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Bascomb James
Author | Scientist | Science Fiction Fan

Sneak Preview:  Disposal, Inc.

9/13/2017

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Here is the first chapter of my science fiction story, Disposal, Inc. Your comments and suggestions are welcome and appreciated. Thanks for reading.


Disposal, Inc
by Bascomb James
​

The technical team was placing field generators around a 70 ton MACSTOR-200 unit when the com unit chirped.  Damn it, not now!  I cursed silently as I reached for the secure phone.  Generator positioning is an exacting task. Even tiniest inconsistency could rupture the containment vessel and spill tons of nuclear waste throughout the building. 
 
I glanced at the caller ID; Ari Kiltonen, the General Manager of my company.   “Damn it Ari, this had better be important!” 
 
“Chief, I have an army colonel on the phone demanding to speak with you.  He says it’s a national emergency.” 
 
Not this again. Every government on the planet seems to think I should handle their special transport emergencies.
 
“Which army?”
 
“Ours, sir.  He says he’s calling from the Pentagon.”
 
“Tell him I’m busy saving the world.  If he wants to talk he can get his green-clad ass up here for a face-to-face.  I’ll make some time at 9 PM.  In the meantime, notify Ontario Power Generation Security about the visit and get me some background information on the Colonel or whomever he sends.”
 
“OK Chief.  We’ll go over the arrangements later.”
 
I clicked off and squelched the urge to throw the phone across the room.  “Tom, adjust generator number seven outboard 1.5 centimeters and left 9 centimeters.” 
 
It took the team another hour to position the generators to my satisfaction.  The flow was looking good and the field dynamics were smooth and predictable across the entire displacement volume.  The crew was watching me intently, waiting for instructions.  Their quiet anticipation gave way to smiles when I looked up from the monitor gave them the “thumbs up” sign.
 
The air horn sounded three times, the sound echoing endlessly in the cavernous space.  OPG workers, Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission officials, and the International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors headed toward the exits while the crew began moving the delicate positioning sensors and instrument consoles behind the blast baffles. 
       
With things well in hand, I went through a door into the adjacent room.  The large room dwarfed the displacement console and monitors.  The console area was separated from the rest of the space by waist-high traffic pylons with yellow and black striped tape strung through the handles. The laughingly inadequate barrier was reinforced by three heavily armed guards.
 
Cable runs and chases radiated outward from the circumscribed equipment.  Monitor stands made the area look like a NASA launch center.  Everything had its place and the purpose-made system could be broken down and packed for shipment in two hours.
 
Two of the monitors showed the transshipment room with rib-like displacement generators surrounding the massive 22 meter long by 8 meter high concrete containment vessel.  Each generator was mounted on a heavy duty trailer with outrigger supports.  Other monitors showed the radiation counts and the harshly lit displacement site. 
 
After checking the field dynamics one last time I grabbed the virtual reality headset and performed a visual sweep of the displacement site.  Neat rows of containment vessels and equipment radiated outward toward the horizon.    
   
Tom Quiñones, the team foreman, spoke through the com unit, “The room is secure and all personnel are accounted for. We’re ready for displacement.”  He inserted his key into the slot in his console and turned it to the “Ready” position. 
 
“Transponder is active and returning the correct code.”  The IAEA inspector reported from his console. The inspector turned his activation key and a second green light appeared on my panel. 
 
 “IAEA is ‘GO’ for transshipment.” 
 
I could feel the tension build.  All eyes were on the monitors.
 
The Canadian official turned his key and the final green light appeared.  “CNSC is ‘GO’ for transshipment.” 
 
I pulled a security chain over my head and inserted my activation key into its slot in the displacement panel.  The blue status light changed to amber as I rotated the key to the MASTER ARM position.  “I have three green lights,” I announced.  “We’re ready for transshipment.”

​No matter how many times I do this, there’s always a nervous knot in my stomach at this point.  This has to be perfect every time. There are no Mulligans when dealing with nuclear waste. 
 
I looked to my left, and Tom gave me nod from his console. I inserted my right hand into the security scanner and punched in a hidden code that activated the palm/fingerprint reader. The unit beeped and the amber light changed to red. The automatic klaxons sounded throughout the building, alerting everyone within earshot that something big was about to happen.

This is it!  I took a calming breath, counted to five, then depressed the ACTIVATE button with my left thumb.  A thunderclap shook the room as air rushed to fill the 1300 cubic meter void created when the nuclear waste containment vessel disappeared from the transshipment room.
  
A puff of snow and fog appeared on the destination monitors as the moisture in the displaced air froze then sublimated.  The scene slowly resolved to show a MACSTOR unit with the proper sequence number parked on the floor of crater Antoniadi in the lunar Southern hemisphere.
 
“Chief, the displacement room is clean. No ruptures.  No radiation,” Quiñones reported.
 
I deactivated the panel and turned to the inspectors.  
 
“Dr. Richards, we have confirmed the transponder is now on the moon.  We also note that your cameras show a container with the proper sequence number in crater Antoniadi.” 
 
I nodded and picked up the com unit.  “Get the next unit in here while I do the paperwork.”
 
“OK Chief, we’re on it.”
 
I glanced at the destination monitors and noted that the teleoperators were moving a mobile crane toward the containment unit.  The crane will carry the MACSTOR unit to the unpacking yard where the carbon steel containment cylinders will be removed from the concrete outer shell. Without hydraulic or convection cooling, the nuclear degradation within the fuel rods will eventually heat the cylinder’s contents until the cylinder melts. 
 
As part of an internationally sponsored project, Disposal, Inc. is creating a China Syndrome event by layering the containment cylinders into a small crater--a crater whose bottom is approximately 9 kilometers below the surface of the moon. Lunar scientists calculated that the molten materials will eventually burn through the crust and melt the partially solidified lunar core.  With a spinning molten core, the moon should be able to regenerate its protective magnetic field. Thus, the whole transshipment project has a two goals; safe removal of radioactive waste from the earth while making future lunar habitats a little safer.  It was my kind of project.     
 
#
 
There was a knock on the door and Ari Kiltonen stepped into the nondescript office OPG assigned to us while we were on-site.  Ari was of medium height with china blue eyes and close-cropped brown hair. A dark blue Kevlar vest covered his muscular chest. The Glock pistol and tactical holster were extensions of his persona.
 
“Captain Katheryn Macrae is here to see you.” 
 
I nodded and closed the background file on the Captain.  “Post one of the security detail in the outer office then bring her in.  I want you to be present for this briefing.”
 
Ari nodded and left.  I flipped switches to activate the audio and video recording equipment. 
 
Ari ushered the visitor into the office a few minutes later.  Captain Macrae was a trim dark-haired woman wearing a black, one-button skirt suit with high-necked silk blouse.  Even in heels, she moved with the controlled athleticism of a dancer or a martial artist. 
 
I came around the desk and extended my hand.  “Captain Macrae, what brings a Cyber Warfare expert to OPG Darlington?”
 
Her grip was warm and confident and she projected the cool competence of a professional who had nothing to prove. Tall for a woman, she nearly matched my 5’11” height.  As I shook her hand, I was surprised by my reaction to her.  I wonder what she looks like in uniform, or out of it, for that matter.
 
I gestured her to a supplicant chair and reclaimed my seat behind the desk.  Ari leaned unobtrusively against the wall where he could watch her face and hands. 
    
Macrae looked at Ari pointedly and said, “I didn’t think the Canadian government allowed armed bodyguards and security personnel.”
 
Nettled by her opening gambit, I responded in kind.  “Did you come down from Ottawa to critique my security arrangements?”
 
She frowned and said, “I was instructed to speak with you alone.”
 
I felt my eyebrows rise and I glanced at Ari who shrugged.  “That’s not gonna happen,” I said shaking my head.

“Allow me to introduce Ari Kiltonen.  Ari is the General Manager of DI and the person responsible for the day-to-day operation of this company.  In his previous life, Captain Kiltonen was a Delta Force unit commander. When Ari leaves, you leave.  Capisce?”
 
Macrae’s eyes flashed with anger and her face flushed.  “They told me you were an arrogant bastard…”
 
Something in her demeanor really pushed my buttons and my temper flared. I waved my hand contemptuously toward the door.  “We’re done here.  Ari, have someone escort the Captain back to her car.” 
 
Macrae flushed again and held up her hands in surrender.  “Wait!  I apologize for my remark.  Before I provide a brief, both of you must sign Defense Secrets documents.  The information I’m about to give you is classified and compartmentalized for national security purposes. You cannot disclose this information without the written consent of the US government.”
 
I shook my head again and glanced at Ari.  Here we go again.  This is what happens when agencies don’t share information.  

​“First of all, I would like to inform you that our conversation is being recorded to prevent misunderstandings.  Secondly, you are hereby notified that Disposal Incorporated, its owner, employees, and contractors do not wish to be privy to national secrets and as such, we are not responsible for dissemination of said secrets.  Before you deliver your briefing, you will sign an affidavit stating that any and all information provided by you as an agent of the US government, is exempt from the Defense Secrets Acts at the time of disclosure and in perpetuity.”
 
Anger and frustration flashed across Macrae’s face but she quickly regained her composure.  “I can’t sign that affidavit.  Mr. Richards, let me remind you that this is a national emergency involving thousands of people.”
 
“So you say. . . and it’s Doctor Richards,” I said peevishly, just to piss her off.
 
The rebuke had its desired effect.  “Your obstinacy is deliberately placing US citizens at risk and it constitutes reckless endangerment of the public.  We could have you arrested and jailed!” 
 
I laughed at the thought.  “Are you planning to invade Canada to make me sign your damned paper?”
 
“American lives are at stake! How can you be so uncaring?” 
 
This woman continued to push my buttons.  I was wondering if she was deliberately goading me to make me make some sort of mistake.  “Captain, Disposal Incorporated has only one purpose—to protect you and the rest of this planet from the nastiest and most persistent poisons mankind has ever created.  A thousand years from now, an unprotected human will die horribly after a half-hour exposure to the radioactive materials we generate today.  Don’t tell me I’m uncaring."
 
Macrae’s eyes flashed at the rebuke.  I leaned back in my chair and tried to ease the tension.  “I feel no concern for your ‘at-risk’ citizens because I have no evidence they exist and you refuse to provide any information or proof.  If I have any culpability, it’s for refusing to give strangers unconditional oversight over what my group says, where we go, and who we interact with for the rest of our lives.”
 
An awkward silence filled the room as I struggled to master my anger and outrage.  I had been through similar conversations on four continents and the experience was getting old.  I sighed and decided to stop shooting the messenger.  “Let’s begin again.  What do you want from us?”
 
Macrae opened her mouth to respond then reconsidered.  After another uncomfortable pause, I held up my hand and spoke quietly.  “Captain, your superiors sent you into the lion’s den with an incomplete brief.  Let me explain my position.”
 
“Nearly every government in the world considers me and DI to be a potential threat. They have tried to acquire my displacement technology through force, guile and legislation. The security establishment is also pissed because I sell shield technologies to all governments and to private citizens.  More importantly, I refuse to provide a back door that would allow the government or anyone else to remotely inactivate those shields.”
 
“I am still in business because I provide a useful service, I don’t challenge the political status quo, and thanks to my matter transporters, I have more money than God.  In order to continue this work, I cannot sign secrecy documents with any government, corporation, group, or citizen.  All my deals and activities must be fully transparent and above board.” 
 
“Talk to your superiors.  If this situation is truly a national emergency, they will find a way to speak to me openly and on the record." 

I gestured toward Ari.  "Please give Ari your contact information.  He will send you a release affidavit for review. You can contact him if you want to schedule another meeting.”
 
Macrae stood and walked briskly to the door.  Ari shook his head and followed her into the outer office.
 
I was forwarding the meeting video to the last of the secure data locations when Ari returned to the office.  He went to the sideboard and poured two neat Bourbons.  He handed me a glass and settled into recently vacated chair.  “Jason, I wish you would learn a little tact.”
 
“I was within my rights,” I huffed.
 
“Doesn’t matter.  Losers keep score.  Losers want payback. You made Captain Macrae and her boss look bad.  They’re going to make our life difficult.”
 
“Look bad? Hell, I thought she looked damned good.”  I gave him the boyish grin. “You know,” I think we had a special moment there.”
 
Ari shook his head and laughed, “Yeah, that special moment just before you opened your mouth.”
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My Intro for the Far Orbit Anthology

7/8/2014

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It all started with a letter…

Yes, that letter.  The letter from Elizabeth Bear.  The one published in
ClarkesWorld Issue 68 (May 2012).  Her open letter to Science Fiction. 

After reading her letter, we could have applauded like many others and blithely wandered off with our hands in our pockets.  Instead, we decided to do something.  This is the result – a new anthology that is fun to read and embodies many of the elements found in classic, Grand Tradition science fiction.  In short, we decided put our money where our heart is.

So what is Grand Tradition science fiction?  I am not going to give you the Wikipedia answer, I am giving my answer.  Your mileage may vary. 

Grand Tradition stories were full of ideas, optimism, inspiration and respect for science.  Grand Tradition SF showed us that science was cool.  Like many others, I chose a career in science because it was the most exciting thing in my universe.  The wonder of discovery; the satisfaction that comes from building new things; and the knowledge that you can make a difference through intellect (or cleverness), hard work and perseverance, are heady of experiences.  There are no magic wands, fairy godpeople, or Miracle Max inventions.  Grand Tradition stories inspired many of our current technologies and it continues help scientists understand how these technologies might interact with the real world.  

Grand Tradition stories were fun to read.  In her open letter to SF, Elizabeth Bear asks why “[SF seems] to think that nothing fun can have value.” I obviously agree with her sentiments.  I am sorry to say that a derisive public wrote off Grand Tradition SF as mere escapism - as if escapism was something unsavory.  This escapist “drek” taught me about Dyson Spheres, red-shift, general relativity, and put entire cultures and belief systems under the intellectual microscope.  Not too bad for escapist literature.

Grand Tradition Stories embodied a sense of adventure and expectation. I realize that adventure is a relative term.  One man’s adventure may be a normal day to another.  Communicating this sense of adventure is the important thing.  Readers of Grand Tradition stories have a gleeful expectation that interesting things are about to happen; that “normal” events will not remain that way for long. 

And finally, the best Grand Tradition stories had a strong human element.  Great SF is not just about gizmos and spaceships, it’s about us and how we are shaped by, and relate to our environment.  Human elements are the Velcro that make stories stick in our brain.  They make them enjoyable, approachable, and memorable. 

The stories in this volume embody one or more of these elements.

The Far Orbit anthology is truly a labor of love but no matter how much I express my ardor, it’s all about the stories.  We endeavored to provide a broad mix of SF stories by established, award-wining authors and newly emerging authors.  Their stories embody a variety of SF motifs including those from 1940s pulp-fiction, realistic hard SF, noir fiction, spaceship fiction, alien encounters, and action-adventure.  The range of subjects is astonishing and includes slimy alien babysitters, an angry sentient bear, walking plants, alien bunnies, and a barbecue.  If that is not enough to pique your interest, the anthology also features a cello-playing assassin, high-stakes poker emancipation, space ship crashes/rescues, an alien artifact, and fights with space pirates.  We hope every SF fan can find a favorite within these pages.

So here it is, our latest creation.  We obviously want the Far Orbit anthology to be successful for financial reasons but just as importantly, we know a successful approach will be emulated by more conservative publishers. The net result could be a future where there is a wider variety of Grand Tradition story choices and story markets – good things in my estimation.   

This anthology isn’t just about us and our desires; it’s also about you, the new SF reader, the SF fan, the aspiring (or established) writer.  Let me know what you think of this anthology and where we should go from here.  I will be “listening” at:  
farorbit@worldweaverpress.com

Bascomb James
Anthologist, Far Orbit: Speculative Space Adventures
Other Far Orbit posts featured on this blog:

Musings on NASA’s Asteroid Retrieval Project  and Sam Kepfield’s “Open for Business”
Bear Essentials by Julie Frost
Composition in Death Minor by K.G. Jewell
Spaceman Barbecue by Peter Wood
Far Orbit Interview on SciFi4Me.com
Great News from Sporadic Reviews!
Guest Blog on Fantasy Café (they wanted to hear about Grand Tradition SciFi
Good Choice Reading Interviews Far Orbit Authors Tracy Canfield, Jacob Drud, and Kat Otis
My intro for the Far Orbit Anthology
Launch Day!!!
Inspiration… perspiration… exhilaration…  

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Early Reading Experiences

6/4/2014

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Picture
Up North Stories. Books and reading were an important part of my childhood experiences.  As a young boy, I read a mish-mash of science fiction, adventure, mysteries, and military fiction stories.  

My family didn't have much money and our small town library only had a few science fiction titles, so we swapped books. Lots and lots of books.  

One of my neighbors and a few of my dad’s friends were voracious readers and every month or so, Dad would bring home a grocery bag filled with dog-eared paperbacks.  The bags exuded that wonderful aroma of musty-dusty shelves and old paper.  For me, the bags were equal parts reality and magic.  Every cover was a doorway to distant lands, new sights, and new adventures.  Grocery bags brought Heinlein, Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, Bradbury, Eric Frank Russell and so many others into my home and my imagination. 

I can still remember my delight when I pulled the first head-to toe (tête-bêche) book from the bag.  The back cover of the first book was actually the front cover of the second book, but rotated 180 degrees. How cool was that?  

Because so many people contributed to the bag, the contents often included a mixture of other titles and genera.  Sometimes there was a paperback classic such as Ivanhoe, a Western horse opera or two, Doc Savage stories, or a Mickey Spillane book.  Special bags would have one or two yellowed copies of pulp SciFi magazines like Astounding or Amazing Stories.   I don’t know if it was my imagination or reality, but the older yellowed books always seemed lighter than the newer books.

With this sharing program, I always had five or  ten books waiting for me.  I read the books and returned them to the bag.  When the bag was full, I swapped it with my neighbor for a bag of his books.  My dad would take my neighbor’s books and swap them with his friends.  I never really knew how far this sharing circle extended, but I was grateful for its existence.

You may be interested in these Up North Story posts
New Feature:  Up North Stories
Skinny Dip
Radio and the Fabric of our Lives
Early Reading Experiences


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