Suburbia, yes, reddish sky at night, yes, but what else might it be?
For just a moment, close your eyes, toss away everything you might accept as normal, and then, after a minute, open them again, and look at the photo with a new perspective.
Imagine…
It took two days for the dust to settle, figuratively and literally.
We heard screaming jet fighters overhead, followed by multiple explosions, then nothing but smoke and ash. We assumed one of the jets had crashed.
Two days the media was saying it was an unfortunate accident.
On the third day, we discovered it was the result of multiple missile strikes on our power stations and oil refineries. The jets had arrived too late to stop the attack.
And we only found out because an Army officer who lived in our street came home to collect his family and told us to leave, go anywhere but stay in the city.
The ash in the air was going to get worse, the sun was going to disappear altogether, and, well, he didn’t stay long enough to tell us the rest, but already the air was almost unbreathable.
But the leaving was easy, just take what we could in the car. The problem was, everyone had the same idea, and by the time we reached the highway, it was a virtual carpark.
By then, it was day four.
That’s when the bombs started to fall.
It might not be an exact match for the photo, but that was the idea that came from it.
I’m sure there could be a far simpler and more pleasant story to be told.
I had so many things planned, those little bits and pieces that seem to get away from you.
It’s now Thursday night, and I have only just come back to this post to write some more or maybe finish it, but that should give you some idea of how easy simple things can get away from me.
To fill in the gaps in the story, I started to make a list of those bits and pieces, and that was the first mistake.
I frightened myself.
Tuesday disappeared in writing down what was on my writing slate. For instance,
Episodes 11 to 15 of the murder story, because my characters are having a fight in my head
The treasure hunt story is done, just needs a few tweaks
Episode 47 of the Castello di Brolio story, where the Germans are about to find themselves on the wrong end of the war
Episode 1 of the WW2 story – this has a start, but is it Episode 1? What bothers me is that I wrote some of this on the plane, but it disappeared somewhere, so I’m not sure when this may get done.
Writing instead of insomnia is actually giving me insomnia
Episodes 151 through 177 of Being Inspired, Maybe – Volume 4. This is a series of photographs, and the story inspired by them. Volume 3 is at first draft, and the photos are being associated with the stories.
Just about finished editing Volume 2, and I’m about to publish Volume 1.
Episodes 60 through 63 of PI Walthenson’s second case, new additions to the story, and although there is a title, the jury’s still out on whether it’ll be adopted. There’s an interesting dynamic developing between the son and the mother, a woman whom he is discovering to be nothing like the one he thought he knew.
And, don’t get me started on where I am with Strangers We’ve Become, I just finished the 10th read and edit. The book is done, but rereading told me, or the cat did far more emphatically, there are a few gaps. This needs to get done, and I need to ‘stick the courage to the sticking point’.
Wednesday arrived, and I was looking at the list, wondering what I was going to do next and realised that I’d been putting off writing the next few posts on the travelling blog, which desperately need to be done.
Scoring the Void: What Hans Zimmer’s “Detach” Teaches Us About Crafting Sci-Fi Plotlines
If you have ever stared up at the night sky and felt a chilling mix of awe and absolute insignificance, you’ve likely experienced the exact emotional frequency of Hans Zimmer’s track “Detach” from the Interstellar original motion picture soundtrack.
Building slowly from a mournful, solitary organ into a towering, overwhelming wall of brass and cascading synth, the track isn’t just background music—it’s a masterclass in narrative tension. For writers, filmmakers, and creators, listening to “Detach” is akin to staring at a blank canvas with a loaded brush. It begs a question: What kind of story does this song demand to be told?
If you were to build an entire narrative arc, a novel, or a cinematic plotline inspired solely by the emotional trajectory of “Detach,” here is the blueprint of the story you would write.
The Premise: The Architecture of Isolation
Primary Theme: Sacrifice, duty, and the inescapable passage of time.
Genre: Hard Science Fiction / Existential Thriller
Tone: Melancholic, relentless, awe-inspiring, and ultimately transcendent.
To match the sonic landscape of “Detach,” your protagonist cannot merely be fighting for survival against aliens or laser-toting empires. They must be fighting against physics itself.
Act I: The Quiet Desperation (0:00 – 1:00)
The track begins with a slow, trembling organ melody. It feels like breathing in a cold, air-locked room. There is space between the notes—vast, echoing space.
The Plot Setup: We open on a dying colony ship or a lone research station at the edge of known space. Let’s call our protagonist Elena, a veteran terraforming engineer. Earth is a distant, unrecoverable memory, and the last viable biosphere project has just suffered a catastrophic failure.
The opening chapters mirror the opening notes of the song: quiet, methodical, and heavy with dread. Elena isn’t running from a monster; she is managing a slow-motion extinction event. The plot here is intimate. We watch her calibrate instruments in absolute silence, communicating with an automated AI system that has begun to mimic human grief. The conflict is internal: How do you keep working when you know the math doesn’t add up?
Act II: The Cascade and the Choice (1:01 – 2:30)
The music begins to swell. Additional layers fold into the composition. The rhythm picks up, mimicking a ticking clock—or a frantic heartbeat. The organ grows urgent, refusing to let you look away.
The Plot Escalation: A breakthrough occurs, but it comes with a devastating catch. Elena discovers a way to send a fully viable seed-vault of human DNA and planetary data through a gravitational slingshot toward a habitable zone. However, the vessel carrying the data is too heavy to make the jump with a pilot on board.
Worse yet, the launch window is opening now, and the automated guidance system has been fried by cosmic radiation. Someone has to manually override the thrusters from inside the launch chamber—knowing the radiation exposure and the gravitational G-force will be immediately fatal.
This is the narrative translation of the song’s title: Detachment.
The plot pivots from a survival story into a philosophical dilemma. Elena must choose between clinging to her remaining years of solitary life or severing her final ties to humanity to give the species one last, desperate shot at a future.
Act III: The Horizon Event (2:31 – End)
The music explodes. The gentle organ transforms into a roaring, majestic tidal wave of sound. It is terrifying, yet strangely beautiful—like watching a supernova.
The Climax and Resolution: Elena locks herself inside the payload bay. As the countdown reaches zero, the visual and narrative descriptions mirror the overwhelming crescendo of the Zimmer track.
There are no last-minute hero tropes here. No miraculous escape pods. The plot honors the gravity of the music. Elena manually initiates the launch sequence. We experience her final moments not through despair, but through profound clarity. As the ship tears away from the station and plunges into the cosmic abyss, she watches the data packet successfully clear the gravitational threshold.
The story ends not with death, but with momentum. The final fade-out of the song leaves us floating in the silence of deep space, knowing that a piece of us has made it to the other side.
Why This Plotline Works (An SEO & Storytelling Breakdown)
If you are a writer looking to use music as a wellspring for outlining your next manuscript, studying tracks like “Detach” reveals the power of emotional pacing:
Start Small, End Vast: Great sci-fi plotlines start with intimate human stakes before scaling up to cosmic proportions.
Embrace the Inevitable: Not all plots require a happy, Hollywood ending. Sometimes, a plot driven by sacrifice offers a much higher emotional return for the reader.
Let the Soundtrack Dictate the Pacing: Use the crescendos of your favourite instrumental tracks to map out your story’s beat sheet. Where does the organ start playing faster? That’s your inciting incident. Where does the wall of sound hit? That’s your climax.
Your Turn to Write
Music is a portal to worlds we haven’t visited yet. The next time you need inspiration for a sci-fi masterpiece or a dramatic turning point in your current manuscript, put on Hans Zimmer’s Interstellar score, close your eyes, and ask yourself: What am I ready to detach from?
What kind of story does “Detach” bring to your mind? Let us know your plot ideas in the comments below
Is that a video game on the computer, or is that a board game with friends?
In reality, I didn’t play games with friends because I’m a poor loser. Especially monopoly.
But to play a game often means you take on a persona or a role, as one, or one of many.
Personally, I like role-playing games like Dungeons and Dragons.
I’m going to a play
This is a stage production of a scripted story with various people in roles.
A play can have a star, a lead actor in a pivotal role, to draw in the viewers
I’ve been to good plays and bad ones with great actors and some not-so-great ones.
A play can be hard to understand, it can be a musical with singing and dancing, or it can be rollicking good fun where the audience dances in their seats.
The worst play I ever saw was Dr Zhivago; it never seemed to end.
The best play, The Pyjama Game, with John Inman from Are You Being Served, a British comedy TV show.
I’m going to play the game
There’s a slight difference between this and the first example because it means instead of doing something your own way, you’re going to do what everyone else does, prompting the analogy, you’re going to fight fire with fire.
Yep, even the explanations can be confusing. You have to love the English language for being that.
I’m going to play a role
So many connotations to this one. For instance, I’m going to be someone I’m not. If I’m a kind person, then I’m going to pretend I’m mean.
I’m going to join a group of like-minded people and help further their cause, that is to say, together we changed the course of history, and I had a role in that.
Let’s hope it was for the betterment of mankind and not a leap towards infamy.
And of course, if you play a part in a play, it means you are pretending to be someone else. I like the idea of playing God, but that’s usually the lead actor; I’m usually the janitor, servant, or just plain dogsbody.
How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect them.
In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.
I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.
Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.
There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.
Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.
It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.
For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.
It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!
Scoring the Void: What Hans Zimmer’s “Detach” Teaches Us About Crafting Sci-Fi Plotlines
If you have ever stared up at the night sky and felt a chilling mix of awe and absolute insignificance, you’ve likely experienced the exact emotional frequency of Hans Zimmer’s track “Detach” from the Interstellar original motion picture soundtrack.
Building slowly from a mournful, solitary organ into a towering, overwhelming wall of brass and cascading synth, the track isn’t just background music—it’s a masterclass in narrative tension. For writers, filmmakers, and creators, listening to “Detach” is akin to staring at a blank canvas with a loaded brush. It begs a question: What kind of story does this song demand to be told?
If you were to build an entire narrative arc, a novel, or a cinematic plotline inspired solely by the emotional trajectory of “Detach,” here is the blueprint of the story you would write.
The Premise: The Architecture of Isolation
Primary Theme: Sacrifice, duty, and the inescapable passage of time.
Genre: Hard Science Fiction / Existential Thriller
Tone: Melancholic, relentless, awe-inspiring, and ultimately transcendent.
To match the sonic landscape of “Detach,” your protagonist cannot merely be fighting for survival against aliens or laser-toting empires. They must be fighting against physics itself.
Act I: The Quiet Desperation (0:00 – 1:00)
The track begins with a slow, trembling organ melody. It feels like breathing in a cold, air-locked room. There is space between the notes—vast, echoing space.
The Plot Setup: We open on a dying colony ship or a lone research station at the edge of known space. Let’s call our protagonist Elena, a veteran terraforming engineer. Earth is a distant, unrecoverable memory, and the last viable biosphere project has just suffered a catastrophic failure.
The opening chapters mirror the opening notes of the song: quiet, methodical, and heavy with dread. Elena isn’t running from a monster; she is managing a slow-motion extinction event. The plot here is intimate. We watch her calibrate instruments in absolute silence, communicating with an automated AI system that has begun to mimic human grief. The conflict is internal: How do you keep working when you know the math doesn’t add up?
Act II: The Cascade and the Choice (1:01 – 2:30)
The music begins to swell. Additional layers fold into the composition. The rhythm picks up, mimicking a ticking clock—or a frantic heartbeat. The organ grows urgent, refusing to let you look away.
The Plot Escalation: A breakthrough occurs, but it comes with a devastating catch. Elena discovers a way to send a fully viable seed-vault of human DNA and planetary data through a gravitational slingshot toward a habitable zone. However, the vessel carrying the data is too heavy to make the jump with a pilot on board.
Worse yet, the launch window is opening now, and the automated guidance system has been fried by cosmic radiation. Someone has to manually override the thrusters from inside the launch chamber—knowing the radiation exposure and the gravitational G-force will be immediately fatal.
This is the narrative translation of the song’s title: Detachment.
The plot pivots from a survival story into a philosophical dilemma. Elena must choose between clinging to her remaining years of solitary life or severing her final ties to humanity to give the species one last, desperate shot at a future.
Act III: The Horizon Event (2:31 – End)
The music explodes. The gentle organ transforms into a roaring, majestic tidal wave of sound. It is terrifying, yet strangely beautiful—like watching a supernova.
The Climax and Resolution: Elena locks herself inside the payload bay. As the countdown reaches zero, the visual and narrative descriptions mirror the overwhelming crescendo of the Zimmer track.
There are no last-minute hero tropes here. No miraculous escape pods. The plot honors the gravity of the music. Elena manually initiates the launch sequence. We experience her final moments not through despair, but through profound clarity. As the ship tears away from the station and plunges into the cosmic abyss, she watches the data packet successfully clear the gravitational threshold.
The story ends not with death, but with momentum. The final fade-out of the song leaves us floating in the silence of deep space, knowing that a piece of us has made it to the other side.
Why This Plotline Works (An SEO & Storytelling Breakdown)
If you are a writer looking to use music as a wellspring for outlining your next manuscript, studying tracks like “Detach” reveals the power of emotional pacing:
Start Small, End Vast: Great sci-fi plotlines start with intimate human stakes before scaling up to cosmic proportions.
Embrace the Inevitable: Not all plots require a happy, Hollywood ending. Sometimes, a plot driven by sacrifice offers a much higher emotional return for the reader.
Let the Soundtrack Dictate the Pacing: Use the crescendos of your favourite instrumental tracks to map out your story’s beat sheet. Where does the organ start playing faster? That’s your inciting incident. Where does the wall of sound hit? That’s your climax.
Your Turn to Write
Music is a portal to worlds we haven’t visited yet. The next time you need inspiration for a sci-fi masterpiece or a dramatic turning point in your current manuscript, put on Hans Zimmer’s Interstellar score, close your eyes, and ask yourself: What am I ready to detach from?
What kind of story does “Detach” bring to your mind? Let us know your plot ideas in the comments below
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly, he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
I waited until her surveillance disappeared from view, then considered what to do next, or whether I’d created a problem for Juliet. I had no doubt she would be informed of my intervention, so it would probably be better for me to chance upon her than the other way around and take it from there.
After watching her sip her coffee and take in the passing tourist traffic for a few minutes, I headed toward her.
And, with the right amount of surprise in my tone, I said, as I reached her and she turned to see who it was, “I recognize you, you’re Juliet, the doctor.”
She seemed genuinely shocked to see me, and immediately cast a glance over to the table where Giuseppe had been sitting, then, not seeing him, frantically looked around to see if he had moved.
“If you’re looking for a creepy-looking guy, I sent him packing. I saw him watching you, so I threatened to get the police onto him. I’m sure I could convince them he was part of a team of kidnappers.”
“You’re joking.”
She sounded horrified, which was either the result of very good acting, or she was in fact horrified that I’d tackle him.
“May I sit?” I was starting to feel a little self-conscious standing in full view of everyone.
“Of course. This is a pleasant and very unexpected surprise.”
I sat. Clearly, she was not going to say why she was really in Venice, but a few harmless questions were in order, just to see how far she would bend the truth.
A waiter came and I ordered black coffee. After he left I threw out the opening gambit. “So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like Venice?”
Her expression changed to one of bewilderment. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve heard from so many visitors that this place is easy to get lost in, and you appear to be alone. Just over-active curiosity.”
I realized that she might be offended, whether referring to her as a ‘nice girl’ or that she might get lost.
“I could ask the same.” A frown, and brittle tone. Perhaps it was better this way, and she would have to work harder in getting us together, though insulting her, if that was what she thought it was, hadn’t been my intention.
“That’s easy, I’m living here at the present time.”
“Living here?” Brittle turned to astonishment.
“Yes, I have apartments in a few different cities, and I like to keep moving. Venice is my current choice of city.”
“Then you’re not likely to get lost.”
Yes, a little dig, probably deserved. “Not often but I have a few times in the past.” But, back to the interrogation, “here for a visit, on a cruise ship passing through, or with purpose?”
With a subtle look up and down, and a moment’s silence, I had enough time to think about what she was making of my sudden appearance, and how fortunate, or unfortunate, it might be.
Time enough to throw away the bad thoughts, and move on.
“I’m staying in a quaint hotel overlooking the Canal.”
I bit my tongue before I could say ‘I know’.
“It can be a bit busy along there at times, but you’ll be close to a few good restaurants. I can recommend a gondola ride if you get the right man. And if you want to go anywhere, take the Vaporetto, the water taxis are very expensive.”
My coffee arrived, and while I thanked the waitress, she digested the information, and its intent, that I was not going to show her around.
I also took out the phone with the gadgets and put it on the table. A few seconds later it vibrated, and rippling rings showed on the screen, a sigh there was a transmitter nearby. Her phone was not far away.
She saw the blue rings. “That’s an unusual ring tone.”
“Oh, that. Not a ringtone. A friend of mine is paranoid his wife’s tracking him, so he’s got all this stuff on his phone to track the trackers.” I looked around at the others sitting nearby. “Someone’s got a transmitting device nearby.”
“Wouldn’t a normal microphone set it off?”
She was remarkably calm for someone whose phone was setting it off. Had Larry given her a phone and not tell her of its significance. Knowing him, he probably didn’t trust her to report seeing me. And it would be better if she didn’t know, she could react to any accusation just as she was now.
“I asked him that but apparently if the phone is recording data and relaying it, it will set it off.”
She looked around also. There were at least five people nearby on their phones, some even with others sitting at the table. Smartphones literally were conversation killers.
Then she simply shrugged. “Why would you need to know if someone was relaying information?”
Good question. There was no indignation in the question, just curiosity.
“That’s my security chief, he is the sort of man who suspects everyone of something until proven innocent.”
“You need a security chief?” More surprise.
“You never know who’s lurking in the shadows, and I am worth a fair bit, so I can only travel with security. They’re out there, on the perimeter where even I can’t see them.”
“Wasn’t that what you did once, when I first met you?”
“Me? No, At that time I was running a desk and made the mistake of going into the field to follow a hunch. Always in the background, never in the line of fire. Anyway, after that, I quit and moved into software development. My family always had money and I had to do something with it, and, luckily, I backed a winner. Happily married until Violetta died recently, and now, trying to move on. How about you?”
Another chance for her to tell me the truth, or a version of it.
“A doctor until I wasn’t. I didn’t cope well with long shifts and a thankless work environment. I made a few bad choices. This is the new me, past that chapter. I thought I’d lose myself in Europe to celebrate my sobriety, and, here I am.”
My phone beeped twice, the result of an alarm I set earlier, to remind me to call Alfie.
She looked at it, and then at me.
I shrugged. “Business, even when I retired. I have to go, but maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
I stood. “Nice seeing you again.” I gave her no option to join me.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
“We’re being hailed,” the communications officer said in her matter-of-fact tone.
“Not an alien then?”
The moment I said it, it sounded inappropriate.
“Definitely human, with an accent.”
I was not sure what I was expected to make of that.
“On screen.”
A bridge, not dissimilar to ours appeared, with the captain, or the person I assumed to be captain, standing in front of his chair.
“Whom am I addressing?” He asked.
I gave him my name, the ship, who we were, standard name, rank, and serial number stuff as per regulations.
“Where is the previous Captain?”
He seemed to have information about us, if not recent.
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
OK, I didn’t think he was coming just to make small talk.
“Ship slowing, no signs of weapons charging,” I saw pop up on the screen. In situations like this, best not to communicate when there’s an open communication session.
Then, a new notice, “second ship following the first, moving at the same spot, arrival time 18 minutes.”
I looked at the inset on the master screen, and even at that distance and low-quality magnification, it definitely didn’t look like anything in our fleet.
It begged the question, were they running away?
“Are you alone?”
“No. But it’s not one of our ships.”
Not very helpful.
“I suggest you turn around and go back,” he added.
I saw him turn, as if someone beside him had spoken, or gestured.
“Sorry. We have to go. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
“Who are they?”
“People you don’t want to meet.”
The screen went back to being a window, and the vessel we’d just been in communication with came clearly into view, then vanished.
It was larger than our ship, but more streamlined, my first thought, like a sleek racing car.
“It seems we’re about to have our first encounter. Number one, stay on the highest alert, the rest of the crew, battle stations, quick as you can.”
To the navigator, “Did we get anything on that ship, scans, personnel, weapons, engines, anything?”
“A little. We can go through it later. If we’re still in one piece.”
If the oncoming ship was alien, it was an unknown quantity, and the navigator could be forgiven for thinking we might not be able to defend ourselves. Questions we should have asked the other ship were plentiful, and the surprise it caused caught us all offside when I should have been the exception.
There would be time later to analyze everything we did wrong, what I did wrong
Hopefully.
The alien ship was no longer a blurry blob in the distance, but an oddly shaped ship that bore similarities to our own.
I could only guess at the lifeforms aboard if there were any. It was a moment of thrill, fear, and intense expectation.
Those last few minutes of waiting disappeared as though they were seconds, and suddenly it was opposite us, in space, on station maintaining its distance. I had us brought to a stop after the other ship left, but in a state of instant readiness to depart just in case we were fired upon.
I was banking on the fact the aliens might be as curious about us as we were about them.
“Can we communicate with that vessel,” I asked, turning the senior communications officer, now on the bridge at the comms station.
“You can speak to them; we have all means of external communication open.”
He didn’t add that they might not understand what I said.
I shrugged. “We are from the planet Earth on a voyage of exploration and discovery with no other agenda other than to meet and talk to other civilizations.”
It sounded quite strange listening to a somewhat stumbling and unrehearsed greeting that was to be our first words to an alien species. I hoped that our credibility didn’t rest of those words.”
Silence.
“Any detectable activity aboard their ship?”
“Our scanners can’t penetrate their hull. Nothing noteworthy outside the hull, but, then, if we don’t know what we’re looking for…”
“We know where you are from and who you are.”
It was a crackling rendition, the sort of sounds I’d expect from a vintage radio broadcast.”
I looked at the comms officer.
“An ancient radio frequency once associated with AM radio, sir, 812 megahertz.”
Did that mean we were more advanced than them? I didn’t think so.
“Who am I addressing?”
This time the silence was broken by crackling, and what sounded like a tape recorder fast-forwarding. This went on for about five minutes.
Then, much stronger, and clearer, “Who I am is irrelevant. If you have similar intentions as the vessel before you, I strongly suggest you turn around and go back to your own galaxy.”
“They’ve moved to FM sir, not sure why they’re using such old technology”, the comms officer said quietly.
Two things popped into my head; from that proverbial left field, I once heard a language professor once pontificate on. The first, was from a scientist at the space training facility on what an alien race mighttry to communicate with us on, and that in his opinion would be the band waves we had been sending out into space for years. AM and FM in that context made perfect sense.
The second: how did an alien speak such good English?
“We have not, though I suspect that will not allay your fears. All humans, which is what we call ourselves, are not the same.”
“Yet your ship carries weapons.”
“For defense. If we are attacked, we will respond. I would expect no less from you.”
There was a minute or so of silence, time I was guessing for my counterpart to formulate his next move.
It came sooner than I expected.
A humanoid form appeared, not exactly like us, but much the same as the early humanoid robots we created at the start of our foray into robotics and for that matter AI.
“We have had much interaction with your kind, one way or another, and it has always ended badly. If you have no ill intentions towards up, will you accompany me back to my ship? I assure you, and your crew I have no ill intentions.”
It would be a huge leap of faith.
Number one, you have the ship. I’m going to take a short trip to the other vessel.”
“You should take a crew member, as per protocol.”
Yes, the instruction. If we were to were to meet an alien, it was not to go with them without one or more crew members.
“Unfortunately, he’s a stickler for regulations. I must go with another crew member, just in case.”
I didn’t add the ‘harm cones to me, and retribution will be meted out.’ I didn’t think at this delicate stage that would fly.
“No weapons then.”
“No weapons. Nancy Woolmer to the bridge immediately.”
She arrived within five minutes, and the moment she was in proximity, we were, I assumed, beamed aboard his ship.
