"EMT" Science Fiction Novelette — Up and Live


Emergency Medical services on the Moon present new challenges, not all of which come with the territory. Kristine is an EMT in the Lunar Ambulance Service. Budget cuts and inadequate equipment make it increasingly difficult for her to do her job. William Schneider is finding that some of his subordinates have ideas of their own, ideas contrary to the corporate philosophy he is building, ideas that lead to shortcuts and trading lives for money. They find themselves riding their problems on a collision course to avoid disaster. 
Excerpt:
     At touchdown, Kristine performed the three step sequence that opened the sealed door, three steps that could be performed quickly if needed but that would not occur by accident.
     Below them a small group of construction workers clustered around an inflated emergency sack.
     “All set, Kris,” John said behind her.
     Kristine turned and saw that he had freed one of the stretchers from its wall mount. “Right,” she said and clasped hold of the hand bar at her end.
     Together, she and John wrestled the stretcher down the ladder.  Its oversized wheels bobbed easily over the lunar dust.
     “Here he is, Doctor,” one of the construction workers said.
     Kristine grimaced at that.  No matter how many times she had tried to explain to these people, they insisted on calling her “doctor.” She was not a doctor; she was an EMT.
     “Make room,” she said to the assembled construction workers as she wheeled the stretcher alongside the injured man.
     “OK, John,” she said. “Into the stretcher.”
     He nodded.  Working together, they popped open the latches for the stretcher lid.
     The stretcher was specially designed for work in vacuum.  It consisted of a tempered glass tube, hinged on one side and latched on the other.  Rescue workers could place person into it and bring him under pressure far faster than they could move him into the ambulance.  To allow workers to treat a patient, a number of gloves of jointed metal plates protruded inward from the wall.  The interior of the stretcher was already equipped with the most commonly needed supplies.  An airlock at the head could allow workers to pass others inside.
     With the stretcher open, Kristine knelt at the head of the injured man so that he was between her and the stretcher.  John knelt just below his hips.  Kristine placed her right arm where the man’s helmet showed through the transparent material of the emergency sack and, with her other, reached across under his waist until her hand extended beyond.  John placed his left under the man’s knees and with his right grasped Kristine’s extended left hand.
     “On three,” Kristine said. “One…two…three.”
     At “three” they lifted together and gently set the injured man into the stretcher.  Still working as one, they slapped the lid shut and fastened the latches.
     “Check or move?” John asked.
     “He going to be all right?” one of the others asked.
     Kristine looked up.  The others had gathered around again.
     “Get back,” she said, waving them away.  To John, she said, “Check.  I don’t like the look of him.  That’s an awful lot of blood.”
     John nodded. “Gotcha.” He stuck his hands into the glove set at the foot of the stretcher and took the ripper from its bracket.  Using the specially designed power tool, John trading off with Kristine when he reached the limit of reach of a particular set of gloves, the two of them quickly sliced open the emergency sack.  The suit went next, exposing the body of the injured man.
     “He’s still bleeding,” John said as the injured leg came into view.
     “Get pressure on the wound,” Kristine said. “I’ll check the vitals.”
     Fumbling in the gloves, John managed to grab a gauze pad from the storage bin and pressed it against the man’s torn thigh.  It took both hands to cover the wound.
Kristine wrapped the blood pressure cuff around the man’s left arm.  She hit the switch to start taking readings while she strapped the O2 mask over his face.
     “Pulse 125,” she read, “BP 80 over 30.  Respiration fast and shallow.”
     “Shit,” John said. “He’s going into shock.”
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00IH6VA4Y/ref=as_li_tf_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B00IH6VA4Y&linkCode=as2&tag=coldserv09-20

Available from Amazon or Smashwords.

Epublishing my first story–the process.

Back when I first started writing the way things worked was that you wrote a story, sent it out to markets for that kind of story (one at a time) and if none of those markets bought it, you stored it (called “in the trunk”) and hoped that another market might open up that would let you sell some of these “trunk stories” down the road.

There are many reasons why a story might not sell having nothing to do with whether or not its a bad story (although, let’s be honest, many are).  You might have sent him the second best “retro-DNA-zombie story” he got that month.  But, well, it’s the best one that gets the nod.  Or you may simply be the seventh best story that month and he’s only got six slots.  Or maybe you have an 8,000 word story and the editor needs to fill a 6,000 word slot (or the other way, has to fill a 10,000 word slot and finding a good 2000 word story is hard).  Or (this one is a real “sucks to be you”) your story may actually be slightly better in some way than story by Big Name Author, but Big Name Author’s name on the cover will sell more magazines or books and, well, business reasons also have to factor in the choices editors make.

Nowadays, however, there are alternatives.  With the rise of self-publishing, particularly electronic publishing, these stories that did not find a home in professional publications don’t have to languish in the trunk hoping for some future market to give them a home.  Authors can put them out themselves.

That means a lot of good stories that otherwise would never see the light of day can find readers.  Of course that also means that a lot of really, really bad stories will also be out there for people to wade through to find the good ones.

So, I had a story.  It had made the rounds of the professional paying markets.  It garnered some nice comments on the way but all amounted to “thanks but no thanks; does not suit our needs at this time”.

At that point I had to think:  was the story just that bad or was this a reasonably good story that folk might enjoy enough to pay for the privilege.  Well, I had had those nice comments along the way.  Editors don’t waste them.  If they say “this was a good story but…” they mean just that.  Form rejections may be politely worded, but beyond that editors do not sugar-coat their responses.  If your story was utter dreck they’d just drop in the form response and move on.

So, I had that.  I also had the responses of my beta-readers before sending it out in the first place.  Some of those beta readers were published authors themselves and they were specifically looking for problems.  That’s what a “beta reader” is for.  If a beta reader just says “I liked it” or something similar, don’t use them as a beta reader.  So while my beta readers found problems, they were things I could, and did, address in revision.

So after thinking it over, I decided that I still believed in the story.  I still thought I had a pretty decent story there that just didn’t fit the current market’s “needs”.

The story was titled “Live to Tell.” It was a story, set in the relatively far future, of a soldier suffering from Post Traumatic Stress who is thrust into a situation tailor made to trigger his worst nightmares.  Military SF, particularly in the shorter lengths (this one was about 8500 words), can be a hard sell and that was certainly one stroke against it in the professional market.  And most anthologies on Military SF that I had seen were fairly tightly themed.  The likelihood of my coming across one for which this story would be a good fit seemed remote.

So, I decided to go Indy with it and publish it myself as a short ebook.

I looked at my options and decided to go first with Smashwords since that allowed me to do the work once and it would go out to many vendors.  At a friend’s suggestions I also did Kindle Direct Publishing myself.

First step was to download Smashwords’ style guide read it, then have it open for reference while preparing the manuscript.

I won’t go into the specific formatting.  I followed the style guide slavishly.

In addition to formatting the text, I also wrote some short front matter (copyright notice, table of contents, license information) an “about the author” section, and a list of other works with a link to my “My Titles for Sale” page on this blog.

In parallel with the above work, I had to decide on a cover.  There is a site, Dreamstime, that has a great many royalty free pictures for sale.  I searched there and found one that appealed to me, seemed to suit the story, and was not too expensive. (This is a short.  I don’t want to spend more on cover art than I make back in royalties.)

So, cover art selected I cropped and scaled to size (target size 1600X2400 pixels) layered on the title and author name choosing big, bold fonts that would be easy to read, and saved the image as a jpg.

This was the result:

With the text and cover now prepared, I was ready to upload.  And in uploading, I discovered that there was still a bit more to do.  Smashwords wanted two descriptions:  a very short one, and a somewhat longer one.

So the very brief one:
“Staff Sergeant Mike Yamada must overcome his worst nightmares as he faces recapture by the alien Eres forces.”

And the somewhat longer one:
“When the star traveling Hospital Ship Mercy is captured by an Eres task force, Staff Sergeant Mike Yamada must overcome Post Traumatic Stress and face his worst nightmares returned. Alone among the complement of the Mercy, he has been an Eres prisoner before and only he knows the true horror that awaits if they do not somehow escape.”

And that completed the Smashwords upload.  Their auto check program, called “autovetter” found no problems and the story soon went “live” on Smashwords (as of this writing I am still waiting for it to go live on other venders).  With that done, I turned to Kindle Direct Publishing.  A few edits to remove references to “smashwords edition” from the text and I was able to use the same file and cover I had created for Smashwords.  The Kindle edition went live within a few hours of uploading and was already making sales before the day was out.

You can find them here:

Smashwords:  Live to Tell.

Amazon:

And that’s the story of how I became a self-published author.

Bragging on my daughter

After picking up my daughter at daycare yesterday, she told me, without prompting, that she thought the best melee weapon for a zombie apocalypse was a spiked club. The reasons she gave is that one is easy to fabricate from a piece of wood, a hammer, and some nails and that that it’s relatively easy to drive the spikes into the brain stem. Okay, she didn’t use the term “brain stem” but she pointed to the spot. She said “that was the way you killed zombies.” Hammers and mallets, she said, would cause too much “spatter” in doing enough damage and you’d be more likely to get infected.

She asked what I thought were the best weapons and we discussed zombie killing weapons during the ride home.

For melee, I like a battle axe or kukri (depending on how close the quarters are. For short-mid ranges, a shotgun is good–do a lot of damage quickly because you can’t afford to be subtle. For a bit longer ranges, I like a good, scoped .22–you can carry a bunchaton of ammo and shot placement is king here.

Of course, nothing really beats high explosives and incendiaries.

And then, anything you have is better than the best that you don’t have. What really impressed me, though was that she was thinking in terms of improvised weapons to cover when you don’t have something prepared.

Do I have the coolest daughter or what?

Venturing into E-publishing

My novelette “Live to Tell” is now up at Smashwords.  If all goes well, it should soon be available at other e-book retailers as well.

Staff Sergeant Mike Yamada must overcome his worst nightmares as he faces recapture by the alien Eres forces.

When the star traveling Hospital Ship Mercy is captured by an Eres task force, Staff Sergeant Mike Yamada must overcome Post Traumatic Stress and face his worst nightmares returned. Alone among the complement of the Mercy, he has been an Eres prisoner before and only he knows the true horror that awaits if they do not somehow escape.

Free sample available.

Live to Tell

Edit to Add:  It is now available from the Amazon Kindle Store (via Kindle Direct Publishing).

Liberty Bell 7, Gemini 1, and Apollo 1

Two days ago was the 45th anniversary of the Apollo 1 fire. Over on FaceBook there were a number of posts commemorating that event and honoring the three men who died in it.

As a result I was reminded of the movie “The Right Stuff” (I’ve never read the book, party because of what I’m about to say about the movie).

The movie was pretty much a hatchet job on Grissom. The implication being that he panicked and blew the hatch, then, still or again, panicked in the water. And the bit about not getting to visit the President (which his wife complained about) was implied to be a result of that.

Let’s leave aside that Wally Schirra, in his autobiography, pointed out that when he blew the hatch on his flight the actuator “kicked back” and cut his hand. No such wound was present on Grissom’s hand. Let’s leave aside that Frank Borman in his autobiography, pointed out that an after-action review showed a number of ways the hatch could have been blown by accident (leading, I would imagine to an “oh shit!” moment at the thought of that happening in space).

No, consider instead that Gordon Cooper was forever grounded from the space program for hot-dogging in a jet after his own Mercury flight. Schirra, Eisel, and Cunningham were forever grounded from the space program for essentially saying “enough” and staging a “sit down strike”.

If Grissom had really screwed up the way he was portrayed as doing in that movie (*hack* *spit*), would he have been slated as the commander of the first Gemini mission, then again for the first Apollo mission? I don’t think so.

And while I might have liked the rest of the movie, this one bit completely ruined it for me. I get too angry over that one sequence to be able to consider the rest of the movie fairly.

There is, perhaps, a lesson there, but I’m not entirely sure what it is.

Grist for the mill. Memories

When I was very young we would often visit my great grandmother’s house.  It was a big, two-story place in Portsmouth Virginia (where we lived, along with a lot of extended family.  Well, Portsmouth and Chesapeake).

I remember her baking biscuits from scratch.  She’d roll out the dough and use a glass to cut the rounds.  Instead of re-rolling the odds and ends and cutting more rounds she baked them “as is”.  These odd-shaped biscuits were called “goosie goosie ganders” (no idea why) and were for the kids (including me).

One memory that stands out dramatically from that period was the big (or so it seemed to me at the time) pot-bellied stove in the kitchen.  Oh, she had a gas range to cook on, but that pot-bellied stove provided heat and one could cook on it.

I want one.  I want one badly.

I remember how toasty warm that house was on cold winter nights.  I remember going there for the Christmas holidays.  I remember playing with the “cooties” game (not playing the game, just building the bugs). And, yes, that game is still available:

I remember gathering there with more of my extended family, with my mother (divorced, single mother), with Aunt Pauline and Uncle George, sometimes with my grandparents, but not often with them.  My grandfather was retired military and “double dipping” with a State Department job and they were usually stationed in various other parts of the world–Nigeria, Thailand, Vietnam, Laos, many places.

Those people are all gone now.  Of the group who spent so many happy hours in that house only my sister and I remain.  But that image lives on, an image of comfort and home, an image of happiness.

And it’s what a lot of my characters are trying to achieve for themselves, even if they don’t know it.

"Oruk Means Hard Work"

Just typed “The End” on a new story.  Original working title as a concept was “Dances with Orcs”, then when I actually started writing it, the title was “Elara of the Elves”, then once the story actually started to gel, I changed the name to “Oruk Means Hard Work.”

Now it goes into the letting it sit and gathering feedback from “beta” readers, then a round or two of revision before I start looking for a home for it.