Desert of Zin

I haven’t written anything in ages.  Absolutely ages.  Which is a shame ‘cos I was really getting into it.  Then, as always happens, real life comes hurtling into view.

Whenever I have time (and haven’t I already said I have free evenings next week?) I should knuckle down and dedicate this precious time to the stack of unfinished work which continues to grow.

In saying that, while looking through the archive, I found the first story I attempted for the story-a-day project way back.  It had the working title of ‘Thor’.  It’s only a few hundred words, no more than two scenes, but it was fun to write and given a spruce up it might be worth throwing up on the site.

I’ve been thinking of doing something similar with a few of the shorter standalone pieces.  (but it won’t become another ‘Railman’ or ‘The Bandstand’.  These are on the to-do list to be finished, hopefully, at some point before I shuffle from this mortal coil.)

But as with so many things, we’ll see.

- Alistair

A while ago mrBen became aware that a number of sites on the shared hosting we had were hacked due to a bad plugin on one of the sites.  Nothing major but annoying enough to be a pest.  The site maybe down or have theme / plugin issues for the next while as I sort it out.

Also, slightly unrelated, Railman is on indefinite hiatus while I work ahead on that story and others.  My quality of work isn’t high enough for publishing at the moment and I’m not happy releasing the stuff into the wild until i feel it’s ready.  And recently my confidence has taken a knock which hasn’t helped anything.

Normal service should be resumed at some point…

- Alistair

Hi guys,

Your normally scheduled episode of Railman has been delayed.

Part nine (and parts of ten and eleven) just aren’t up to standard, so rather than send them out anyway I’m going to hold them back for a while.  The Railman story is something that is lasting longer than I thought it would.  It was just meant to be an exercise in keeping my hand in and coming up with a few odd scenes here and there to help the creative wheels turn.  It may be something else now, i’m not sure where it’s going.

The uncertainty, the ‘just letting it wander’, has been fun – it still is -  but that’s no excuse to let the quality slip.  I know that eventually I’ll repost it as one complete work on it’s own page, and let it have a gentle edit where mistakes have slipped though and where scenes need to be longer.

I’ll post more when it’s available.

- Alistair

Yet another episode.  Hope you like.

- Alistair

Braddock stood on the balcony outside the docker’s office and, leaning on the rail, looked out at the incredible scene unfolding before him.  It was mid-morning by his reckoning and the docks were busier than they had been in years.  Transports, flat-beds and hoppers were picking up and dropping off on every rail.

He thought of Alice way up in the crane’s cab.  Poor lass, he thought.  Nothing had prepared her for this.  He should have swapped her out for a more seasoned worker but he needed them all on the platforms.  And Braddock realised that he should have been out there in the thick of it but Peru hadn’t turned up this morning – he was sure her illness was getting worse – so he had to manage the office and the resulting paperwork.  He kicked himself for not spending the time training up someone else instead of taking on the work but who could have known it would be so busy again?

He stood straight and stretched, years of hard work keeping the muscles in his shoulders and back tight, and watched as Gregor slid down the ladder from the third highest rail, named Ringlet, and jumped the last couple of feet to the floor of the docks.  Braddock winced at how dangerous his beloved docks had become this morning.  Gregor, of course, landed with ease and raced over to the office.

The docks office was above a small storeroom and wooden stairs, with a small landing halfway, led to the first level and to Braddock.

‘Good man, that Gregor,’ he said with his gravelled voice.  He gestured through to the office behind him.  ‘One copy goes in the tray, both get stamped.  You know the drill.’  Gregor saluted sharply, which Braddock returned with a curt nod and a smile, and dashed inside.

Gregor found the stamp, spat on the dry pad, and banged the stamp hard there and again on the forms where he had been shown.  He threw one copy down in the tray and ran back outside to return the copy to the driver.

He never noticed a solitary light blinking steadily on the console in the corner of the office.  It blinked into life and a single line of text ran across the in-laid screen.

- Repositioning complete -, it said.

On the balcony Braddock watched Gregor race back along the dock and up the ladder to the Ringlet rail.  He laughed to himself.  The boy’ll sleep well tonight, he thought.

The light on the console blinked faster and faster then changed from amber to a steady red.

- System Error -

Braddock looked up at the Ringlet line.  That hopper was on its way now and he saw a flat-bed waiting at the edge of the dome to come in.  Gregor knew the drill, all the boys did.  There was no reason to spend all his morning by the office.  Working a sly flat-bed or two couldn’t hurt.

- Rebuilding Engine -

Braddock walked back into the office to retrieve his gauntlets from where he kept them.  The screen in the corner was blank.

Righty, here’s part seven.  I hope it meets with your approval.

- Alistair

Ryan had woken from his nap and sat in the chapel pondering.  From his studies he had learned a little of the world, and that little was much more than anyone else here seemed to care for.  The other Readers were old and tired and readying themselves for The Well, an event that would allow the next generation to fill their shoes.  It was the way of things, it seemed, and Ryan struggled to understand why.  The older readers were no help with his enquiries.  They just nodded and smiled at each other as if revelling in some private joke.

The Reverend was through in the back of the sanctuary, no doubt finalizing his preparations for the ceremony to come.  Heterozygous didn’t have much to do with it but the chapel was the place where they always held the Eleventh Ceremony.  He used to spend time preaching the Word of the Maker, but his role had been reduced to giving a simple blessing.  The Elders had no time for his religion any more.

Attendance in the chapel had dwindled away and Heterozygous had plenty of time on his hands.  That wouldn’t have bothered Ryan whose future path as Reader would be time spent with his nose in a book for the most part.  But for someone who came here to minister to the village Ryan couldn’t understand how the Reverend could cope with it.  Ryan knew that he made a daily effort to meet with each villager when they had the time and that they humoured him.  But for Ryan it was no way to live a life.

He could understand why no-one bothered with the faith.  To Ryan it was little more than words and well-meaning platitudes and although no-one was crass enough to say it aloud he was sure that everyone felt the same.

There was so much he didn’t understand and that frustrated him.

‘Ah, you’re up,’ said the Reverend, coming out of his study with a robe similar to his own over his shoulder.  ‘Good for you.’

‘Is it time?’ Ryan asked.

‘Almost,’ replied Heterozygous.  ‘Within the hour.’

‘Right,’ said Ryan softly.  Heterozygous approached him and regarded him curiously.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked kindly.  ‘You’re having last minute concerns?  It would be only natural.’  He shook the robe off his shoulder and held it next to Ryan.  ‘A bit big but no-one will notice,’ he said to himself gently before looking back to Ryan.  ‘You’re a quiet one, Ryan, but I know you’re worried in there,’ he said as he tapped the boy on the forehead.

‘What do you know about the Railman?’ asked Ryan, the question bursting out before he had a chance to stop it.

‘Hmm,’ mused Heterozygous, not surprised at the outburst.  ‘There are secrets I willingly keep and secrets I care not to know.’  He gave Ryan a pointed stare.  ‘And there are secrets you can’t ask for.’  He stood back and sighed.  ‘Sorry, Ryan.  I can’t help you there.  But I’ll let you into this.  If someone arrives for you, Railman or not, I’ll be very surprised.’

‘Why?’

‘I told you,’ said Heterozygous quietly.  ‘I can’t tell you that.  Really, I can’t.’  Ryan regarded him suspiciously while he continued.  ‘Listen, my Order knows all about the Railmen.  If they were in the network again I would know about it.’

‘But why not tell people?’ Ryan cried out.  The Reverend looked around quickly to see if anyone heard but the noise from the docks continued as usual.

‘Because,’ he said, keeping his voice low, ‘the Order have nothing publicly to say about the Railmen one way or the other.  We can’t commit ourselves to a statement.’

He handed the robe to Ryan who stood in silence with an odd expression, the one he had when he was trying to work something out.

‘What?’ prompted Heterozygous.

‘You said Railmen,’ said Ryan slowly.  ‘There are more than one?’

‘Figure of speech,’ he answered.  ‘The robe goes on.’

Ryan shrugged the rough cloth of the robe over his head and shoulders, smoothed it down and looked up at Heterozygous’ critical gaze.

‘It’s better than I thought, which is just as well.’  He looked up at Ryan.  ‘There’s only the one, so one size has to fit all.’