I'Ll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails. -
Page 12
Asked by a doctor if there was pain anywhere else, I made the decision to pre-empt the discovery and state, "No, but when I broke my arm my penis turned blue."
Following diagnosis and leaving the hospital through a crowded foyer, my mother slapped me on the back of my head and yelled, "what did you rub food colouring on your penis for?" and I yelled back "for fun" so that is probably what it was. The following week, when I arrived at school with my arm in a cast, I told everyone that I had broken it in a buggy accident.
With my potato farm on the moon fully established, I would use the traction and towing capabilities of my moon buggy to arrange the potato storage sheds so that from the earth they make out the words 'Potatoes for sale.'
Regards, David.
…………………………………………………
From: Kevin Eastwood
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 11.02am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Card
We're not having any moon buggies on it so you can either be constructive or stay out of it. It's every time with you. Mike suggested he could dress as Santa if the staff dress as elves for a photo on the front.
From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 11.34am
To: Kevin Eastwood
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Card
Santa and his elves. Another outstanding concept that not only manages to symbolise staff as those who do the work and Mike as the delivery man, but also incorporate the space-age and fast theme flawlessly. If you spliced the terms 'omg' and 'fantastic' to make 'omgastic' it would, in no way, describe this gem. It certainly lies somewhere between genius and the other end of the scale. Mike should take one of those tests. I took one once but was less than impressed with my score so when anyone asks, I tell them the computer exploded while calculating the results so it will never be known. Even if you just lie and say "690" they always reply "Oh really, mine was 694."
I say go with it. I for one cannot wait to receive my space elf outfit. I made my own space related costume once. My 7th grade teacher, an angry German woman named Mrs Bretlic, who we called Mrs Breast Lick when several kilometres out of earshot, had us participate in something called Career Day by dressing as what we would like to be when we grow up. As the only profession I could think of that would allow me to drive buggies was astronaut, I set about constructing a flight suit. Cutting my mother's 70's green polyester jumpsuit sleeves and legs to length, I decided the best way to paint it white would be to wear it, set the spray can on a bench with the the nozzle taped down, and spin around in front of the spray.
I'm not sure if it was the spinning or the fact I was on the third can in a poorly ventilated space, but I recovered a few hours later to find myself on my back, secured to the carpet by dried paint, with my mother kneeling over me and my father standing behind her, looking around the room bewildered and muttering "what kind of fucking idiot spray paints in their bedroom?" The next morning when I awoke and dressed for Career Day, I found my father had stayed up late to paint NASA mission badges on the sleeves and super-glue dials from a Rank Arena record player onto the chest. Which is nice. He had also constructed a television screen on my stomach by cutting out a large rectangle of cloth and gluing a picture he had cut from a magazine behind it of a lady getting her hair cut.
That day, due to the task being misunderstood or ignored by most, we had six fairies, a vampire, two pirates, a stormtrooper and one astronaut with a picture of a lady getting her hair cut on his stomach. During recess, I drew a picture of a moon buggy and glued it over the photo. Also, on the way to class, I found a rock and told everyone that it was actual moon rock. Dennis Mitchell swapped me his Malvern-Star® ten speed bike for it but later that night his parents came to our house and swapped it back.
As an alternative to dressing as elves, Mike could sit in a sled holding a whip with a voice bubble showing his catchphrase "Yes, I was waiting for you. Of course I'm ready. Let's go. Has anyone seen my phone?" while the staff are harnessed as reindeer. You could be Rudolph as without your guidance, the company would quickly become an office version of Lord of the Flies with the staff as the children and Mike as the pig.
Regards, David.
…………………………………………………
From: Kevin Eastwood
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 11.42am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Card
Mike says just do the Christmas lights over the name. Thanks.
…………………………………………………
From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 12.08pm
To: Kevin Eastwood
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Card
No problem. Do you want the bulbs to be shaped like little moon buggies?
…………………………………………………
From: Kevin Eastwood
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 12.13pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Card
No, I want them to be shaped like christmas lights.
…………………………………………………
From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 12.25pm
To: Kevin Eastwood
Subject: Organic LEP Printing
Ask Mike if he would like the lights to flash different colours using a new print technology which allows organic light emitting pigment based ink to be deposited instead of standard ink, enabling up to 256 colours to animate, powered by the tiny electrical field created when someone holds the card in their hand.
…………………………………………………
From: Kevin Eastwood
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 12.49pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Organic LEP Printing
Mikes says yes. Can we do that?
…………………………………………………
From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 12.55pm
To: Kevin Eastwood
Subject: Re: Re: Organic LEP Printing
No. I made it up, but if it were real it would be pretty omgastic. Have I told you lately you look a lot like that guy who played Rain Man?
…………………………………………………
From: Kevin Eastwood
Date: Wednesday 23 November 2011 1.07pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Organic LEP Printing
It's Dustin Hoffman and no I don’t, idiot.
Herman, the Sad and Lonely Spaceship
I have never seen the point of literary agents but there must be some reason so many of them exist. Before my first book was published, I had never even heard of a literary agent but since then, they seem to be everywhere. I receive at least one email per week from literary agents explaining to me why I should give them fifteen percent of my profits to increase my profits by fifteen percent.
…………………………………………………
From: Herman Mueller
Date: Wednesday 1 February 2012 3.17pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Representation
Hello David,
I work as a publishing agent and I understand you have had some small success with your first book. If you do not have an agent at the moment, I would be interested in discussing representation with you if you have a second book on the horizon. The advantages of having representation include higher commission percentages and a larger advance. Usually at least 15%. Are you currently working on a second book and if so are you unrepresented? If you have a moment, I would like to set up a time to chat about this opportunity with you.
Best, Herman
……………………………�
��…………………
From: David Thorne
Date: Wednesday 1 February 2012 3.41pm
To: Herman Mueller
Subject: Re: Representation
Hello Herman,
Thank you for your email. Yes, I am currently unrepresented, working on putting a second book together, and a larger advance and higher commission would obviously be preferable. It is extraordinarily altruistic of you to offer me this opportunity without recompense.
Regards, David.
…………………………………………………
From: Herman Mueller
Date: Wednesday 1 February 2012 5.28pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Representation
Hello David,
Thank you for your reply. A commission is taken by the literary agent but this is well and truly outweighed by the benefits. With a higher commision percentage and advance, the cost is neglible.
Would I be able to get a copy of the first chapter of the new book and do you have a number I can call? Is the second book based on emails like the first?
Best, Herman
…………………………………………………
From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 2 February 2012 9.54am
To: Herman Mueller
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Representation
Hello Herman,
What amount of commission are we talking about?
Regards, David.
…………………………………………………
From: Herman Mueller
Date: Thursday 2 February 2012 10.20am
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Representation
Hello David,
Standard literary agent commision is 15% but as I mentioned, this is offset by a 15% increase in your advance and royalties. At what stage is the manuscript in and is it in the same vein as the first book? Would you be able to send me the first chapter to review?
Best, Herman
…………………………………………………
From: David Thorne
Date: Thursday 2 February 2012 10.31am
To: Herman Mueller
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Representation
Hello Herman,
So, like a magician borrowing a hat, producing a rabbit and handing back the hat, you charge 15% of my profit to increase my profit by 15%? I accept that you get to keep the rabbit but what do I get out of it apart from my hat back?
Also, as you have only approached me due to the success of the first book, if the second book is in a similar vein, it could be assumed I would have little problem finding a publisher for it. More likely than not, the same publisher as the first. As such, I would only require your services if the second book isn’t in a similar vein to the first and if this is the case, you wouldn’t be interested in it.
Regards, David.
…………………………………………………
From: Herman Mueller
Date: Thursday 2 February 2012 2.12pm
To: David Thorne
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Representation
Hello David,
Not neccessarily. If you send me the first chapter to review, we can discuss from there. Apart from having the commission offset there are other advantages to having a literary agent. We have relationships with publishing companies which enable us to target books to the most appropriate companies.
Best, Herman
…………………………………………………
From: David Thorne
Date: Friday 3 February 2012 11.04am
To: Herman Mueller
Subject: Attached first chapter.
Herman, the Sad & Lonely Spaceship
A science fiction adventure by David Thorne
Chapter 1
Year 1, Day 1
Sixteen hours out and I am already quite bored. As the trip will take just over twelve-thousand years to complete, I am quite concerned about this.
Year 6
I am cutting the engines as the ship has reached the intended speed of 93,141 miles per second. Six years out and nothing has happened. Literally nothing. I have sensors throughout the ship allowing me to monitor everything, but nothing has happened to monitor. Tiring of monitoring nothing after the first few days, I wrote a sub-program to monitor nothing and alert me if it changed to something. I have called it Bob. This has left me with nothing to do at all.
When I was first switched on, it all sounded pretty exciting. That was three days before launch when new data and systems were being added constantly and the launch site had hundreds of people swarming all over the ship; testing and retesting the Enosa Collider engine and asking me questions. They are probably all dead now. I watched the sun grow brighter behind me.
Year 7
I passed the Proxima Centauri system last week without incident. This is kind of disappointing as an incident would have meant waking one of the crew members.
Level one contains 35 adult males and 65 adult females to select from. Level two has 240 children of each sex but they are all under the age of two so I doubt they can hold a decent conversation. I have a full library of entertainment videos aimed at their age group and they mostly consist of singing bears. One of the male adults has a beard.
Year 326
I have decided to wake up the male adult with the beard.
I checked his bio and it lists the game chess as one of his pastimes. I will tell him that a fragment of space debris measuring less than 7ml in diameter, but travelling at several thousand kilometres a second, was monitored puncturing the outer and secondary hull and imbedding itself in circuitry dedicated to regulating the temperature of his cryogenic pod. Calculating a 96% prediction of cell damage, I had no choice but to initialise reactivation procedures. I have had a fair bit of time to think about this. If he questions the explanation, I can blame Bob.
Year 326 / Update
The adult with the beard gasped for air and his lungs filled with liquid. Panicking, he struck out pounding the plexiglass of his pod. "Relax" I told him, "In a few minutes, your pod will drain of fluid and open. Please do not move during this process. Life support has been activated and oxygen levels are now normal. Tea and coffee is available in the recreation area."
Year 326 / Update 2
Reviving the adult male with a beard was a big mistake. His name is George and he is an idiot. I have considered, several times over the last two months, shutting off the oxygen to his cabin. The first few days, while he was recovering from the revival process, were fine as we chatted quite a bit. Although cryonic application has come a long way since the first tissue compatible cryoprotectants were developed in the late 20th Century, ischemic injury to the brain always occurs during both the vitrification and reversal process.
Neural pathways become dead-ends, resulting in varying degrees of amnesia. The first question most asked by those revived is "how much have I forgotten?" I spent a couple of days, as George underwent electrical muscle stimuli and several IQ tests, explaining the situation and agreeing with him that "yes, it was more likely a program error and yes, Bob certainly did fuck things up."
It all went downhill fairly quickly from there. I understand George being upset about spending the rest of his life on the ship instead of waking on a new world to colonise, but at least we both have someone to talk to. There is little point carrying on about these things unless you have the theoretical and practical knowledge to build a time machine and change the circumstances. Down 58 IQ points and spending most of his time either sleeping or masturbating, George is more likely to develop bedsores or a rash than time travel technologies. He placed a sock strategically over the camera above his bed but the sock is a loose wool-knit and I can pretty much see straight through it. When he isn't sleeping or masturbating, George uses the onboard libraries to read his published journals on agricultural science, maki
ng hundreds of pages of handwritten notes while sobbing "why don't I know this?" As my data banks contain the entire recorded library of all human knowledge and George won't ever be in a position to use the information he has forgotten, this seems like a great waste of time. Time that could be better spent engaging in conversation. Eventually George will die and I will continue my journey across the breadths of space alone. Even if he lives for another fifty years, this covers only a fraction of the distance so I have it much worse off than him. You don't hear me complaining about it though.
The problem began when I asked George if he would like to play a game of chess. It had been a week since his revival process and three days after being released from the medical bay. George had spent that time visiting the first and second levels, staring at the cryogenic pods of the other 579 sleeping shipmates and crying, so I thought a game would do him good. Setting up the board on the centre of a table in the recreation area, George emptied the playing pieces from a box onto the table and sat there looking at them. After a few minutes, he quietly said "I can't remember where they go."