenger of ancient days covered by the sands of time, this beast sailed the skies, hidden for now, to some day serve as a reminder that kingdoms rise and kingdoms fall.

The Sphinx grew ever smaller as is slowly passed into the oncoming night, until it disappeared beyond the distant horizon. The Earth, lifeless, turned below with dark clouds churning and lighting licking across the endless shroud. Waiting.

Like shook foil flamed out, God's grandeur ceased.[1]

This is the way the world ends.

This is the way the world ends,

not with a whimper or shriek but with a bang.

For when leaders of men are not bold but weak,

This is the way the world ends.[2]

[1] God's Grandeur – Gerard Manley Hopkins

[2] The Hollow Men – T.S. Eliot

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Gone by Peter-John Campbell @2014

Gone - Chapter 3

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Fri, 09 May 2014 02:40:00 +0000

Gone – is a serial short story that will be released here over the next several weeks. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to follow my blog in order to get the latest. - Peter-John Campbell

If you would haven't read chapter 2 feel free to click here.

Chapter 3

In the quiet endless night of space, a small constellation of dust particles danced slowly in the red glow of refracted light from the Martian day. Deimos, the outer guard, crept silently by like a watchmen on patrol. Rounding the crimson planet he looked on and spotted, far off, the small familiar pale azure sphere of Earth somberly drifting on in the blackness.

Then to his surprise a blue spark flashed, a twinkle, almost unseen to those not watching closely. A moment later, in a wink, with fit-filled speed a strange creature passed by. The dance of dust scattered here and there, forming new ballets in the void.

Deimos, fearing nothing, looked on unscathed by the small voiceless disturbance. But wondered, “To what end does Terra plot? A Griffin, perhaps? Carrying a message to her ringed son? That voyager in far desolate reaches?” For this was not the first time Deimos had seen a messenger of Terra flung to the stars. All this he would have thought, if not a rock, and silently he crept on his watch once more.

Inside the Sphinx was another tale all together, as silence was a forgotten sound. Every light on the control panels was lit. Every alarm sounded with a piercing shrilling beat. “Warning: System Overload” blinked in red on all the screens.

Jackson swore. His fingers flew on the key pad, but the computer would not respond. “Come on! Come on!” He threw his fist down. “Ethel, disengage Burt!”

Ethel did not respond.

“Ethel!” Jackson only then realized that a moment before he had turned the voice command off. Quickly he flipped the switch on.”Ethel, disengage the light speed engine!” The interior lights blinked off and on.

“Un..a....le...c....ply” Ethel's voice broke in and out. Then, without warning, the ship went completely dark and everything shut down. Hurling through frictionless space, the Sphinx, now dead, was set adrift at an incalculable and uncontrollable speed.

At this speed, the light of the distant stars do not bend into elongated beams as one might assume. But rather the small glowing dots of the stars grow brighter and brighter. And as the Sphinx passed by particles reached they pealed away almost without notice. And if one were to turn and look back behind while traveling, they would see nothing of these lights, but only that of the quickly fading radiance of the sun.

Jackson had no time to observe any of this. Frantically he unbuckled himself from his seat and tore his helmet off. Feeling in the darkness he found the storage compartment and pulled out a small flashlight. Then pushing himself down the long thin channel behind the cockpit, he opened panels on the walls and the floor, exposing the mainframe. Gripping a handle he steady himself and, reaching in, pushed the Hard Reset button. Nothing. The ship did not respond.

Looking in, Jackson could see that the main circuitry was fried. “You got to be kidding me.” Thinking fast he turned and began pulling parts from the landing system.

The Sphinx began to rattle, like turbulence on a plane. Jackson anxiously looked around but had no time to consider what was causing this. Ripping the burnt out cards he quickly reset the parts borrowed. Then looking over the rest of the systems and seeing no other visible damage he skittishly put his finger on the red reset button again. He took a long nervous breath and depressed it.

Click. A moment passed; Jackson sat in the darkness. His air would run out soon enough and he would either die on the edge of the solar system of suffocation, or be struck and blown apart by the first object whose path he crossed. The next few seconds seemed like an eternity for Jackson, and just when he was about to begin coming to terms with his fate, the faint small whistle of the computer booting up begin to sing.

The interior lights blinked on. And one by one the various systems began beeping and ticking away. Burt was back on, and the petals were humming again.

Jackson leaped from his spot and pushed himself back to the captain's chair. “Ethel, are you with me?'

“Affirmative.”

“Then disengage the light speed engine!”

“Confirm.” The lights on Burt immediately powered down and the soft oscillating woop-woop-woop of the petals were no longer heard.

“Ethel, all reverse full.” Blue flames fired from the front of the Sphinx, the petals illuminated once more, only this time from the front. “Bring her to a full stop, Ethel.” Quickly Jackson rebooted the secondary systems, starting with the short range scanner.

“Confirm. Full stop in five-thousand meters.” The Sphinx, in full reverse, quickly brought itself to a hard stop. Petals Four and Seven flickered in and out and then went dark. “We have stopped, Sir.”

On a monitor to Jackson's right, a radar-like screen appeared and began displaying objects within range on the three-dimensional grid. “Where are we?”

“Unknown, Sir. The long range sensor is damaged.” Ethel was silent for a moment. “But my current estimate is we are somewhere in the edge of the Oort Cloud.”

Startled, Jackson looked up from his screen and out the window. “What?” The endless blackness, sprinkled with the light of distant stars and galaxies, gleamed with a clarity never before seen with human eyes. Jackson, overwhelmed, looked on with wide-eyed wonder.

Finally, coming to his senses, he spoke. “Are we recording?”

“Twenty-eight seconds after the re-boot we began recording all functioning sensors.”

“Good...good.” Jackson, memorized, pulled himself away from the sight, knowing that he couldn't last long in his present condition. “Ethel, run full diagnostic. I'm going to take a look at the long range sensor.”

“Confirm.”

A day passed, in Earth time, as Jackson repaired the essential parts of the ship with Ethel's help.

Finding that the long range sensor was beyond fixing, Jackson eventually gave up. He opened a small hatch and slid himself down into the lower deck below the cockpit. A small narrow cove which hardly had enough space for Jackson to breath, let alone turn around. This was the heart of the Burt. Floating down to a computer station, Jackson reported to Ethel. “Well, the primary core is shot. We'll need to switch to the backup.” Jackson booted down the primary core. The glowing red box to his left powered down and the light faded.

“Sir, the secondary core has not been fully tested.” Ethel protested.

“We're gonna have to risk it.” Pulling himself up a few feet, he opened the secondary core. Reaching in, Jackson manually turned it on. Then shutting the door he pushed himself back down to the computer station. “Initiating secondary core.” The red light from the core filled the chamber. The oscillating sound of the machine begin to humm. Woop-woop-woop.

“I'll start calibrating. How are those coordinates coming?”

“I have generally estimated our position based on our relation to the sun. But without our long range scanners I am unable to truly judge our distance.”

Jackson powered up the first petal. “Then I guess we'll have to eyeball it.”

“I'm sorry, Sir, but I do not understand the phrase eyeball it. Can you please restate.” Ethel replied.

Jackson smiled, thinking how to explain it to a computer. “Uh, it just means we'll have to take our best guess.”

“You have not programmed me to guess.”

Jackson continued calibrating the first petal. “Well, then I'll do the guessing and you can keep me honest--”

Suddenly Ethel interrupted. “Excuse me, Sir, but we are receiving a message.”

“What?” Confused and concerned. “From who?”

“Stand by....stand by...” she said.

Jackson pulled himself out of the hatch and back into the cockpit. His heart began to race a little.

Ethel spoke slowly, almost as if questioning her own words. “It appears... to be a message... from Pioneer 10.”

Jackson, perplexed, “Come again?”

“The American space probe Pioneer 10, launched on March 3, 1972--” Ethel respond.

http://science1.nasa.gov/missions/pioneer-10-11/

“Yeah, I know what it is,” Jackson said cutting her off. “How is that even possible?” He climbed back into the pilot's seat and begin reviewing his monitors. “Where is it?”

“Short range sensors place it approximately sixty-five hundred meters off the starboard bow.” On the monitor a small green dot blipped. Jackson sat up and peered out the window.

“Can I see it?”

“No Sir, it's too far. The signal is faint. Do you wish for me to download the message?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.”

The information poured in; readings of temperature, radiation, magnetics and more appeared on the screen, along with several pictures. Jackson, scanning through the report, smiled from this unexpected encounter with history. “How did they ever pull this off back then?” he thought to himself.

“Sir,” Ethel spoke. “I believe using these rudimentary coordinates from the probe, I would be able to calculate a path home. Without the long range sensor.”

Jackson didn't respond. He was lost in thought, not of going back but of pressing onward to explore. His stomach growled in protest at the idea. It was a foolish thought; there was, at most, two days of water on the ship and no food. Jackson was kicking himself for being so unprepared.

“Sir, shall I calculate a path?” Ethel asked again.

“Yes.” He answered grievously.

An hour later, the test and re-calibration were complete. Unsure of his work Jackson tenuously engaged Burt for a brief low power burn. The petals performed without error. Left with no other options than to trust his instruments and his work, Jackson set his course. He looked out once more on the canopy of stars that laid before him, wishing. And then with a small simple press of a button, the blue spark flashed.

Tearing back into the solar system, the light of the sun grew larger and brighter. The turbulence rattled the ship as the Sphinx passed through the Bow Shock. The next several hours passed while Jackson closely monitored their position and speed as he reentered the heliosphere. With every orbital threshold passed, Jackson breath a little easier.

“Sir, we have reached the orbital plain of Mars,” Ethel reported.

“Excellent, now take us home.” The ship pitched ever so slightly to the left and headed inward towards the sun. As they approached the coordinates, Jackson looked up from his monitors to take a look upon his home. But what he saw was nothing; not an azure blue dot glistening in the distance, only endless blackness. “Ethel...” Jackson looked back at his screens, but the green dot blinked steadily, indicating that they should be within range of the Earth. “What's happening?” Jackson powered Burt down and brought the ship to a halt.

“Stand by, Sir. Calculating... calculating... calculating.” Ethel was quiet for a moment. The screen from the short range sensor glitched off and on several times. “Rebooting the short range sensor,” she reported. The screen reappeared giving a localized view of the inner solar system. “I'm sorry sir, it appears that I miscalculated. We are approximately five and one quarter months off of the Earth's rotation.”

Jackson, anxious, “So you know where it is?”

“Affirmative.” The screen adjusted indicating the new coordinates of the Earth. A yellow line appeared showing the path past Venus and the Sun.

Jackson reengaged the engine and quickly made his way around the sun. The blistering light poured into the cockpit from his left. “Ethel, dim the windshield.”

“Confirm.” Gradually the windshield darkened from a billion little pixels within the window.

It was not long after this that Jackson could see the blaring white shine of the far side of the moon in the distance. “Hello there, old friend,” he said smiling. Then turning into the Moon's orbit, the Sphinx rounded the sphere and, on the quarter edge, the Earth rose into full sight.

Jackson's eyes widened and his mouth fell open at the startling scene. For what was before him was not the planet he left; blue, green, and white. Now shrouded from pole to pole in blackness, the entire globe seemed to be covered in one massive storm. Lighting jumped here and there, snaking it's way across the blanket of gray.

With a press of the button Jackson called out, “Ground, this is Sphinx, come in.” The channel fuzzed. “Ground, this is Sphinx.” His voice was tense and anxious. “Ground?” He looked down over his instruments. “Ethel, are we on the right channel?”

“Affirmative. You are broadcasting at 125.463 Megahertz.” Ethel replied.

Jackson quickly looked over his screens. “Ground, this is Sphinx. Do you copy?” Static was the only response. “Elise, can you hear me?” A snap of lighting flicked across the clouds. “Ethel, prepare to orbit.”

“Confirm.”

The ship rolled until the cockpit faced downward towards the planet, exposing the underside of the ship. Blue flames ignited from all sides, guiding the Sphinx into a stable orbit. “Orbit complete.”

“Ethel, scan all known broadcast frequencies, and put it through to my earpiece so I can hear.”

“Confirm.” Static click after static click, the numbers quickly sailed upwards across the screen as Ethel tuned through the light spectrum, listening for any sign of communication. Jackson listened impatiently. His heart beginning to pound. Finally, “I'm sorry, Sir, but I am unable to find an active channel.”

Jackson closed his eyes, not sure what to fear. “Then let's fire a Spurts.”

“If I may protest,” Ethel returned. “It is illegal to broadcast on every known frequency. You would be in violation of at least fifty U.S. Laws alone, not to mention breaking the WIOP treaty--”

“Well, they can come and get me,” Jackson said anxiously as his typed on the keyboard. Then hitting the enter key, Jackson opened his com-link. “This is Jackson Price sending a full spectrum broadcast. My primary channel is 125.463 Mhz. I have lost contact with my ground crew am an in need of assistance. I am currently orbiting at approximately 30,000 kilometers above sea level. Just now passing over...” Turning to his screen, he discovered it was an empty sphere as the patterns of the continents jumped about. “Ethel, where are we?”

“Unknown sir. At this point I am unable to find any identifiable landmarks to gauge our position.”

“Switch to the thermal scanners.” The screen flipped displaying the Earth with various shades of red.

“Confirm. The thermal scanners are reading an extortionately high radiation count in the atmosphere. Higher than the sensors are even calibrated to register. Which would account for our inability to penetrate.”

Exhausted Jackson sat back in his chair and took a long nervous breath. “What is happening?” he whispered to himself. His mind raced. He thought of Elise, Danny, and the billions of people who lay beneath the veil. How did this happen? What could have done this? I was only gone a day. Are they alive? Elise...

He thought all this and more as he stared out onto the once vibrate globe, now nothing more than a darkened shell of its former self. Life, snuffed out under the seething, twisting, raging storm.

In the quietness of space, the Sphinx passed over the endless sea of swirling black and gray. Licks of lighting and exploding pops skipped across the roiling wake as the ship sail above the tempest's squall, when upon the the belly of the Sphinx a shadow fell.

“Standby, receiving transmission.” Ethel announced.

Jackson jerked his head up and looked at the screen. “Where?”

“It's from a communication satellite, AMC-3. We are passing directly under it.”

Jackson turned to the geo-positioning screen and, using the the position of AMC-3, calibrated the map. The continents displayed in yellow outlines overtop of the churning red thermal array. Jackson could now at least make a general estimate of where they were.

“There is a fair amount of data, would you like me to download it?” Ethel asked.

“Yes, yes, go ahead.” Jackson turned to monitor the download when unexpectedly the interior lights blinked off and on. “Ethel? What's going on?”

“I'm sorry sir,” Ethel's voice spoke slowly and deliberately. With each word her voice became deeper and less understandable, “the down...load... see...ms... to... be... ov...er... loa...d...ing... my... sssss....ystem....s.” With that the Sphinx went dark, again.

“Crap!” Jackson leaped from his seat and quickly found the reset button. Hard booting the Sphinx was never Jackson's intention when he designed the ship. He reached the button and depressed it, then pushing himself he floated back to the pilot's seat. One by one the systems turned on.

Suddenly he heard a voice. It was a women screaming, “Are we still on!? Are we on? New York I don't know if you can hear me but I'll keep going.” Jackson pulled up the screen and a second later the video feed appeared. A news reporter, covered in dirt, bruised, and bleeding, spoke quickly into the camera. “We are live here covering the Philadelphia marathon when just a moment ago a flash of light from the north filled the sky. Followed by a percussive shock... As you can see behind me, all of the windows in this neighborhood are shattered. I was literally knocked to the ground by the blast. I have no idea if this was from a gas explosion or--” she stopped at the sound of the air raid siren. Looking up the camera followed a trail of white smoke in the sky; an object, high up, was approaching. “Oh God! Oh God! Bobby, Bobby we got to run! We got to run! Run!” The camera dropped, shaking every which way, catching glimpses of a crowd running, pushing, fleeing, screaming. A deep fierce rumble overwhelmed the cries. Then a moment later the signal froze, clicked in and out, and then disappeared.

Jackson watched, breathless; hand over his mouth, heart pounding, body trembling. Reaching with his right forefinger, he timidly clicked the button to view the next file. The image was of that of a burning city; red and black filled the screen and sirens echoed at a distance. Jackson played the next file.

Two news anchors spoke, terrified, from their news desk attempting to remain calm as images of more carnage poured in from around the world. “If you are just now joining us, we are broadcasting to you live from our Houston offices. New York has been attacked. We have lost all communication from our network offices there. If you would bear with us, we are attempting to piece together what has happened. But it appears that New York is again the victim of a terrorist attack. Pardon me...one moment, my producer is saying something....We have conformation that Los Angeles, Baltimore, and Boston, have also been attacked. And we are getting a report now that London has also been attacked. It is now seeming to be a coordinated attack. By whom we don't know, but we will stay here live as long as we can, bringing the information as it comes in. Right now we turn to--” The file ended.

Jackson watch as file after file played out the horrifying truth. The sum of all fears of generations had come to pass. A world torn apart by madness was all that remained below. The never ending feed of destruction played out thirty seconds at at time. Shaking with fear, tears blinked from Jackson's eyes and floated about the cockpit. His stomach was in knots, sickened by guilt and regret of not being there for Elise.

His head hung low and, playing the next file, a familiar voice cut through, “--if you can hear me--” The voice broke in and out. “Sphinx, this is ground...” Jackson looked up at the sound of Elise's voice. It was an audio feed, the file marked 125.463, “Jackson, if you read me, please respond, over?” Jackson sat up, watching the curser pass over the waveform. “Something's happened...an... at...ork.”

Jackson reached forward and turned up the volume. “--not sure how... but... think... it's our fault.”

---

To read Chapter 4 click here.

Would you like to learn more about how our Solar System works? Then Check out this interactive map by following this link. http://www.solarsystemscope.com

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Gone by Peter-John Campbell @2014

Gone - Chapter 2

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Wed, 02 Apr 2014 03:13:00 +0000

Gone – is a serial short story that will be released here over the next several weeks. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to follow my blog in order to get the latest. - Peter-John Campbell

If you would haven't read chapter 1 feel free to click here.

Chapter 2

The morning wind whistled quietly through the grass and save for one hawk circling in search of his pray, the skies were clear and warm. As the sun rose slowly, guinea fowl and pheasants bobbed through the field pecking at the strains of wild wheat and grains that flourished in that long forgotten place.

Then came an odd sound; a low boom beat across the plain with a pop and hiss of a piston releasing. Suddenly a new shape rose upon the horizon.

“Stand by for launch in T-4 minutes.” The robotic voice of Ethel, Jackson's computer, echoed through the silo. A hydrologic hum spun through the chamber as the launch pad slowly rose.

“Thank you, Ethel,” said Jackson, climbing into the pilot's seat. The nose of the Sphinx had reached ground level and the orange sunlight was now beaming into the cockpit. He wore a black and gray pressurized suit with an old patch sewn on the right shoulder, which bore the insignia of his once great company. The J and P intertwined and were made to look like a ship flying through the stars.

Below, Elise entered the control room and sat at her station. Danny, next to her, read a book with his feet propped up on his desk. “Did you know some archeologists believe that the Sphinx predated Egyptian culture?” Danny mused, sipping his coffee.

“Humm,” was Elise's only response, attempting to not encourage him. Grabbing her headset, she put it on and scanned over the monitors.

“It truly is fascinating. That there might have actually been an entire world of civilizations we’ve never known about, and all that’s left is the Sphinx...”

“Danny,” Jackson's voice broke through the com-link. “Enough with the history lesson for today.” He snapped his helmet into place. “I'm ready to make some of my own.”

A deep pulse flowed through the room. “Launch Pad secure,” Ethel announced.

“Thank you, my dear lady,” Danny flirted. He dropped his feet and set the book down. “And might I might I add that you are sounding rather beautiful this morning.”

“Don't get fresh with me Danny-boy, you're not my type,” Ethel retorted. Elise cracked a smile. Danny laughed.

“Alright, Romeo. I'm ready to run through final checks.” Jackson, now fully strapped in, could be seen on the center monitor.

Danny quickly scanned over the screens to look for anything unusual. “All systems are go.”

“Pressurization looks good. Environmentals are stable,” Elise said, taking one more quick look. “Ethel?”

“The Second magnetic clamp on the stabilizing tower is not fully charging.”

Jackson turned to his right to look at a screen. “Do we need to abort?”

“I don't think so sir,” she responded. “It is operating within minimal parameters. I have compensated the needed load between the remaining five clamps. We are go for launch.”

“Excellent. Ethel, clear the field.”

“Confirm. Clearing field.”

Three short air-bursts sounded on the empty field above. The flock of pheasants and guinea fowl kicked up out of the tall grass and flew off to the east.

Jackson flipped a few switches. “How're the skies looking, Danny?”

“I'll check,” he said spinning around in his chair to another station. “But considering that nothing has flown over this airspace in twelve years, I think we'll be fine.” He punched a few buttons and pulled up the radar. “We are clear.”

Jackson flipped a final switch. “Ethel, prepare for launch.”

“Confirm. Preparing for launch.”

“Initiate launch sequence.”

“Confirm. Initiating launch sequence.”

A warrrfam accompanied by a high-pitched whirl spun deep in the heart of the Sphinx as the oxygen and hydrogen began to mix.

“Stand by for Launch in Sixty...Fifty-Nine...Fifty-eight...” Ethel’s voice counted down.

The control room shook; a subtle tic-tic-tic was heard from Danny's coffee mug walking across the desk. He reached for it as it slipped off the edge on it's way to the floor.

Jackson, along with the rest of the ship, shook. He gripped the armrest of his seat and smiled. “We are go for launch.”

The sound grew louder, a resonate mix of bellow and whine, until all in its presence succumbed to the overwhelming song. And then when it seemed that it could not become any louder, the rumble of the engines, for a second, stopped. A piercing dead silence was all that could be felt as the frequency of the roar dropped far below human hearing. Elise and Danny cringed, feeling the deep sickening bass vibrating their internal organs. Then as fast as it had come, the feeling was gone, released with a startling ear-splitting crack. The fires of the engines lit and the sound of thunder rolled across the plain.

“We have ignition!” Danny yelled.

Plumes of white smoke poured endlessly from the pad as the wind rushed with the urgency of a coming storm.

“Five...Four...Three...Two...One.” Ethel counted.

The magnetic clamps of the stabilizing tower disengaged one-by-one. Slowly the Sphinx lifted from the pad; its beastly tone crescendoed, reverberating across the morning sky.

“We have lift off. The Sphinx is in the air.”

The flickering pop and crackle of firelight flared with immense beauty. As the ship rose, its majestic weight flung skyward with an ease of grace, causing all creation to shudder at the very sound of this mighty voice. The moment was so tremendously terrifying a dreadful silence fell upon the plain out of fear and respect. In a word, awe.

“Standby, Sphinx,” Danny instructed through the com. “Stage 1 burnout in Four... three... two... one.” The flames ceased and the thin air grew quiet.

Jackson reached out his left hand “Detaching Stage 1 boosters.” He clicked a switch, which was immediately followed by a loud metallic ch-chunk. The magnetic loop that held the first and largest stage of the ship released its grip and drifted quietly away.

“Ground, this is Sphinx. Stage 1 has detached. Let me know when we're clear.”

Danny watched his monitor carefully, counting the seconds. The first Stage fell quickly and soon was out of range. “You’re clear. Hit it.”

With the simple flick of the tiny switch, the ship jolted into action. Jackson, tossed back into his seat, caught his breath. “Stage 2 engaged.”

The sky boomed for a second time as the Sphinx hurled itself through the thermosphere.

“She's all yours, Ethel.”

“Confirm. Initiating Stage 1 reset.” Chutes deployed, and small flames begun to spurt out here and there to guide thruster back home.

“Sphinx, this is ground,” Elise said, monitoring speed and altitude of the lunch. “Prepare to roll thirty degrees.”

“Copy that, preparing to roll thirty.”

The ship screamed ever upward, casting off the surly bonds of Earth. Into the growing black it flew, leaving only a stream of white, a dissipating trail of bread crumbs, futile for guiding lost souls home. And cresting that threshold where gravity and inertia are one, the Sphinx hung in a precious balance. “Sphinx, roll thirty degrees.”

“Copy that, rolling thirty.” The circlets of sunlight bent around the cockpit.

“Standby, Sphinx,” Danny's voice was heard once again. “Stage 2 burn out in Five... four... three... two... one. Drop it.”

Ch-chunk. The loud metallic break of the disconnecting loop popped through the vessel. “Number two is away.”

With the detachment of the second stage, the protective shielding that encapsulated the Sphinx fell away. The two parts, cloven like an egg cracked in half, suspended momentary, wavering undecided upon the precipice of space. To voyage onward or home? On each, a small blinking red light began to beat. Blue flames flared, pressing down.

“Confirm. Initiating Stage 2 reset.” A moment later, the hollow bong of Stage 1 touching down on the launch pad rang through the empty silo. The stabilizing tower rose and reconnected itself to the partial rocket. “Stage 1 recaptured. Initiating refueling.”

“Sphinx, let's power up that main engine,” said Danny.

A small yet powerful burst ignited from the back of the long, sleek, cigar-shaped vessel. The Sphinx rose gracefully, rolling and pitching.

“Stand by to cut main engine in four…three…two…one, cut main engine”

“Copy that. Main engine stop.” The flame went out and all was quiet.

“Congratulations Sphinx. You’re now in orbit,” Danny smiled. Leaning back in his chair, he reached his left hand over to Elise, palm up, to receive a high-five.

Elise popped a piece of gum in her mouth and laid the wrapper on Danny’s outstretched hand. “Thanks,” she said, trying not to smile.

The Sphinx hung in the air, floating upon an unseen sea, basking in the glow of the celestial sphere below. Land, clouds, and sea filled the window of the cockpit. Jackson smiled silently with wonder, taking it all in.

“Sphinx, this is ground.”

Jackson nodded in response but did not speak.

“Sphinx? Danny, did we lose com?” Elise’s voice held a mix of concern and annoyance.

Jackson broke from his trance. “No, sorry, we have com, Ground. This is Sphinx.”

Danny's voice popped in. “Do we need to give you two a minute?”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

Danny leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “Well, when you're finished ogling our planet and want to get on with this little science experiment, feel free to let us know.”

“I'm sorry, Ground, you broke up on that last transmission. Please state again.”

Elise reached over and slapped Danny in the chest. “Sphinx, this is Ground. We're ready for you to power up Bert.”

“Copy that. Powering Bert.”

Bert. The next great envelope of human travel. The stuff of science fiction, the idea had been long ridiculed and proclaimed to be an impossibility. A machine could never be built to travel at the speed of light, let alone faster than the speed of light. “But the same was once said of sound, and Chuck Yeager broke that. All he needed was the right plane,” Jackson was known to say when mocked for his ideas. He was seen as too much of a dreamer. “Audacious” was the word his Board used the day they voted him out of his own company. But, bent on proving them wrong, Jackson set out to rebuild.

Bert was named after the father of relativity himself, Albert Einstein. His equations were the start of Jackson's work, but they wouldn't be the end. After years of building and rebuilding design after design, Jackson couldn't find a way to resolve the foremost problem of E = mc²; the faster an object moves the greater the mass of the object.

Elise held the theory that, just as energy is expelled through heat, the object's extra acquired mass gained by the increased speed could also be expelled, maintaining steady mass of said object. It was a great theory, one that had earned her both respect and ridicule in her former life.

Elise, though not a super model, was tremendously beautiful. This made her stand out amongst the crowd, and she was never really taken seriously as a scientist. She expected this from the men in her field, but never from the other women. Her time in school was lonely and miserable; she was top of her class but seen by her peers as nothing but a blonde bimbo. Because of this, she kept to her books, pushing herself daily to prove to herself that there was more to her than looks.

Her lack of self-confidence was not lost on Jackson. When they first met, Elise was working through her second doctoral program in Atomic Physics. Jackson knew that he had met his match in her. But it took Elise far longer to come around and appreciate his charm and insanity. In the end, they were a match made for the celestial heavens.

Elise's theory on expelling mass still hung on and confident they would find a solution, the two pressed on with the project. However, it was when Danny met Elise that things changed. Danny had a mind for electrical engineering that was second to none, and with his help, he and Elise perfected the design. Jackson's dreams, at least in theory, had become a reality.

Eight long fingers fanned out from the hull, like spreading wings, creating a blue ring encircling the ship. Looking straight on, one would think they were viewing a wheel in space. From the side, it resembled that of a misshapen umbrella. Each spoke of the wheel was called a petal. With the flower in full bloom, the new extension made up more than half the length of the craft.

“Ground, this is Sphinx. The Array is extended and locked in place.”

“We copy that, Sphinx. Go ahead and boot up Petal One and we'll begin running the diagnostics.”

For the next two hours the team worked vigorously; checking, calibrating, and rechecking each petal. The work was long and tedious, but for them the hours flew by quickly.

“Looks good, Sphinx. Go ahead and take her once around the block and bring her home. We're ready for tomorrow.”

“Copy that, Ground. I'll see you in a few.” Jackson set his flight path. “Oh, and Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“I think it's your turn to buy.”

Danny smirked. “Sorry, Sphinx, you broke up on that last transmission. Please say again.”

Jackson sat quietly in the ship, thinking, musing. Then with a mischievous grin he clicked off the voice activation on his com-link. “Ethel, let's set Burt for a ten second jump.”

“Pardon me, sir, but I would strongly advise against that. The purpose of today's mission was only to calibrate the Light Speed drive.”

“Yeah I know. But we're already here. Don't you just want to give it a go?”

“I do not have wants, sir. You did not program me for that.”

“Man, apparently I programed you to be really annoying, didn't I?” Jackson muttered.

“Please restate the question. I am unable to comply.”

Jackson manually dialed in the coordinates for a short ten second jump.

“I do not mean to object, sir, but I think you should consult with Ground before you--” click. Jackson switched off Ethel and continued working.

Danny sat back in his chair and took a sigh of relief. “What a day.” He turned to Elise. “How are you feeling?”

“I'll feel a lot better when he's back on the ground.” Elise stared at the small yellow dot representing the Sphinx on the three-dimensional display as it sailed around the globe. Jackson was approaching England. The room was quite except for the steady rhythmic beat of the tracker blipping every few seconds.

“You know what I was thinking? We should install a catheter system in here.” Danny said with a smirk, trying to help take Elise's mind off her fears.

“What?” Elise turned, surprised and disgusted.

“Well, you know, it's like, we're in here and I really have to go to the bathroom, but I can't leave. Like on the ship, we could just be hooked up with a catheter, and the line could run down the inside of our pant leg, with a little BNC type connector at the end, and we could just hook into a tube that would lead to the drain.”

“What is wrong with you?” Disturbed, Elise went back to her screens.

“What? I think it's a great idea.” Danny said a little defensively.

Elise held up her hand in an attempt to get Danny to stop talking. “Just go, I'll take care--”

Ethel interrupted. “Warning. Data link with Sphinx has been lost.”

The yellow dot had vanished from the monitor.

“Whoa.” Danny leaped forward and franticly clicked away on his keyboard.

Elise stood up. “What just happened?”

“I don't know!” Danny voice was shaking.

“Sphinx, this is Ground. Do you copy?”

“I got nothing.”

“Try again.” Elise was pacing. “Sphinx, this is Ground! Do you copy?”

She turned back to Danny. “Any sign of system failure?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Check for residual flux!” She commanded

His fingers flew at a fevered pace. “I'm on it. I'm on it.”

Elise zoomed the map in over northern Europe. “Ethel, calculate possible crash sites based on last known telemetry.”

“Confirm.” Ethel began ticking away. The screen held a yellow dot in place over the Baltic Sea between Sweden and Estonia, the last registered ping of the Sphinx. Slowly lines began to draw out.

“Sphinx, this is Ground. Do you copy?”

The next few minutes crept by like an eternity; Ethel calculated, Danny searched, Elise paced. But no sign of the Sphinx could be found.

Suddenly the com channel fuzzed.

“Jackson!”

---

To read Chapter 3 click here.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Gone by Peter-John Campbell @2014

Gone - Chapter 1

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Thu, 20 Mar 2014 18:00:00 +0000

Gone – is a serial short story that will be released here over the next several weeks. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to follow my blog in order to get the latest. - Peter-John Campbell

Chapter 1

“Tomorrow!” A deep gravely voice came from the television as images of war flashed across the screen. The sensationalized news would have made the masses in a former time, rush to the theater to see the latest Hollywood action thriller. “With the Russian build up on the Ukrainian boarder, how will the world respond? Will NATO take action? Join us for team coverage from around the world as we bring you up to the minute news of this latest pending crisis. Globe News Now, America’s most trusted news source.” The ad ended and instantly the next program began, ignoring the carnage that had just assaulted the screen.

The music flared as a crisp animation played out. The tune was catchy and it felt more like a song heard on the Top 40 than the respectful anthem that it parodied. The slick graphics finished, revealing the Seal of the President of the United States of America. The modern version of Hail to the Chief took another rift and the music dipped and began to fade. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” an announcer with a very commanding voice said. “The President of the United States!”

The camera pulled back and the President entered the shot dancing, spinning, and bouncing. His gyrations seemed more suited for a late night talk show host rather than the leader of a country. But then again this was President Ego; he was tall, handsome, and the people loved him.

“Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen and thanks for joining me for my weekly Fireside Chat.” A stool appeared out of the floor as he sat down. It was all perfectly timed. “We have a lot to cover this week, so I hope you have your phones ready. First, the current Welfare Reform Bill that Congress passed today is layin' on my desk now for my consideration. But I have some concerns. I feel that it doesn't give enough back to the people. And you know I love ya'll, but before I vetoed it I wanted to know how you feel about it. So text in your answer right now to let me know.” A graphic appeared on the lower part of the screen: 2768 for Approve and 8386 to Veto.

The ultimate populist, he never made a move or spoke a word until he knew the direction of the political wind. And it worked. The people loved him. The youngest man to ever be elected to the office of President, he had run his entire campaign online. Without a single in-person event. His whistle stop tour consisted of live real-time video chats with every home in America, and the people loved it. They got to speak to the man himself for as long as they wanted. But in the end, he won their votes because he was “cool”, not because he knew what he was doing.

“So while you're texting in your votes,” he continued, pointing to a band on a stage, “Let's hear it for General Sherm and the Rangers!” With that, music started and the camera whipped to the musicians. They had a unique sound; it was mostly punk with a goth overtone. Behind the band a group of women dressed in modified Army uniforms danced seductively. The camera focused on one of the women, and then went to break.

“Danny!” A distant voice echoed from the next room in between the sound of metallic bangs. “Danny!”

Daniel “Danny” Flint, was hunched over his work, soldering a circuit board. The TV sat next to him on the work beach, blaring the President's program. Suddenly the intercom squelched loudly, startling him. An annoyed voice said, “Danny turn that idiot off and get your butt in here.”

Getting up from his workstation, Danny crossed the vast warehouse that served as his office, a junkyard which was virtually a museum of the history of aeronautics, now only scrap used for parts. The room was full of countless assorted planes, missiles, and rockets. When Danny had arrived this room was a disaster, but after years of sorting, cleaning, and cataloging it was now at least an “organized mess.” Danny ran his fingers down the smooth hull of a Titan II rocket as he passed by. He loved the feel of these old ships; they felt realer, for some reason. They were elegant beasts, created in the mind and engineered with a slide-rule unlike the 3D computer modeling of today.

Graduate of MIT, top of his class with honors, Danny stunned the engineering community when he published his master's thesis on “The Obsolete Nature of Microelectromechanical Devices and the Future of Electrical Engineering” He was a rising star, no doubt, with multiple job offers waiting for him upon graduation.

It was around then that the Chinese began buying up engineers wholesale and sending them to their mainland. Those who could not be bought were persuaded to relocate. But Danny wasn't interested in building an empire or destroying others. On receiving his “letter of employment” from the People's Republic, Danny did the only thing he could do. Disappear.

Lost in the forgotten fields of Kansas, he had changed his name and waited tables at a small diner outside of Wichita. The world was shifting at a dramatic pace, and for someone like Danny, this was the price he had to pay for his freedom.

Tuesdays quickly became Danny's favorite day of the week. Like clockwork she would enter at 11:35; tall, thin, amber eyes. Danny could hardly pay attention to anything else while she was in the room. She always sat in the same booth, ordered the tuna salad, and spent her time writing in an old notebook. It took Danny weeks to build up enough nerve to talk to her beyond taking her order. But one day, while bussing the booth next to her's, he caught a glimpse of what she was working on. To his surprise, it was a page filled with equations.

“Excuse me.” He spoke quietly.

She turned, a little surprised by the disruption. “Yes?”

“I'm sorry... I couldn't help noticing, but I think the value of B is wrong.”

“I'm sorry, what?” she said, amazed.

“Well.” Danny looked around for a moment, but his other customers seemed fine. He leaned in. He could smell her perfume. Danny forced himself to focus. “Look, you're obviously using Biot-Sava's law to determine your magnetic response, but you've miscalculated your magnetic induction here,” he pointed at an equation, “causing your density p to have value of 0.8752, but it should be 0.08752, which would explain why your value of B is off. And you're probably having some inconsistencies with the current too, or am I wrong?”

The women sat back with a smile. “Pretty impressive for a farm boy.”

“Oh well, it's just a hobby I picked up along the way.” Danny went back to bussing the table.

She turned around. “That's a pretty unusual hobby. What's your name?”

“Dani...Dann...” He caught himself, “My friends call me 'Steve.'”

“Well, Steve, I'm Elise,” she smiled. “Thanks for the help.”

The next morning Danny arrived at the diner at 4:30. He had the breakfast shift and was in desperate need of coffee. Pulling in, he was surprised to see an old red pickup parked in front of the diner. A man stepped out of the shadow and approached Danny as he got out of his car. “I'm sorry sir, we don't open until Five.”

“Are you Steve?” The man said in annoyed voice.

“Yeah, why?” Danny replied, confused and a little scared.

“I heard you were talking to my wife yesterday,” the man said, stepping toward Danny. He had something in his hand.

“Whoa, whoa man!” Danny stepped back defensively. “It's not like that! I just saw she needed some help with her work...”

“You think you're pretty smart, don't you?” He interrupted.

“I'm not sure...” Danny stuttered. “No. No, I don't think smart.”

“Can you solve this?” The man threw something at him. Danny fell back onto the gravel. A spiral notebook landed on his chest. After a moment, he sat up and looked at the paper. It again was filled with equations.

“Ummm, yeah, sure. There's a couple of things... First, it looks like you're using Schrödinger's equation to determine your Harmonic Oscillation, which is fine, but it seems that Heaviside's Step Function would work better here. Also, your value of w could use some tweaking. And, well, your sevens tend to look like twos, so, you should work on that.” Danny looked up at the man.

The man stepped forward and reached his hand out to help Danny up. “Why is a guy like you working in a place like this?”

Danny grabbed the man's forearm and stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes. “I'm not a fan of Pad Thai,” he muttered. "Who are you?"

“Jackson. Jackson Price.”

Jackson Price, multi billionaire, aeronautical engineer, and daredevil. He made the “Top Ten World's Sexiest Men” three years in a row. Forbes Magazine called him “the perfect combination of Thomas Edison, Albert Einstein, and Steven Jobs warped into one.” “He is brilliant!” wrote columnist Lindsay Walker of the Washington Post. “A man centuries ahead of his time. A modern Leonardo da Vinci.” The only thing that Jackson enjoy more than being famous was flying. But when the Iranians took an interest in him to develop their latest fighter jet, Jackson knew it was his time to depart.

Danny stopped for a moment, perplexed. “I thought you were dead.”

Jackson turned and looked east towards the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise. “Then the media did their job.”

Danny stood quiet for a moment and looked over the equations. “What are you working on?”

Jackson turned back to him. “Tell you what. You come work for me, and I'll show you.”

165 Tuesdays later, Danny slid his fingers down the hull of the Titan II as he walked across the warehouse. The bangs coming from the silo became louder as he approached the launch pad. Slipping past the four-foot blast door, he entered the massive chamber and looked up for a moment to admire their work. The Sphinx. 110 feet long, weighing in at an estimated 231 tons.

He looked around but didn't see Jackson. “Where are you?”

“Booster 2!” His voiced echoed from inside the machine.

Danny climbed onto the pad and looked up into Booster 2. He could see Jackson's arm dangling through the nozzle. “Can you hand me the ¼ inch? It's there by your left foot.”

“Sure.” Danny reached for it. “Wait... Are you stuck up there?”

“No, I'm not stuck up here, I just dropped it and can't reach it.”

“So rather than jumping down to grab it yourself, you called me all the way down here to get it for you?”

“Just hand it to me and shut up.” Jackson was irritated.

Danny laughed. “What was your plan here, exactly?”

“You were my plan. Just give me the wrench and walk away.”

The elevator door opened and Elise stepped out with her hands full of groceries. “Hey Danny, can you give me a hand for a second?”

“Sure, Elise.” Danny looked up and smiled at Jackson.

“Danny, throw me the wrench.” He said quietly.

“Have you seen Jackson?” She asked.

Danny tossed the wrench up to Jackson and jumped down off the pad. “He's hanging around here somewhere.”

---

To read Chapter 2 click here.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Gone by Peter-John Campbell @2014

It's The Slow Drip That Wears The Stone

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Tue, 18 Feb 2014 17:24:00 +0000

It's not fast

but slow.

At no speeding pace

the unnoticed dripping of time

in which

we accept our glut

that lust

and make our stomach our god.

With no sober mind or judgement

we accept.

And forced to drink the mirth

that poison

in silence

We suck it down

guzzle

and glut

for them.

The world will change

it will change

And pressure to subdue us

to remake us in their image

and break our knees to bow

before their gods.

And shame those who don't

play along.

If we have no will of our own

we will succumb to the will of others.

and accept

and accept.

Not fast

but slow

But I will not

will not

I will not.

It's the slow drip that wears the stone.

-Peter-John Campbell

NS Pottery

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Sat, 08 Feb 2014 19:18:00 +0000

We had a blast making this project! Natalie, owner of NS Pottery, is an extremely talented artist, and it was a lot of fun to follow her through the entire process of transforming a lump of clay into something beautiful and functional.

Beyond the video, Claymore Pictures assisted NS Pottery with the online marketing of this piece, creating imagery and teaser videos for her social media outlets.

Special Thanks to Zak Waryas and the Angel Falls Coffee Company for their help on the last sequence.

Mossy Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Tue, 14 Jan 2014 23:42:00 +0000

So walking around on the frozen lake the other day I came across this fallen tree that would otherwise be inaccessible. I wanted take full advantage of the moment. Admittedly I went a little overboard with the amount of pictures I have posted this time. I just love the rich greens of the moss, a rare treat in the middle of January.

Ice Fishing

noreply@blogger.com (Peter-John Campbell) — Mon, 13 Jan 2014 15:41:00 +0000