Fifth Beginning - Part Three Nanowrimo 2014

Over-ripe banana, Sums decided. The smell was composed of over-ripe banana and . . . dog food? Yes. Dry dog food that had been moistened and left to sit. Sums forced images of her sisters' parts of the house out of her mind. There was also something that was almost a faint armpit smell, but it was somehow bringing up an image of microscopes.

Perhaps she was thinking of microscopes because she had thought of research earlier. And perhaps she was getting ahead of the evidence in assuming research. Just because she had never heard of cobweb/body magic didn't mean that it was new. Still, she had said research to Charles and there was no reason to gainsay that until there was reason to.

No. Thinking of research wasn't the reason she was thinking of microscopes. There was an intuition guiding the image. If she had been talented enough to do systems monitoring, she'd be able to tease out the subliminal impressions that lay behind her intuition.

But she wasn't a system monitor or a system operator or a system designer.  She only had enough talent to measure and chart energy flows and to use manufactured devices.  Most days she was completely comfortable with that.  She was talent heavy for an analyst and relied on her intuition to guide her through odd patterns quickly.

Some part of her intuition was saying 'research'.  In a normal situation she would be content to trust her intuition but verify the flows.  Standing in a factory full of dead bodies, though, she wished that her intuition could be more forthcoming about what was happening here.

Sums slowed as she approached the first entry.  The entire first floor was wooden walls up to slightly more than waist height, then windows up to a high ceiling.  The entry, which had no doors, was not quite wide enough to drive a delivery truck through.

Charles bustled past Sums.  "Department of Permits.  Routine inspection.  Mr. Asmundson?"

He seemed not to care about what was in the room besides the fact that it wasn't Mr.  Asmundson.  Mr. Asmundson must have made quite an impression.

Sums stood in the doorway and scanned from left to right.  This was a delivery and storage area.  There were bolt holes in the floor and discoloration in the concrete indicating that this used to be four rooms.  Now it was one open area.  The support pillars had been painted in the regulation stripes required for areas where fork lifts and mover wands were used.  There were stacks of bags and bins and boxes on wooden pallets.

Sums lifted the L-rods and rotated.  Nearly nothing.  She frowned.  There had been more.  She heard clanking and looked up.  Charles had found a set of very open metal stairs and was tapping up them quickly.  Sums had a brief impression of a child running with a balloon.  

18 Twenty-Nineth Beginning (Nanowrimo 2007) Organizing Aunt Sheila

[Welcome to the middle of a long conversation between and Aunt and the Niece she has never met and who has been sent by the family to "help orgainize." Do not read any part of this as if it were a completed story or you will be disappointed. In 2007, my strategy for Nanowrimo was to call my efforts 'literary' use that as an excuse to dump ideas and references that had been collecting in my mind and desk and files for years. I skipped linear progression.]

[I also skipped quotation marks and dialog tags. They may or may not go back. I kind of like the ambiguity.]

[Barbara has collected stacks of notes and is reading from them as she and her Aunt Sheila sit on a log in a meadow an undetermined distance away from nearby houses. The point of their exercise is to enter things into a database and throw the pieces of paper away.]

There’s a picture of a saint holding a traffic cone.

I like that.  Someone did that for me.  It has sentimental value. You can roll your eyes as much as you like, until I remember who did it, it stays

This might be a poem

short

abbreviated, abridged, curtailed, decurtate

deficient, inadequate, insufficient, exiguous

inconsiderate, thoughtless, unceremonious, ungracious

compact, pointed

abrupt, forthwith, sudden

monosyllabic

Not a poem.  More of an arrangement.  Those are all long words meaning short.

Ah, irony

yes

recreational irony

got it

Rapunsel

." Such limestone beasts are the human-headed, winged bull and lion pictured here. The horned cap attests to their divinity, and the belt signifies their power. The sculptor gave these guardian figures five legs so that they appear to be standing firmly when viewed from the front but striding forward when seen from the side. These lamassi protected and supported important doorways in Assyrian palaces.
--------------

The name lamassu is problematic. The Sumerian word lama, which is rendered in Akkadian as lamassu, refers to a protective deity, who is usually female. She is often shown as a standing figure that introduces guests to another god. Her male counterpart is called alad or, in Akkadian, *êdu.

During the Neo-Assyrian Empire (c.883-612), monumental bulls, often with wings and always with human heads, were placed as gateway guardians at the entrances of royal palaces. The general idea behind them was that they warded off evil. (In jargon: they were apotropaic figures.) Usually, they have five legs. Lion-bodied protective deities are also known, and are usually called "sphinxes".

Yes!  I need to save that for the story.

The one that you’re not writing.

I do not care.  I like the story.

your database 

There’s a bunch of cut and past stuff with the title Petitioning the Muse.

That’s a short . . thing.

Thing.?

I want to write up a petition to my muse and take it out to collect signatures.

Barbara smiled slowly.  You write it, I’ll video it.

Deal

that goes under projects, then

cool

This one says pantoum

Though rhyming hooks the mind and sticks

The words to mind for keeping hold,

It, and a poet's other tricks,

Are scorned as being stale and old.

The words to mind for keeping hold

Of honor, once thought soul's own prize,

Are scorned as being stale and old

And hidden, now, from prying eyes.

Of honor, once thought soul's own prize

Only old poets write, their quills

Are hidden, now, from prying eyes

In faded ink, their knowing spills.

Only old poets write, their quills

Are hushed, they fly like winter geese.

In faded ink, their knowing spills

Like falling down.  For memories

Are hushed, they fly like winter geese.

Poems don't rhyme, they walk like prose,

Like falling down.  For memories

Build slowly, so the thinking goes.

Poems don't rhyme, they walk like prose,

Create an image, burnish it

Build slowly, so the thinking goes

To gleaming. Let the mind submit

Creative image; burnish it

With feathers, left by birds who've flown.

To gleaming, let the mind submit

Yet never plot these words to own.

With feathers left by birds, who've flown

From labyrinths and never fell?

Yet never plot these words.  To own

Their meaning is to make a spell

From labyrinths and never fell?

Yet never plot these words.  To own

Their meaning is to make a spell

It’s an old style poem.  I don’t think it has an end yet

I’ll put it under projects

OK

This one has a few notes - Marketing Ploys,

shrink proof wrapping

building inspection

zombies

then there’s what looks like the beginning of a story

could you read it for me?

sure

On a dusty brick shelf in a dusty brick alcove sat an oversized coat button and a three by five card with the words DEPRESS BUTTON written on it in neat block letters.  At least Summermoon thought of it as an alcove, though she would not have objected if another person thought of it as a porch or an entryway.  At least she would not have objected if there were a door at the end of it.  Currently there was just the shelf with its two display items

[Barbara continues reading for awhile.  You'll find it with the hyperlink or by searching for Third Beginning.]

I think I have more of that somewhere else.  They didn’t even get inside.

How do they get inside?

She yells at the button, dissing on it mightily until it becomes depressed

that’s bad

very bad – it’s a short story, though

so it goes under projects

if you like

this next on is like a fragment – no title

There aren't any real goths in Stockton, but Web comes close if you catch him in dim light.  His slut of a mom never did him any favors and naming him Weber was the first sign that she was going to screw that baby over.  I've tried to convince him that the name means that he was conceived on the ground next to a cheap barbeque; but for all his skepticism, this is one point on which he needs hope to spring eternal.

He was sitting inside at Sid's, eating oatmeal with no sugar.  The OJ was already finished, of course, because he always drank it first, slowly.  He probably took exactly the same number of sips every day.  The glass of milk was untouched.  He didn't like it cold and would only begin on it after the oatmeal.  He was wearing black trousers with an ironed-in crease, a black polo shirt, white socks, and black boots.  You couldn't see the socks, of course, but I've known Web long enough to have heard the lecture on dyes next to your skin in intimate places more than once.  So I knew the socks were white.  I didn't know why feet were intimate places, but I've learned to leave monologs alone.  If you ever get the chance to ask, feel free to prolong the experience. 
-------

That’s part of Invasive Species, a story.  It starts out with the main character meeting Sid, then he goes to get breakfast the next day, then I think he meets Web.

Books I haven’t.

Yup.

There’s one with a bunch of quotes about hope. 

I wanted to do an exploration of the theme of hope in Pratchett’s Going Postal.

And you needed to research other themes of hope

Yes.  I didn’t get far.  I bought a book about hope in Johnson’s work, but didn’t slog through very far.

Projects.  It may be awhile before we get to it.

Here’s another poem

[Aaaand the conversation will continue later.  Yes, you'll see more of the no goths in Stockton beginning later.]

Second Part of Fifth Beginning

The room ahead was wide and open, the size of a small factory. The expanse was lit by dim floating grey spheres. In the center, a set of rooms rose up, two or three stories high. There were windows in some of the rooms and brighter light came from some of them.

The inside of the building walls were the same brick as the outside. The floor was dusty cement for the most part. Dotted across the floor were squares of bare dirt. There were people laying in about half of the squares. Four people to each square. There were cobwebs everywhere. The air was thick with an odor that seemed to be a mix of old dog food and rotting fruit.

Charles swallowed. “Are they dead?”

Sums cocked her head. “I hadn’t considered that. My first thought was that you’d found a slave distribution center. Dead people would be much less dangerous.”

“I think we should leave and come back with a police escort.”

“Providing you can find a way out, I agree.”

Charles groped back through the alcove. His voice came out. “No shelf. No button.”

Sums walked forward. The nearest square was only a few paces away. The people in it were covered with cobwebs. She bent to examine them. The cobwebs were wrapped tightly around them – completely around them. They were laying on part of the wrapping.

Not wanting to touch the strands, she picked out the nearest square with uncovered people in it and walked over. She could hear Charles insulting the button behind her. It was worth a shot, she supposed. She bent again and touched a foot. It was cold and stiff. The shoe it wore was scuffed and dirty. The rest of the clothes were also the worse for wear.

She stood and did a rough count. When Charles came back out, he hesitated at walking into the room. She considered having pity on him, but decided he needed to get over his repulsion and waited for him to come up to her.

“There are more than a hundred,” she said. “Maybe more on the other side of the center, there.”

“They’re dead, aren’t they.”

“Yes. I’m surprised they don’t smell worse.”

“Do you know why some of them are wrapped? Have you heard about any spells . . . “

“No. I don’t know anything about the cobwebs, either, but I have a strong suspicion that you’re going to be having some committee meetings about how to interpret the zoning laws.”

“What? What about the zoning laws?”

“Does industry include research is one question, I suspect.” Charles relaxed a little hearing that. “Then there’s the question of whether residential density requirements apply to zombies or whether they’re considered to be mechanisms.”

“Zombies? There’s no such thing as zombies!”

“If there are no such thing as zombies, that will simplify matters. Assuming, of course, that Mr. Asmundson is not doing research regarding the creation of zombies.”

“Let’s assume simplicity.”

“Yes. And let’s scan to see if there is a heavier magic flux than is allowed in an area zoned for light industry.”

“Yes. Let’s.” Charles patted his belly and looked around. Sums pulled a couple of metal dowsing rods out of her shoulder bag. She checked the handles.

“You don’t use the forked sort?”

“No. I triangulate better with the L-rods.” She turned in a circle, holding the short ends of the L shape of the rods in her outstretched hands. The long ends wavered over the tops of her fists, either tipping together or apart, as she turned. “The door is magical, but low energy. The bodies are, well, dead.”

“And zombies would show magic, yes?”

“I have no idea. So far as I know, there are no such thing as zombies. There’s a higher reading over there.”

“In those rooms?”

“Or on the other side.” Sums dropped her hands. “Let’s go check. You might want to call out. To keep from surprising anyone.”

Charles took a few deep breaths, gathered his authority, and raised his voice. “Hello, the building. I am Charles Lindwood from the Department of Permits. We are conducting a routine inspection.” Charles waited for a reply. Sums walked toward the rooms in the center. “Hello?”
Charles trotted to catch up. He was looking happier.

Comments on Fifth Beginning

In the first copy of the first section of the story mentioned in the Third Beginning (which is now titled Depress Button), I had the following written at the top of the first page.

shrink proof wrapping
depress button
no building permit
organ donation card
charged cards
marketing analyst

As sometimes happens, I ended up with several copies of the story in various stages of completeness on my work computer and home computer . . . mostly on my home computer. Am I the only person who emails myself stories and then adds a bit to them and then emails them back? Anyway, by the time I had spread them out in several different folders and then re-collected them to make an official version, I had fogotten what I had been planning to do with that list.

The depress button bit is obvious. The no building permit obviously mutated a bit. The rest, I'm not sure about. I'm pretty sure that our pair were intended to save themselves from the spider mage by explaining how he can shift his research to the magical equivalent of spam blockting. (1)Or at least that he can claim on paper that's what he's researching. That's the shrink proof wrapping and the marketing analysis. I'm less certain what the organ donation card and charged cards were supposed to represent, other than slight puns.

I've had one beta reader (BR) so far, and she described Sums as feisty. That's not a word that I would have used for a character who I see as a middle-aged accountant with a certain stubborn thoroughness and a dislike for having her time wasted. BR liked the story and that's encouraged me to keep going with it. But so far, that has taken the form of trying to discover different directions that the plot could go. There will be, as mentioned above, spiders. The spam blocker is supposed to fit into there somewhere.

There are two thoughts that keep recurring. One is that I need to know a lot more about spiders and about how magic works in this world. That's one thought. The other is that Charles is about to get treated very badly, and not by Sums. Also that Charles is . . . but that's enough spoilers for now.

(1) Yes, that's an actual spoiler if you're reading Depress Button as a story. I must also warn you that the story does not yet have and ending. Or a middle. Reading it as a story may not be a good idea at this point.

Fifth Beginning: Shrink Wrap

On a dusty brick shelf in a dusty brick alcove sat an oversized coat button and a three by five card with the words DEPRESS BUTTON written on it in neat block letters. Summermoon thought of it as an alcove, though she would not have objected if another person thought of it as a porch or an entryway. At least she would not have objected if there were a door at the end of it. Currently there was just the shelf with its two display items.

The button and card were lit from no discernable source, which wasn’t unexpected, since the alcove itself was much darker than the afternoon shadows would have made it, naturally, even five paces in. Typical decorator’s magic. Nothing to impress. Apparently Charles thought that the items on the shelf were of a higher order.

“You see. This is exactly your sort of thing. I’ve tried all of the usual methods of entry and nothing has worked. It’s almost a puzzle.”

Charles Lindwood rocked back on his heels, hands gently clasping the lapels of his morning coat. The coat was an affectation just a little short of costumery. In addition to the coat, his hair had been thinned and grayed for an appearance of added age and his easy movements made it obvious that his rounded belly was adding no actual weight to his frame. His use of cosmetic magic annoyed his guest on many levels, but his countenance annoyed her more. His round face was beaming with satisfaction.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”

“Oh, come now. You can’t let a thing like this just go.”

“No payment, no performance.”

Summermoon Dempsey, Sums for short, was, unlike the smiling man beside her, a person of actual, rather than faux middle age. She did not believe in cosmetic magics and currently had to decide whether one or two little medical procedures that her doctor was recommending were too close to cosmetic to accede to.

“Be reasonable.” His face was still looking smug and amused, chins tucked down to his chest. One day Sums would get annoyed enough to trace his actual age. “It would take weeks to set up a purchase order. The Council. . . “

“The Council has allowed your department the use of charge cards for purchases under a thousand.”

“Yes, well, perhaps after we’re inside there will be enough for you to do to justify an expense. . .”

“They also,” Sums cut him off, “allow you to request an emergency amendment to my professional services master contract.”

“This is hardly an emergency.” He began an avuncular chuckle, which cut off suddenly as the unpleasant thought sank in. “You have a master contract? But they take months to process.”
“You annoyed me last time. I warned you that you were annoying me and you persisted. If this isn’t an emergency, you can run an expedited amendment through the departments in three days, if you carry it.”

“You can’t hold me up for three days, this is urgent.”

“Either it’s an emergency and you can get the purchase order now, or it’s not and it can wait three days.”

Charles began tugging at the bottom of his vest.

“Perhaps after we’re in.”

“$500 to get in, on the card, and $5,000 minimum on the PO. You can begin by explaining the situation. The display of a button is not nearly enough introduction to a new project.”

$5,000!” Charles sputtered.

“At least. I’ve checked the going rates.”

“You don’t even have a certificate!”

“I don’t have a systems certificate. Fortunately, I’m listed as an auditor. I’m credentialed well enough for that.”

“Auditor? I don’t need a summary of energies expended. I need creative thinking.”

“You need to get into this building. You also need something else after you get in, but you’re not willing to tell me what. Very well. I’ll get you in. I may do whatever needs to be done once we’re inside. The main portion of my contract will be to provide you with an energy expenditure analysis for your files so that other inspectors and city engineers can refer to it in similar cases.”

“Very forward thinking of me.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, it will appear as if you contracted the analysis and then used the results to determine your course of action.”

She knew she had him there.

Charles tried looking at her in varying poses of incredulous distress and disappointment, but it impressed her as much as his sartorial magic did. Eventually his efforts collapsed like a badly shored trench in the rain. Which is to say, gradually and messily right up to the big final slump.

In the end, he admitted that this was a building inspection. The alcove they were standing in was located in the Transitional Area of the City, out beyond the suburbs. Low Density Residential uses were fine, as were Light Manufacturing, Distribution, and mixed Residential/Light Manufacturing. They had gotten an anonymous report that the building was being used as a High Density Residence, perhaps even as an illegal Hotel.

“Is there any reason that you can’t call them and demand that they open their doors for an inspection?”

“Well, you’ve heard about the recent spam attacks? With the person information extraction?”
Sums shuddered. “Yes. A nasty piece of spellware. Walk through one and suddenly you’re surrounded by garish advertising illusions. Everyone involved should be jailed or expelled.”
“Do you have the current dismissal filters?”

“I don’t have that sort of connection. I have a reversal amulet.”

“Surely that interferes with your communication?”

“It doesn’t seem to be stopping you.”

“But, dammit, I had to track you down and physically talk to you.”

“Yes.” Sums smiled contentedly.

Charles blustered a bit, but quickly deflated into, “Well, at least it won’t interfere with communications here. The owner, a Mr. Asmundson, has complained repeatedly about being the target of spam attacks. It has been an escalating item between him and the City. It’s not over, by any stretch of the imagination, but the most recent upshot was a notice sent to the City that he was installing a blocker, much like your amulet, but larger and more powerful.”

“So he can’t be contacted and he can say that it’s the City’s fault that they can’t contact him.”

“Essentially. With more recrimination, of course.”

“Any chance that the anonymous complaint came from someone in the City?”

“I certainly hope not. It came in from the access point at the Public Library.”

“Any chance of just waiting for him to make his next complaint?”

“Not with as many feathers as he’s ruffled. We can’t be seen to be paying back in inconvenience, but we can’t give special consideration to a complainer, either. That sort of thing would get around too quickly.”

“I can imagine.”

“And it doesn’t help that this whole building is so obviously sealed off. No doors. No windows.”

“Sure they’re not just hidden?”

“No. I had it scanned. There’s an access spell, here, but no door. No windows. There may be something on the roof, but nothing in the walls.”

“So. Either I depress the button, or there’s no inspection until the next time Mr. Asmundson comes out to complain.”

Charles signed elaborately. “All right. $500 on the card. An amendment to your contract for up to $5,000 if there is an analysis or written report required. I’ll have to do that back at the office and it will take at least a week.”

“No written work delivered without the amendment.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”

Sums turned and bent down to address the button.

“You call yourself a button? Look at you. You’re a disgrace! Scratched and faded! Do you think that anyone is ever going to look at you twice, let alone use you to hold two pieces of cloth together?”

Charles was confused, but before he could complain the light in the alcove began to dim. Something was happening.

“You might as well crawl into the nearest wastebasket now. You’re a cheap little bit of unmatched plastic! You’re too small to use as a hopscotch marker and too dull to use for decoration.”

The alcove was now completely dark. The street noises faded. Perhaps the other end had sealed off. It was too dark to tell.

“You can’t be recycled. You’d be nasty to burn. You’re just a waste of space.”

A dim light rose in the front of the alcove. The wall and shelf were gone. Ahead was a dim room. They stepped forward and let their eyes adjust. An unpleasant smell rose up through their nostrils and insinuated itself against the base of their brains.

As they were trying to pick out what sort of bad smell this was, they began to notice the bodies.