Nobody remembers our world before the Water Wars and the Mass Migrations; before we lived encapsulated, drinking endlessly recycled water, harvesting lab-grown meat and veg.
Ancient archives show protests, marches, passionate appeals. Ultimately ignored.
If only we could warn them.
But would the fat-cat industrialists and their puppet politicians listen?
Today I’ve been busy proof-reading my new novel. In all modesty, I have to tell you it’s a really good story, and because I haven’t looked at it since sending it through the publishing process, I almost have to remind myself that I wrote it! But, of course, I must remember that as usual several of the characters had a hand in the plot too (animals included).
Although I wrote it as a story aimed at younger readers, the more I think about it, the more I’m certain it will have much wider appeal – 9 years to 99 years! That’s also the impression I got from those of you who were reading along under it’s former working title ‘A Nick in Time’. Thanks once again for all your encouragement.
Also today, for a little change from the Rabbit, I’ve been casting a critical eye over friend and fellow author, Paul English’s latest novel-in-the-making, the next in his wonderful ‘Fire Angel Universe‘ series. This is a real treat, because it’s all fresh and new. We have an excellent reciprocal arrangement of reading and commenting on each other’s work, which naturally also involves coffee and cake!
‘Following The Green Rabbit’ is due to be released next month, and I’m sure Paul’s new novel ‘Fire Angel: Igniting the Spark’ will not be far behind.
The sun begins its descent, radiating its last rays, before
slipping behind the mountain.
The ebb and flow of the tide, which waits for no man,
or woman.
Like time, running out.
Running freely, like the grains of sand.
I walk out.
Walk.
Until the sea
and I
become
one.
Captain Kirk holds up his hands. “So let me get this straight,” he looks at each of us in turn. “You imagine something and then it just happens?”
“Yes sir.” I can hardly believe I’m speaking to Captain James T. Kirk. “Apparently the ship is powered by our minds and guided by our imaginations.”
Spock raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“Well, that’s what the Zyborgatron said.”
“The Zybogatron?” Kirk frowns and turns to Spock who is scanning the console with his tricorder. “Anything, Spock?”
“Negative, Captain.” He tweaks the instrument again.
“The longer we stay, the more likely something else bad is going to happen again,” I say nervously. “That Klingon and the Professor…” I glance at Harris and Stevens.
The screen on the console flickers into life. The Doctor’s face appears. “Jemma! Are you still on that ship?” He knocks on the screen. “Get off at once!” We see him peer at the screen, head on one side. “Well I never, is that Captain Kirk?”
Kirk frowns. “Have we met?
“I don’t think so, but I’ve met your Chief Engineer. It was a few regenerations ago.
I sorted out a little problem which your holodeck caused… I’m the Doctor, by the way.”
“Doctor Who?”
“No, just the Doctor; but never mind that now. The ship you are on is dangerous, Captain Kirk! You need to evacuate. Destroy it if you…”
The screen goes blank.
Kirk’s communicator chirps. “Go ahead, Scotty.”
“Sir, we have a problem… It’s the Klingon. He’s standing right behind me with a weapon in his hand. It seems he wants that ship you’re on.”
“Fascinating,” observes Spock. He puts the tricorder down. “Let me try something, Captain.” Spock reaches across the console to the keyboard the boys were using to play Space Invaders. He presses three keys, one after the other: Ctrl-Alt-Delete.
Everything goes black.
This has been the last in the present series of Space Cadets, leaving you, in fine tradition, with more questions than answers.
Fear not, Space Cadets will return!
And, of course, we will be bringing you a Christmas Special – there has to be one, doesn’t there?
Meanwhile, the script writers and production team will be busy with some other projects. Stay tuned!
Last Saturday saw the launch of the #WritingMyCity book, the exciting collection of
Cape Town writing, put together by Cape Town Library Service and Open Book.
The selected authors signed a copy for the organisers, Christelle Lubbe and
Frankie Murray. Then we opened our copies and started reading each others stories.
There are some fascinating stories, poems and memoirs in the collection.
Here’s the piece I wrote (page 96):
I’d been late leaving school that afternoon. I’d stayed behind because nice Miss Leibrandt had been helping me with my poem.
On the way home I’d been kicking a can along the dirt pathway between the shacks when I heard shouting over on the main road. Then there was the explosion. Flames shot up into the air, all red and angry-looking. Black smoke billowed upwards.
My house was the other way, but I had to see. I peered out from the end of the lane. People were jumping up and down in the street, arms waving angrily. They were chanting.
Flames licked out of the little corner shop. My friend’s shop. Mr Kabongo whose skin was as black as night, who came from another country further up the map of Africa. Mr Kabongo who told me stories about the animals of the forest where he grew up and the people who lived there before the war in his country. Mr Kabongo who gave me sweets when I went to fetch a half-loaf for my mother.
And now his shop was destroyed. I wondered if he was safe. Had he run, as he’d run before?
Why can’t we all live together?
Come sit with me
here on the stoep
and tell me your stories.
Tell me about
when you were a girl
with a flower in your hair
on the first day of spring.
Tell me about
the games you played,
the friends you made
and the songs you sang.
Tell me about
the parades and parties,
the festivals and dances
and the secret stolen kisses.
Tell me about
the man you married,
the children you had
and the plans that you made.
What were your hopes?
What were your dreams?
Who was the woman you wanted to be?
Come sit with me
and sip your tea, and
tell me your stories.
“Professor!” we all cry in unison.
The Klingon waves his disruptor, gesturing for us to move away from the console.
“Mr. Kurn will take over from you now, Cadets,” the Professor says. She speaks in a flat tone, almost mechanically. Something’s definitely wrong.
“But Professor…”
The Klingon grunts something as he walks over us, his weapon is pointing directly at my chest. The Professor tries to say something, but suddenly she cries out and clutches at her left ear, wincing in pain. What’s going on?
We edge away from the console as a burst of static erupts from the speaker. A conversation is going on outside the ship.
“…Spock will give you the coordinates, Scotty… energize!”
Five new figures appear on the deck. It’s Captain Kirk and his crew.
“Hold it right there. All of you!” orders Kirk. The two red shirts close in, brandishing their phasers. One of them points his weapon at us. I glance at Stevens and Harris as slowly we raise our hands. Hold on, you’re supposed to be on our side!
The Klingon attempts to fire, but the disruptor jams. The red shirts rush to grab him just as the Professor collapses on the floor, holding her head in her hands. Dr. McCoy hurries to her side and whips out his medical tricorder. He waves it across her head and frowns.
“I need to get her straight to sick bay, Jim,” says the doctor. “It’s one of those damn mind-controlling worms of theirs!” He glares at the Klingon.
Kirk nods. “Okay, Bones,” he flips open his communicator. “Scotty, lock onto the doctor and his patient, and the security detail plus one prisoner.” He glances at the two red shirts. “Take the Klingon straight to the brig and make sure he stays there.”
Moments later they dematerialize, leaving Kirk and Spock alone on the deck with us. Kirk gestures to us to lower our hands.
Spock looks at Kirk and raises a quizzical eyebrow. Kirk turns to us.
“You kids have got some explaining to do.”
Will Bones manage to save the Professor from the mind-worm? What if he fails?
What was that Klingon up to? and what questions does Captain Kirk have for the cadets?
Tune in next week for the next episode of Space Cadets!
Here it is! The artwork for my new novel for younger readers, commissioned from my artist husband, Cliff Davies. Since the action happens in the ‘olden times’, I thought it might be nice to have a wood cut design. This is actually a lino-cut but the effect is similar and we’re both rather pleased with it.
You may remember my working title was ‘A Nick in Time’ but now the book is finished, a further transformation has occurred. From the chrysalis of the completed manuscript, and after readings, re-readings and feedback, a new title has emerged:
If all goes to plan the rabbit will be released into the wild at the beginning of October.
And not to forget those who encouraged me on the journey and who were left in suspense as we neared the finish line: a voucher for the e-book will be coming your way.
Debra ~ Tom ~ Jean Lee ~ Teresa ~ Violet Lentz ~ Sadje
And friend and author, Paul English, who has painstakingly read all the chapters and provided such useful feedback, will receive the first paperback out of the box when it arrives here in South Africa.
Labelled now, that strange old bag
Not all aging is a drag.
No more for you the daily grind
Use purple hair dye, who’s to mind?
Every day is just the same
No need to go out in the rain.
Catch a film, hit the beach
All of a sudden life’s a peach!
Dress for comfort, not for style
That hat you wear stands out a mile.
But come the evening, shut the door
Fill your glass and say, ‘no more’.
The eyes that dim, the ears that strain
The knees that crack, the joints that pain
Time’s the one unbreakable law
And getting old is such a bore!
BUT
“Yeah Jem, this one’s down to you,” Harris glares at me accusingly.
Stevens sighs loudly. “Can’t you just un-imagine the Klingon?”
“Or at least get him to drop his gun?” Harris chimes in.
I try to visualize the Klingon vanishing but nothing happens.
“What’s the Professor saying?” Stevens points at the viewing screen. We all peer at her face. She’s looking straight at us and she’s mouthing something.
The Klingon’s mouth begins to move as well. He seems to be shouting. Don’t they always shout?
Then they both disappear in an explosion of starry sparkles like they’ve dematerialized. But to where?
“What did you do Jemma?”
What did I do?
I’m still shaking my head in disbelief when more starry sparkles appear on the screen in front of us. The Professor reappears flanked by Captain James T. Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy and a couple of red-shirts. I sense that something bad is about to happen.
The Professor looks confused. She points straight at us, then shakes her head. Mr. Spock consults his tricorder and raises a puzzled eyebrow. They all fan out, although apart from the Professor’s Special Space Machine there is little to see in this plain and featureless landscape. The Professor continues walking towards us, a hand stretched out in front of her.
“Why can’t they see us?” Harris asks.
Stevens prods the buttons on the console randomly. “Open voice communication!” he commands. We hear a popping noise. Stevens looks at each of us.
We shout in unison. “Professor! Professor!”
Something registers on her face; she turns around to look at the members of the Enterprise crew who, phasers at the ready, are still scanning the empty landscape.
Something’s wrong but I can’t work out what.
“Professor!” Harris yells, banging on the screen which flickers and goes dead.
“No need to shout.”
We spin around. The Professor is standing in a doorway at the back of the deck which I hadn’t noticed before. She walks forward and smiles. “Hello, Space Cadets!”
The Klingon appears and stands next to her.
Slowly he raises his disruptor and points it at us.
Who’s side is the Professor actually on? What does the Klingon want?
Tune in next week for the next episode of Space Cadets!
luna's on line 