User:Luc M.

bio
Like most people I wear many hats. Sometimes they fit OK, but most of the time I spend my day running around trying to get the hat of the moment to fit without giving me too much of a headache. In this endeavor I'm not always successful. I have a fifty mile commute one way to Seattle, so squeezing work and school and friends and me time in can be challenging. About 3 weeks ago my wife and I separated, and that alone has added a whole new dynamic to how I see and respond to things. Like I said... sometimes I don't do a good job at wearing all those hats. I am a big fan of science fiction, both the written word and moving image, whatever form that may be. I saw the new Star Trek movie opening day twice in IMAX at the Seattle Center, once at 6am and again at noon. Yes, it's that cool. For the record, you are going to be in bookstores soon where the clerk will point you to the "Sy/FY" section (and not Sci-Fi or Science Fiction). When this happens you should look at that clerk as if they are some form of infectious disease because we have to do whatever we can to stop the "dumbing down" of everything in our society. I enjoy books written by Damon Knight, Timothy Zahn, Karen Traviss, Anne Rice, Michael Crichton, and Stephen King. I could list every author that I have ever thought was awesome, but I don't want to. I enjoy drawing and working in 3D. i love my job (it's true!) and am looking forward to transforming it into a successful career. I am a huge Star Wars nerd or geek, whichever term you prefer. I have hundreds of figures still in the box (in storage), a couple of Master Replicas lightsabers and a complete set of stormtrooper armor that I built myself. I have even learned a little Mandalorian (the language of Boba Fett's people) and sometimes my friends and I use it as a social defense mechanism. I really am a kid at heart, like Jack in Fight Club I am a 31 year old boy... but I have fun and I suppose that's what matters. I love to laugh at things that offend other people (even if I'm the butt of the joke), I love all kinds of beer and a great stogie (Davidoff or Cohibas will do), and after all these years I am still a Lego maniac.

Response
This is a response to "Zombie Cat" by Will Richer.

Shel Silverstein was one of my favorite writers as I was growing up. I was always amazed at his ability to create different types of poems on many subjects while maintaining a whimsical style. Some of his poetry is very short, while other works are longer. His doodles that complimented the written verse were also very entertaining. He had a playful style fit for people of all ages to read (when thinking from a traditionally moralistic standpoint), but there was often a subtext of more adult themes. Will has captured this in his poem Zombie Cat with remarkable effectiveness. On the surface it is a funny poem expressing the wishes of a strange little boy. It contains no profanity or vulgarities (like Silverstein's work), but it's nature is a bit more adult. Zombies are a popular topic for horror and comedy writers, and like vampires, are monsters in human guise. most humans fear death in one way or another, which is why the zombie scares us. To be undead is a far worse fate than death itself. To be animated but not you. These mature themes are sown into a funny, and almost cute poem about a boy who wants an immortal pet. However as the poem continues, everything is not as it seems. The child is actually quite maladjusted and expresses no fear of his zombie cat infecting others, but rather relishes that idea. More cats for him to play with. In the final stanza we discover that the boy himself has no fear of being zombiefied... either because he is already a zombie, or he has no fear of becoming one.

Despite its dark undercurrent, the poem maintains its humor, which is no small feat considering that comedy is the hardest thing to write well. This is written quite well and the illustration is also a fantastic homage to Silverstein's style.

Compare/Contrast
Two of the most beloved and prolific science fiction franchises in film and media in general are Star Wars and Star Trek. They both have a fierce following of loyal fans and if you were to ask someone random on the street to name a science fiction movie, these two names would come up more often than any other in some form or another. While Star Wars and Star Trek are similar in their operatic design, they are very different. As a fan of both, and because I'm still swooning in the "high" of seeing the new Star Trek film in IMAX, I thought it appropriate to compare and contrast these two universes that have shaped my life as an artist so profoundly.

Star Trek first appeared in 1966 and is the creation of Gene Roddenberry. The original television show followed the crew of the Federation Starship Enterprise. Under the command of Captain James T. Kirk the ship and crew warped their way into new adventures every week. The show was set in the 23rd century, which allowed the creator and writers to explore (or expose) complex social and cultural issues in a different way from other programming at the time. For example, many people in my generation or younger may think nothing of the racial diversity of the Enterprise's bridge crew (Enterprise had a Japanese helmsman, a Russian navigator/weapons officer, and an African-American communications officer who was female), but at the time, these peoples being depicted together and working as a team on a weekly basis was groundbreaking in television. The original pilot episode, which was never aired, pushed even more boundaries as the first officer of the ship was a woman. While that character was cut for the production run of the show, Star Trek continued to move forward with often biting commentary on American and world issues until its cancellation.

The thrust of the show's plot is that in the 23rd century, mankind (on earth) have reached a kind of functioning utopia. There is no more war or even money. Man has pulled himself up out of the ashes of previous world wars and finally put aside his differences. All men and women all over the world are equal and free. The universe however is not so calm. Humans are members of the United Federation of Planets, a UN-like organization of like-minded star systems whose goal is peace and exploration. One of the other member races are the Vulcans. Vulcans look identical to humans with the exception of pointy ears and sharply angled eyebrows. They are a people of logic, and while they have emotions the same as humans, they have built their society on the idea of controlling that emotion. There are several races which are not a part of the Federation which provide recurring conflict for the crew of the Enterprise. The most notable are the Klingons. They are a warlike society who prefer to shoot first and ask questions later. In subsequent movies and television shows, the Klingons are given more depth with the idea that their honor and tradition has shaped how they live. In the original show, they were little more than school-yard bullies.

In this setting of peace on earth, but war everywhere else, the writers could explore issues that were in the news at the time, such as racism and civil rights, or sexism in a fanciful forum that wasn't as "in your face" as a show such as Archie Bunker. The point of the show was to bring the viewer to see an issue from a perspective that they couldn't achieve otherwise, that of an impassive, outside observer. The show was all about the hope that mankind would someday rise above those things that keep us down and that we would be able to boldly go where we have never gone before. We have the power ourselves to control our fate, and it was this idealistic humanistic element that has lead to some of Star Trek's popularity.

On the other hand, Star Wars is very different. Some would say that Star Wars is much more fantasy in construction than Science Fiction. The gadgetry and technology shown have nothing to do with our world. In fact, Star Wars isn't even set in the future, but A Long Time Ago in a Galaxy Far, Far Away. The characters are iconic and oozing with thematic baggage. Star Wars first appeared in May 1977 and is the brainchild of George Lucas. Lucas was (and some would say still is) a rebel director who hangs out with the likes of Francis Ford Copolla and Steven Speilburg. His first film released to theaters, THX 1138, wasn't very successful, but has a cult following today. He made his bones with the release of American Graffiti and shortly thereafter began work on what would become his opus: Star Wars.

Star Wars (episode IV: A New Hope) follows the life of a young moisture farmer on Tatooine named Luke Skywalker. Skywalker is a restless teen who wants to get out of the crappy life he has and he wants to get out from under his uncle's boot. The daydreaming of young Skywalker takes place on a vast Galactic stage where the law of the land comes from The Galactic Empire. Designed to mirror the dread and terror caused by the Nazi's in the 1940's, the Empire seethes evil. The embodiment of that evil is the 2 meter tall Darth Vader. Vader is a Sith Lord, one who has mastered the dark side of the force. This is where Star Trek and Star Wars really differ. While Trek is a show about what might be if mankind goes down a certain path, Star Wars is about what religions and fantasy are made of. The essence of what we can't see. The theme's in Star Wars follow Campbell almost to the letter in their execution. Luke is given the Hero's call by the old sage, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Luke refuses the call initially, but then must accept once the Empire destroys all he knows as home. He then begins his hero's journey, which over the course of three films is ultimately about a son refusing to give up on his father no matter what and giving him the chance to redeem himself. The newest Star Wars movies (which are reviled by many) go back and explain how the Empire came to power and how Anakin Skywalker fell to the darkside. With all six films in order, the overall story becomes one about Anakin, his fall from being the hero, and his ultimate redemption at the hands of his son.

When comparing and contrasting Star Trek and Star Wars it is vital to understand that it really is a situation of apples and oranges. Trek is meant to inspire us to go beyond what we think we can. Star Wars invites us to remember things like dreamtime...to ponder the deeper meanings of life, the universe, and everything. Ultimately, they both entertain (each one is jam packed with explosions and steamy love scenes and all that other stuff we crave) and invite us to look at things from a certain point of view that may be different from the one we hold.

Sequel/Prequel
What follows is a sequel to Damon Knight's short story "To Serve Man".

"Exposure"

It was only six hours after our conversation in the cramped bar that they came for Grigori. The men were polite in their crisp uniforms, but it was clear that his presence on the next ship out was compulsory. They came for me the following morning. Since I was only a linguist and a translator in their eyes they were not as alert as soldiers should have been. Why should they have been? Ever since the Kanamit arrived and ended all war and disease and suffering on earth, why would anyone not want to go see the wonders that their homeworld surely beheld... even if they were forced? These men didn't know the truth. The Kanamit had simply done what ranchers and farmers have been doing for centuries... eliminating disease and providing a comfortable life and sense of well being... right up until we are led to the slaughterhouse.

The two soldiers were significantly heavier than they appeared, but after only a minor bit of fussing about I managed to shove them both bound unceremoniously into the small closet in my bedroom. Only one of them carried a service pistol, which I relieved him of before gathering up a small bag and leaving my apartment, probably for the last time. The gun was a bit bulkier than I would have liked, a Colt 1911-A1 .45 caliber semi-automatic. The trade off for its extra bulk and lack of concealability was stopping power. The Kanamit hadn't really shown any of their technology other than their interstellar vessels and their force-fields, but seeing as how the latter could repel any nuclear weapons blast at humankind's disposal, I had to assume that their offensive capabilities were equally as impressive. I had to get to one of their many human-research medical facilities before I boarded a ship. These facilities were researching the human genome and making the expected leaps and bounds in the areas of improving mankind's disease resistance and also finding cures for things like cancer and A.I.D.S. These facilities were also where their more robust power cells were utilized, and despite the sensitivity of their work, they were relatively unguarded.

The closest research facility was only about five blocks from my apartment, and with my UN access ID I had no doubt that i could gain entry and find something useful before the hapless MPs in my closet came to and freed themselves. I was right on only one of those counts. The building itself looked very out of place nestled against the older buildings on the street. The composite material (developed with the Kanamit's help of course)that made up the building's facade had a faint green twinge to it, and the slight hint of a metallic purple honeycomb pattern could be seen dancing along its surface if the sunlight hit it just right. The glass windows and doors were also mirror tinted, but they were tinted purple to match the overall aesthetic of the structure, rather than having a common chromed mirror finish. The doors opened in front of me as I walked briskly up the steps and a blast of cool air that smelled faintly of mulch and grain alcohol washed over my face. The sanitizing solution used by the Kanamit was purportedly 90 percent more effective than anything we could produce. The guard sitting at the desk in the lobby just opposite of the door looked bored. She was short and slightly overweight, like many women drawn to that particular profession seemed to be. Her hair was up in an unflattering bun pinned neatly behind her head and well above her neck with an arrangement of small bobby pins. She sat slightly more upright as I approached and seemed to be running through a prepared speech in her mind. She stifled a yawn as she spoke, "ID please sir and state the nature of your visit". I showed her my ID and a smile that had gotten me a date on more than one occasion, "I'm a linguist with the UN. I'm being sent to random facilities to talk with the employees who work with the Kanamit the most, specifically the scientists. I'm sorry I can't tell you any more than that." She seemed to ponder that for a heartbeat before handing me my ID back. "Sign in here on this line". She slid a large badge across the desk that said VISITOR in green letters and told me to clip it to my shirt where it would be visible at all times. She motioned me towards the elevators and then turned away from me in an obviously dismissive gesture. I walked to the elevators and stepped in, and as the doors slid silently shut, I realized that I didn't really have a plan. I pushed the button for the lowest sub-level as a cold sweat began to bead up on my upper lip and in my palms.

The doors opened into a small security anteroom. The composite walls were lighter in color and covered in a mind-numbing array of screens and readouts, some of them even in 3D like hologram stickers. The exit into the lab beyond was a good 30 feet away straight across from the elevator. To my left was a shielded security office. The force fields employed by the Kanamit were interesting in their design. They could be programmed on a molecular level for density and amplitude. A small one worn on a soldier's belt could be programmed to allow oxygen to pass through the field while prohibiting anything else. Anything from radioactive dust or biological weapons sprays all the way to bullets and nuclear shock and pressure waves could stopped. Two humans and one Kanamit looked at me expectantly from their vantage behind one of these fields. I smiled as i walked across the room to address them. Right as i got to the counter that ringed the security room, a small violet light pinged on the desk. One of the humans hit a switch on his tiny ear bud and moved out of earshot. The fields could be modulated to stop sound waves from passing through as well. The other human and the Kanamit looked at me and asked the obvious. "Who are you and what are you doing down here?", the Kanamit asked in very clear English. The guard with the earbud was looking at me while still talking. I cleared my throat and began as i had upstairs, "I am with the UN. We are doing random studies for posterity on humans who work with Kanamit in close proximity every day." I paused as the officer finished his earbud conversation and leaned to whisper to the other men. "I'm afraid I am not at liberty to discuss all the details", I concluded. The Kanamit hit a small switch and the screens in the room all flickered as the images that were on them gave way to my face. In bold letters were the words WANTED and DANGEROUS.

The humans were on me in the blink of an eye, one squarely on my chest, the other hitting my knees in a standard two-man restraint grapple. The Kanamit was squealing something into his mic in his native language looking for all the world like a startled pig. My elbow dropped hard on the crown of the first guard's head. The wet THWACK while satisfying, didn't slow him down and he shifted his weight to hurl me bodily against the back wall and threw his arm up to block my elbow. The other guard was trying to bend my knees to get me to drop, but I kept shifting my weight so that I was never off balance. My left hand found its way into my coat pocket and produced the Colt. The butt of the pistol was sturdy and heavy, and when it connected with the guard's nose, the cartilage and skin yielded in a squishy, red crunch. He fell immediately while clutching his broken face and moaned like a widow at a funeral. The guard at my knees released me and took a step back. I trained the business end of the .45 on him and let him ponder the fact that he was three too many steps away from the safety of the shield. The Kanamit on the other hand was transfixed by the wounded guard laying in a pool of his own fluids on the floor. The uninjured guard spat his accusations at me like an angry cobra, "What the hell did you hope to accomplish? You are trapped in this facility now... there's no way out for you. You don't kill military personnel and live to fight another day." I was shocked. "I didn't kill anyone... no one ever died from a broken nose." The guard flicked his eyes down at his whimpering comrade, "Not him you idiot... the two MP's the Feds found strangled in your apartment." My mind was spinning out of control. I knew they were alive when i left. He would never believe me of course. To him I was a killer and a terrorist, who was planning to do God-knows-what to this peaceful facility. I decided to just blurt it all out, "A few months ago some of my colleagues at the UN got their hands on a Kanamit book that was not released to the public. After months of tireless research we discovered that it was called "How To Serve Man"." I watched the Kanamit's reaction closely, but he didn't twitch... he was still transfixed on the injured guard sprawled out on the floor. The second guard snorted, "So what?! They told us from the beginning that they were here to help us"! I turned back to him and met his icy gaze, "It's a cookbook you fucking moron... open your eyes! We aren't anything to them but a Goddamn drive-thru"!

He had just opened his mouth to issue a retort when the Kanamit lunged. Not for me or my weapon, but the injured guard lying helpless on the floor. His pig-like snout opened wider than it looked like it should have been able to and exposed a half a dozen rows of wicked looking teeth. His initial bite nearly severed the poor bastard's head clean off in a crimson spray of blood. The other guard and I moved reflexively away from the feeding alien and took several steps toward the elevator. My gun was now trained on the Kanamit. His eating was ferocious; he tore mercilessly through bone and muscle and sinew with all the glee of a child devouring his first piece of birthday cake. I fought down the hot, acidy taste that come boiling up from my guts and glanced at the guard standing next to me, "Are there cameras covering this room"? He didn't take his eyes off of the grisly scene playing out in front of us, "Yes". I let out a small sigh, "Can you transmit this image live"? He opened up a small panel on his wrist guard that was covered in more buttons and screens, "Only within the facility". I took one more step towards the elevator and hit the "up" button, "Then do it...right now...and if you can advise all humans to evacuate now". He tapped a few keys on his wrist and within seconds my image on the security screens was replaced by the grotesque scene in the middle of the floor. The Kanamit had eaten nearly all of the hapless guard's torso, leaving only the head and arms, and was beginning to bury his bloody snout into the man's groin area when he looked up at us and froze. I raised the barrel of the pistol slightly as I adjusted my grip for comfort and firmness. It would be a shame to die now because I dropped the damn gun. The alien looked at us with an unblinking stare for several seconds and it issued a low, rumbling growl before returning to its macabre feast. The blood was all over the floor now, expanding in a ruby sheen out from the body. The elevator door opened behind us and my once enemy stepped inside. I stepped back also, but before the doors began to close I lined up the rear ramp of the .45 with the front sight, aimed directly at the Kanamit's disgusting pig head and squeezed the trigger.

The slugs popped the creature's unshielded head, but to my astonishment it wasn't a liquid that sprayed out, but a gas. I pulled my arm in and let the doors close and we keyed for the lobby. The guard, whose name was Art Clark, had removed his earbud and put it in my hand. The chatter was immense. People were screaming on all channels. Some were barking orders, others were screaming for help or out of obvious pain. There was also the distinctive squealing shouts of the Kanamit in the background. When the doors opened on the lobby the floor was in chaos. Human and Kanamit bodies were everywhere. Blood streaked the walls and a noxious odor that smelled faintly of BBQ hung in the air. The guard who had given me my visitor's badge as ruthlessly smashing a Kanamit's face in with a Maglite as Art and I made our way to the exit. Art grabbed her arm as we passed, "Let's go Steph...pretty sure that one's dead". She managed another kick to the pig-man's corpse as Art hauled her with us. The doors opened and we stepped into sunlight. We tried to look as normal as possible as we limped our way down the street at a slightly faster than walking pace. It seemed odd that there weren't many people out on the street. in fact, there weren't any people on the street. I was just about to voice my concern when Art's head exploded.

The small fragments of Art's skull that weren't disintegrated hadn't even hit the ground as I dove down an alley and landed behind a solid looking dumpster. Steph was screaming, transfixed in the middle of the street. This time i saw it. A violet pulse about the size of a baseball hurtled from the sky out of seeming nothingness and struck her in her mid-section. Her torso hit the ground slightly before her waist and legs toppled over. The small Kanamit craft appeared to melt out of the sky and resolved into a solid greenish-purple object. It looked like a wingless dragonfly and was absolutely silent. It tracked slightly towards me and loosed another bolt of energy. The corner of the building above me exploded in a shower of bricks and mortar. I dove from my hiding place and hurried down the ally looking for any avenue of escape. My hunter flew overhead as it was too large to navigate the alley. A small circle of light appeared on its underbelly and a Kanamit materialized next to me as I crashed through the door of the adjacent building. A small shot of a similar type exploded next to my head as I fell through the doorway. I had made it only a few paces through the door into the lobby of what looked like a news station when the blast hit me. I saw more than felt my left arm go hurtling past me and collide with an unlucky newswoman. She screamed i think and toppled backwards over a small couch, one of her high heeled shoes flung mightily up into the air. I was falling towards the double doors in front of me more than running. The force of the blast that severed my arm had nearly picked me up off of the ground. I crashed through the doors and as a second blast hit my spine my right hand opened and Art's earbud flew across the room and landed on a well lit news desk in front two news anchors. They jumped back trying to take in what they were seeing. Blackness was edging in around everything, and the voices started to sound a little farther away. I heard the muffled sounds of my pursuer being disarmed and restrained. Someone was over me... a woman I think, trying to do...something. I heard the anchor's voice in the background... so far away now, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have just received a shocking bulletin, be warned though, the footage you are about to see is graphic and may disturb some viewers...."

Analysis
When i first ready Shakespeare's Sonnet number 12 I had a few questions with regards to the meanings of certain words. After looking up these words and discussing the poem in class, I feel that I have a handle on what the message is. Maybe. In the sonnet Time is personified and is equivalent to death. Shakespeare talks about many many beautiful things that cannot escape death or destruction. Every day must have its night and every summer a winter. Nothing you can do will allow you to escape time, except to breed. At first i though the line "And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence." had to do with a man's courage or fortitude in the face of death. After the class discussion however, and given Shakespeare's propensity towards the theme of pretty people breeding, I tend to agree with others in the class that this line is actually referring to the act of procreation. Only by having children can we achieve a form of immortality.

Words:

erst- formerly

sable- black or dark

bier- a coffin frame

sheaves- bindings of cereals and other harvested plants

Personal
Every time I create anything, I think of my father. By the time I was ten he had introduced me to Heavy Metal Magazine and, much to my mother's dismay, many other artists that served to inspire me. Don't misunderstand, my mom wasn't dismayed at my exposure to art, it's just that the nature of the art dad usually showed me was more adult. Artists like Hans Rudi Geiger, Boris Vallejo, and Frank Frazetta were who I was interested in when all of my friends were reading Archie comics. Buxom females and grotesque aliens and creatures were my cup of tea so to speak and especially after my introduction to Star Wars, Star Trek, Alien, Blade Runner, A Clockwork Orange, and The Thing I was always doodling and thinking of anywhere but where i was at the time.

It was around the time i was 12 or 13 that my father introduced me to the writings of Damon Knight. Damon Knight was an acclaimed science-fiction writer and editor whose extensive writing career begins in the 1930s and ran well into the 1990s. One of his more famous short stories, "To Serve Man", has been parodied countless times, including on the first ever Treehouse of Horror special on The Simpsons animated show. This type of witty sci-fi is what I have come to judge all others by, and like the artists featured in Heavy Metal (like Royo, Manara, and Corben), it has influenced my art and my world-view of art as a whole.

I think that sci-fi should be so fantastic in places that it really is a journey for the reader or viewer. Today, special effects are taken for granted in films, and I think this is because we as "the masses" are so caught up in making everything look "real" that we have forgotten to have fun. We have forgotten how to suspend our disbelief and embrace the pure spectacle of "what if". There has been talk for some time of Edgar Rice Burrough's "John Carter of Mars" books being transformed into film. The project has languished in green-light limbo for years, even with studios like Pixar expressing interest in the property. I find this sad because it would be such a wonderful artistic venture. A man, transported from the 1800s on earth to the surface of mars, where he encounters all sorts of creatures and aliens in a swashbuckling adventure. Today however, we know that you can't breathe on mars and so... the project sits... waiting for someone to have some balls. This type of thinking has the greatest impact on my art. I don't want to hear why not...I just want to do, and see what happens. Maybe I will fail. Even art is an industry, and hopes and dreams don't put food on the table... but thanks to my old man, I would rather fail doing what I love and believe in than to be a total sell out.

Of course... one has to sell out a little. A man's got to eat and I have to graduate to be able to proceed on my own grand adventure. And, even if, like in "To Serve Man", it all turns out to be a cookbook, at least I will have enjoyed the ride.

Perspective
This is a short story that takes place during the opening sequence of Star Wars: A New Hope, from the perspective of a lowly stormtrooper.

"Duty"

Time seems to stop just before a breach. Especially one like this. The only sounds in the cramped boarding tube are plasti-steel armor plates clanking together and your own heartbeat thudding in your throat. The vessel we are about to board has been fighting a losing fight for over a parsec. Corellian Corvettes are no match for an Imperial Star Destroyer under any circumstances. This one will be messy. The ship is registered in the database as the "Tantive IV", and has been screaming protests on the diplomatic channel for the duration of the pursuit. None of that really matters though. All that matters is getting though the door and finding cover before some dirty reb slots you. As I look around in the fleeting seconds before we breach, I am struck by how menacing we look, my squad and I, standing in identical armor. The overhead lights drop out and are replaced by red standby lights. We have 15 seconds. Now in the red glow, we look as if we have come straight from hell. That makes me smile for a second. If only the rebs could see us like this, maybe they would lay down their arms and we could go back to barracks with no losses. That won't happen though. There is supposedly a high-ranking leader of the rebellion on board this particular ship, and that means they will come at us no matter what. I wouldn't be surprised if they reprogram their protocol droids to rush us. Stupid rebs. My on-board helmet comlink crackles to life: "Epsilon Squad you are the tip of the sword... breach, breach, breach!"

You can't really hear a concussion charge go off, as much as you can feel it. One second you are staring at a solid bulkhead, the next second it feels as if a bantha has kicked you in the chest and the light floods in. Even through the smoke blaster bolts are starting to zip by. Looks as if the rebs have our entry point covered pretty well. It still won't do them any good. There are maybe 100 armed rebs ready to die for their cause. We have the whole 427th as well as the 382nd. Not to mention the 501st. A bolt glances off of my shoulder plate sending pain ripping through my left arm. I return fire and the reb is thrown backwards at a sickening angle and comes crashing down into two of his comrades. My E-11 burps twice and they are neutralized as well. We are advancing now, moving through the corridors in a room by room search. The Captain and officers of the vessel are to be taken alive, as well as this high roller for the rebellion, if we can locate them. Everyone else is to be neutralized by any means necessary. TK-420 gets hit right in front of me and crumples. A shot just misses my faceplate as I duck into a side room. Looks like the rebs are bringing out some military grade small arms. I click my back teeth twice to activate the comlink to the rest of my squad, "This is TK-699, be advised, rebel targets are using armor piercing kit, coverage plan Delta, acknowledge." I set up to get the drop on my well equipped friend as the acknowledgments from my squad start pouring in. I don't have time to play this game. I hurry through the rooms I am using for cover and find that the small quarters connect to one another. I slip through three rooms without ever stepping foot in the corridor and chance a recce out of the door. Perfect. I am now behind the reb who is waiting for me to stick my head out from three doors down. He has acquired an E-11 blaster rifle from one of my fallen comrades. I line up his head and audibly key the mike in my helmet. I can almost see the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he starts to turn around. As soon as his head is in full profile I squeeze the trigger. Bits of armor from his helmet and bone and blood scatter in all directions, dissipating in a satisfying pink mist. The front of the battle is moving a bit further away now, time for some recon. I grab two troopers to follow me in a search of the lower engineering sections.

The engineering section is dark and musty. The smells of metal and oil and grease manage to slip through my helmet's filter. I am all at once drawn back to my youth, working on flash speeders with my grandfather on Carida. It's funny how smells can trigger the most vivid memories, despite your environment. In this room, our white armor stands out like a beacon against the grime and soot of the old ship components. Giant cylinders each five meters in diameter line the right hand wall. Shadows spill everywhere across the room. Our boys must have hit one of the main power supply conduits to this section in the battle. I click my teeth, "Go to enhanced filter settings, check every shadow." The two troopers respond "Affirmative". We are still bunched together when I see a shadow move. What reveals itself shocks me to stillness. A beautiful girl who is just barely a woman. She looks to be maybe 16 or 17. Her eyes are wide as we slowly approach. She is obviously one of the passenger's daughters, and therefore my duty is to capture her. Her face is almost angelic and it takes me a full beat longer than it should for me to alert my men, "There's one, set for stun." As the orders escape my lips, she levels what appears to be a small, sporting blaster at me. Her eyes weren't wide with fear... they were focused with the steely determination of a predator. Time seemed to stop. The powerful bolt hit me square in the face and fully penetrated the armor. I don't remember falling, but I know I'm on my back. I know I am dead. All I can see is her beautiful face. And then I see nothing.

Response to Your Chrestomathy
Hey Luc!

So I am here to read your writing and respond.

So the first awesome piece of text I want to comment on is your Perspective writing which is pretty awesome seeing as I am a bit of a Star Wars fan, not hardcore but enough. Anyways the thing that really got my attention was you decided to do the perspective from someone in the movie that gets really no camera time. And if I saw the movie through the eyes of this guy up to the point where he got shot dead, I would have felt sorry for him.

I am really glad you made your Compare and Contrast on the Star Wars and Star Trek Sagas, as both have made a return in these past couple of years and there is still this on going feud between the so called “trekkies” and “fan boys” but thanks to your writing both parties can see that each has flaws and each has there great strengths, and through these strengths they have both been able to stay afloat in this mainstream media world that we live in,

Memorization
I will be performing a piece from Dennis Leary's "Lock and Load". It is my goal to not only have the words memorized, but the performance as well.

Self Assessment
This quarter I have endured a lot. I know that I didn't put my best foot forward in this class all the time, but i think i managed OK. My time has been devoted to working, preparing to graduate (which happens this week) and dealing with the fact that my wife of seven years decided she doesn't love me anymore and wants to go it alone. I have been working in less than ideal circumstances living in a single guest bedroom of one of my closest friend's house. Everything I own minus a few clothes and my computer is in a 5 foot by 5 foot storage space that i have visited once in 2 months. I have survived this quarter (and subsequently this class) on the charity of my friends... people who choose to be with me because i am me. They have offered me shelter and food. They have listened when I needed to rage and they have talked when I needed advice. Now that my selfish whining is out of the way...

I enjoyed the book "My Jim" although it is pretty depressing. I didn't have any trouble with the dialect and thought it was an interesting counterpoint to Huck Finn. Albeit without any of the humor. I also enjoyed the creative aspects of the crestomathy. Writing sequels and alternate versions of stories was very interesting, but i must admit that some of the analytical aspects of the class, while presented in an interesting way, were kind of dull. Of course, it was during these periods that i was exposed to writers and styles i had never encountered before, so perhaps that judgment of "dull" is uncalled for. I didn't do my best in this class, but i did my best under the circumstances. "Senior-itis" would have dampened my performance anyway, but with everything else going on, I think i did OK. I don't think i deserve an "A"... maybe not even a "B", but that isn't for me to decide thankfully.