The Independent Trader (updated for September 26th critique meeting)

Written by Jan | 24 September 2011

Present day outside the UN in New York City, New York

Arda hit the pavement, then her knees, belly and hands. A moment later she was sitting on the ground, looking up.

"Hrrump" came from one of the security guards as they turned, shutting the door behind them.

Arda? Said Scotty in her head.

HyMa, I need a drink! Arda thought to Scotty as she walked down the street.

Uhh…Startled, Scotty paused. She hadn't had a drink since her partner died.

He searched. Keep going through the two stoplights and its up three buildings. It's called THE INTERNATIONAL.

The only response was a mild grunt.

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Independent Trader

Written by Jan | 23 February 2011

Arda put on her jacket and fussed at the mirror. Her shirt was a good color, white, always good- she leaned forward- it looked clean. Leaning back she checked the hang of the pants. Arda did not like jumpsuits that were common on ships, she found the shirt and pants moved much better together and the jacket made it that much more, nice and formal.

She had a place in town, but having most of her things in the ship she felt more comfortable dressing here. "What do you think, do I look professional enough?" Arda asked to the room.

"You look like you are dressed appropriately." A voice replied.

Scowling, Arda turned and addressed the wall. "No, I mean do I look good? You know, someone to do business with, someone to trust, and you know, attractive."

"Uh…, you mean do you look like an officer?"

Arda shook her head, smart computer but not too bright.

"Well, I hope this works out. I am tired of being cooped up. I want a world to walk on, WEATHER, what I wouldn't give for that and people to talk to in more than just a business way." Arda stopped and her eyes went unfocused.

"But Arda, you have done so well. Last year alone…"

"Yes, yes, it has been a good run and I do so enjoy setting my own path, but sometimes you just need" She gestured with her hands.

"You just need, what?" the computer asked.

"Never mind, you have a much different life." Indeed, the computer could reach out and interact with many computers and never had to feel alone anywhere they were.

******

Jonathon Tate placed the pencils in his pencil caddy, carefully checking to make sure only pencils were in this one and that the pencils functioned. He carefully held one in his hand and checked the length of the eraser. Feeling a bit of regret he slowly put that one in the trash looked at the others and threw out two more. Then Jonathon added some from the box of new pencils he had in the drawer. Satisfied he glanced at the pen caddy and performed some more housecleaning. The love of his desk mimicked the love of his job: follow the formula and everything was easy.

"Mr. Tate?" The intercom broke the silence and Jonathon looked at it for a moment, and then looked at his watch. It was late. He inhaled deeply, then reached across slowly and pressed the button.

“Yes, Jenkins?”

“An applicant for trade privileges to see you Sir.”

Jonathon Tate let out a sigh, so much for an early out. “What’s the name and country?”

“Arda and she is a sole Trader.”

Shaking his head Jonathon asked, “Her whole name?”

“That’s all she’ll give me. She says that’s all she has.”

This wasn’t going to be an early day at all. ”Send her in.”

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Fabric and Joy

Written by Jan | 09 June 2010

I had the unexpected opportunity for free time recently and I took advantage of it to go to a fabric store. I have had a fascination with fabric most of my life. I do not consider myself a fabricaholic though I do have much of the stuff. I enjoy sewing, too, but have gotten frustrated with the middle age bulge and that inspiration is somewhat quenched. Fabrics, however, are still wonderful.

Each type of cloth has a texture, color and weight and yes even a smell. Years ago, when home sewing was more fashionable, there was not only a great variety but a much higher quality available to the average Jane. Now, we are left with the selection dictated by the crafters. As such, there is much quilting cotton and upholstery fabric. These are really not intended for clothing, though some have done remarkable outfits from these types of fabrics. The trouble is they do not wear well and they wrinkle, something the modern women wants to get away from. I do not mean men don't sew, I have met a few, but by far it is women and unfortunately for me, women crafters.

One of my great joys is to walk among the rows of bolts and touch, the softness of the thicker suede or the silks that slip or the crispness of the cottons. Each has their own unique color pattern in rich hues or soft pastels. The drape of the fabric can't really be seen unless it is unwound and allowed to drop. In my mind I imagine each piece made into one garment or perhaps another. Which would suit best? All of the trials are as if it had been done and I could experience what the result was. At this stage, I have no bias towards any fabric, only the desire to see it be fulfilled.

Unfortunately, in the world, I must choose what I, myself, can use and in this I have learned many lessons. One is what I actually need, not want. Another is to consider all the characteristics of the fabric and pattern, not giving in to one of them just because I like it so. Thirdly to know what I am capable of in the skill of sewing and build on that. A long process to be sure, but like anything in this life the quality is in the experience as well as the materials.

I live in Tucson, Arizona and truly love my new home. I grew up in Sacramento and moved her to care for my parents. We chose this place because of the lower cost of housing that can have guest houses and because we knew it from our search to find a better place for allergies. The Sonoran Desert is gorgeous and lush (for a desert) with such different plants and animals and we will probably stay here until we die, but like Sacramento there is a problem with fabric availability. I do understand that consumer demand must dictate what is sold, we have enough of poor economy woes not to add a forced choice, but I do lament just for me. My goal (for my bucket list) is to find the fabric markets. There I can browse in quiet abandon and finally choose some fabrics now that my body is getting more trim. I may even try a craft or two!

The Guess

Written by Jan | 01 June 2010

Dedicated to my niece Rebecca. May you heal quickly, go out and conquer the Universe, or maybe just the galaxy!

Chapter 1

The First Hurdle

Becky stood out on the tarmac, patiently waiting. She wasn't sure how quickly she actually wished this to go, but here she was. Yes here she was. Becky's hands shook and she consciously tried to calm down. Calm down!

A stir started in the crowd behind her. Becky looked up and out at the southern sky and just where they told her it would be, something appeared. Here we go. Becky straightened up, adjusted her top and tried to appear calm but interested.

The ship got larger and larger, quietly slowed down and landed right in front of the girl. Becky had been called upon to "visit" with - she didn't know exactly what - but some form of galactic government-all because of her dissertation.

That had taken so long to write, so much research and not much encouragement from her adviser. Well, yes, it was an interesting theory but a bit far fetched, don't you think? After all, no real evidence exists that there is life out there in the galaxy, let alone make any conclusions about it. Well, Becky did make some conclusions and now she had been asked to present them.

The ship settled down and the door slid open. Or maybe it was the cargo hatch, like SciFi shows often had; the way in. Becky took another deep breath and started to walk toward the open portal. The crowd's murmurs had increased in volume but Becky ignored them, she was too intent and too worried about her own actions. Flanked on each side of her, soldiers solemnly walked the last hundred yards. Neither had spoken much to her, they too were intent on their job. Becky was glad they were there but wondered if it would really make any difference, if...

Shaking her head to remove that thought, Becky stopped her approach and waited at the foot of the ramp. The instructions had been simple, wait until the ambassador emerged. So she waited and quite quickly the emissary came out. He (or she, it wasn't clear) sort of flowed out. Long white robes and a sober expression that were a bit intimidating, but when the alien reached the bottom of the ramp a bright smile erupted and its hand of white came out of the robe in an offer to shake.

Grateful, Becky returned the smile and said her first words in Galactic Lingua- “Boton Masori, se gafra demanta.” (Welcome ambassador, I am glad to meet you.) Becky felt she had done that well and shook the offered hand. She had been required to learn the language rather quickly. With much help from her government and her parents she felt she could get by if the aliens would be patient. She actually thought they would be, given how they had approached her and offered the invite.

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Manners

Written by Jan | 31 March 2010

"Open the door, Charlie, open the door, you think they'll wait forever?"
From the airlock peephole they could see one large eye peeking out, solemnly taking in the scene outside the door. Charlie would have liked to jostle his friend, but keeping the impulse down he opened the door. Stepping back, making a sweeping gesture, he greeted the aliens.

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