Eating Seed Corn

Eating Seed Corn

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

At the end of this shift, we’re going to space two of the crew. This will be our first “culling.” Everybody understands why this is necessary. It’s a matter of optimizing the chances of survival for the others. I just found out who we’re going to lose and I need to take a few minutes for myself before I make the announcement to the crew that is gathering in the Commons Hall.

I never imagined I might have to make decisions like this. I am Chairman of the “Deallocation Methodology Committee” that designed the selection algorithm. The calculation includes a dynamic model of functional and social interactions and involves factors such as individual resource loads and contributory potential.

The first thing I insisted on was that all members of the Committee sign “opt-in” papers that increase their selection weighting by four percent. I also insisted that there be no secondary review process where power plays could corrupt the impersonal fairness of the calculation. I insisted that the deallocated personnel not be present at the meeting where their selection was announced but that the announcement and a memory service be held after the fact. The rest of the algorithm is kept in confidence, but is approved by Council.

Hypertension

A Fergus Johnson story of gender relations

Fergus and his wife, Doris, were driving to town. He had a doctor’s appointment to follow-up on his new prescription for high blood pressure. They had both begun watching their salt intake and enjoyed seeing themselves lose a few pounds of water weight.

Fergus had done some additional research and decided to also reduce the sources of stress in his life. He began by declining to accept a new project at work until he was closer to finishing the ones he was already committed to. Doris, knew how worked-up he could get in city traffic, and volunteered to drive.

Seeing a group of girls, standing together in front of a store, Fergus turned his gaze to look at them. There were four, dressed in casual summer clothes — unusually bright colors — two were wearing shorts. One of the girls in shorts had particularly well-shaped legs — not those little toothpick legs so common on high school kids.

Doris saw him look. It didn’t usually bother her. Fergus tended to have high situational awareness. Doris reminded herself that he was a “keen observer of life." He frequently pointed out interesting details to her. Doris smiled as she recalled the time that she had made the humorous observation that Fergus was also “a keen observer of women.”

The Chain of Command

The human interstellar exploration vessel “Serendipity” had been in orbit around the planet of a newly-discovered advanced civilization for 23 shipdays. The initial excitement had finally died down. They had not been peremptorily shot out of the sky. 

The LIPs (Local Indigenous Population) had been genuinely cordial. Scientists, linguists and technicians had made rapid progress in exchanging data. The crew had been startled that the aliens wore no clothing at all except for a bag, suspended from their hump, where they tucked all manner of things. And so, they began to call the planet-side beings “Tuckers,” and the appellation stuck like over-done spaghetti to a wall.

The crew passed around the rumor that an initial formal diplomatic visit was being planned. Preparations put the crew back into extended duties; tensions were boiling over; something was definitely cooking. And, so it was. An officer had been selected to go down to the Tuckers’ planet.

For most of those on-board, this alien contact was the culmination of otherwise-unfruitful careers. Interstellar duty tended to the uneventful. Normally, the crew had little to do except master their duties, chew the fat with friends, and plug into the media center – vegetating for hours at a time. Naturally, the crew was drooling over the prestigious work ahead; they were already savoring the sweet taste of success and promotions to gravy posts back on Earth.

Robert C. “Bobby” Saunders was a full Bird Colonel. [For those who may not know, a “Bird Colonel” is a common, but not formal, term that refers to the silver emblem of an eagle with its wings spread (also sometimes called “chicken wings”) that is worn by full Colonels.] As you have probably noticed, Colonel Saunders’ name is an unfortunate distraction, especially as it was well-known that he hailed from Kentucky, one of the sixty-three Federated States. However, this bears no immediate relevance in this story, so we shall simply call him “Bobby.”

Short Story: From a Distance

From a distance, all you hear is the persistent drone, barely audible, like somebody else’s mosquito. I guess that’s why they call them drones. They can linger up there for days, watching and waiting, probably relieving each other like on-duty patrol cops — like slow-motion tag-team wrestling — like owls, waiting for a mouse to make a careless move.

From a distance, the sound recedes into the background cacophony of fans running, children playing, dogs barking, and thin shrill horns of motor scooters in traffic. It blends into the sound of life that comforts grandmothers that all is well when they wake momentarily from their afternoon nap. It is the sound of sudden and inescapable death — the thunderbolt of foreign gods thrown from heaven in retribution for unknown sins.

From a distance, remote operators watch, and guide, and drink Coca Cola, and decide who will live and who will die and when. You cannot know the faces of these nameless watchers. You cannot invite them to your daughter’s wedding or your uncle’s funeral. You cannot explain that you are loaning your shovel to a neighbor down the street and helping him plant a shade tree by the curb. You cannot explain or negotiate or fall on your knees to beg for understanding or plead for mercy.

The Chunky Monkey

I am so pissed. You’re not going to believe this. I’m on my way back home already. It was bad. I can’t believe how bad it was. I just need to talk to someone. I am so freaking pissed.

You remember I told you about Charles? Yeah, he’s the guy I told you about while I was doing laundry last week. He gave my profile a nudge on that on-line dating site. No, not that one. The other one. Yeah. I just had a date with him. I drove 214 miles to the other side of the state to have dinner with him and his girls. Yeah, at his house. No, that part was OK. His kids were there and everything, but everything else was a disaster.

Yeah, I’m fine. I’m driving back now. Damn! I just passed a cop car and I’m going too fast and I’m talking on the phone and… I’m putting you down while I put my seat belt on. That’s better. Hello? No, he had somebody stopped already.

So, Charles sounded so great on the phone. He’s a mechanic. Calls himself a grease-monkey. Really. He’s been a certified lead mechanic at a dealership for twelve years. He’s got health benefits and a retirement plan and everything. He’s buying his house. I didn’t even think which one of us would have to move.

The Crow and the Cowboy’s Shiny Buckle

The Crow and the Cowboy’s Shiny Buckle

A Short Story by David Satterlee

One day, a rodeo cowboy, a real dirt eater, came to Dayton, Iowa. Now, you expect to see cowboys in Texas, but most people wouldn’t think that you would see one in Iowa, especially in Dayton, which is first-rate, but kind of small. But, Dayton loves its horses and wranglers. Always has, still does, because that’s just the way Dayton is. These days, lots of cowboys come to Dayton, but our story is about one particular cowboy and, lacking any better information, we’ll call him Bill.

Local history has it that, back in the hot old days before air conditioning and slushies, families would gather down by the banks of Skillet Creek and have a picnic and a nap on the cool grass under the shade of the old oak trees. Back around 1937, three young friends, all local boys, learned to twirl cowboy ropes and would go down to the park and entertain anyone who was there. I’m guessing they picked up a few pennies and the occasional ham sandwich for their trouble.

The show started to get serious when it was moved to Porter’s pasture in 1942. The boys passed a hat and collected nineteen dollars and seventeen cents, which became the prize money for a “real rodeo.” Well, it just kept growing from there. The Dayton Labor Day Rodeo is a first-rate Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association event and draws top wranglers, riders, and ropers from all over. They have “Kids” night, “Bring a Date” night, and even raise thousands of dollars for breast cancer research on “Tough Enough to Wear Pink” night. Don’t worry, I’m getting to Bill.

Story: Tribal Family Values

Information and comments on the story:
Tribal Family Values

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks

Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKRVQ3Q2dqZGRRX1k/edit?usp=sharing

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

The historical setting for this story springs from reading the book: 1421: The Year China Discovered America. It also reflects research about tribalism, authoritarianism, and fundamentalism, which I describe in my book of essays: Chum For Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters. I think, when you read the last line, you will agree that the conclusion should have been obvious all along. After all, what's a tribe to do?

Tribal Family Values

Captain Chan Huy Gan stood before his assembled crew and spoke to them with conviction and urgency:

“It has been a full season since our sea-barge and its company of four hundred ran aground on this shore. There is no doubt that we shall not see our former homes and families again without being discovered by another expedition, and we know that no other such expedition was planned to explore these unknown far reaches. Therefore, our ship’s governing council, with the consensus agreement of our accompanying Scholars, has determined that we must put all consideration of return behind us. We must commit ourselves to permanent residence in this place. Further, we must commit, not only to our continuing security, but to extending our prosperity and our progeny for all time henceforth in this land.

“We have met with hostility from the native peoples. But our fortifications hold strong and they will be further strengthened and expanded. You have submitted well in transforming from a ship’s crew to a community of farmers, herdsmen, craftsmen, and guardians. Many of you have been humbled to

Science Fiction: Everyone Takes a Test

Information and comments on the story:
Everyone Takes a Test

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks

Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKTWU0S04xRGpnajQ/edit?usp=sharing

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

Science fiction. A planetary visitor becomes the object of crude hostility while having dinner at a local bar. Note: Contains a little crude dialogue. Our hero hesitates, but never blushes. He is up to the task, and we are proud of him.

Everyone Takes a Test

Althon was new to the colony planet. He had arrived at Spaceport Delta near Nuk d’Faln just after local sunrise. There was a muted bustle typical of a full-time operation in the diffuse pink-tinged amber light of dawn while the rest of the city was still yawning. 

Althon was booked with a tour group that was bound for the interior where they hoped to experience the region’s dramatic geography, exotic animals, and authentic primitive culture.

We can simply agree that the day’s cross-country travel by rail and cart was tedious, uncomfortable, and tiring. That night, the travelers arrived hungry. They were herded by the travel host into a large room – already occupied by locals who had evidently finished their evening meal and stayed for conversation and music… and to examine this next batch of tourists. The locals had rearranged themselves to accommodate the arriving group. Five musicians in a corner were playing lively tunes that allowed talkers to hear each other while pairs and quads danced at a moderate pace to a complicated rhythm.

A quiet man by nature, Althon took a seat at an empty table along a wall near the boundary between locals and visitors. He noticed that most people comfortably spoke a mix of local language and Commercial Common. Forms were passed around to determine what special foods and beverages they would expect. Althon left his blank.

A steward collected the forms and paused in front of Althon to

Science Fiction: A Marriage Made in Heaven

Information and comments on the Science Fiction story:
A Marriage Made in Heaven

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks

Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKRkV4TnpDaEZ1SHc/edit?usp=sharing

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

Science fiction. A personal favorite that echos back to my time running big computers. The ship's systems have never had to be cold-booted since commissioning... until the chief engineer drops a wrench into the ship's central power buss. Oops.

A Marriage Made in Heaven

The colony ship “Akasha” was in serious trouble. Of course, it was continuing on its trajectory, but it was only a few shift rotations from becoming colder than the two dozen pairs of cryogenic stasis chambers it carried. Something terrible, and terribly unexpected, had happened. Akasha was too far into the ether to be helped… and too far out to even signal her status. 

Everybody and everything on board was instantaneously at risk. The impossible had happened; all power generators, and all systems, had gone offline together when the power distribution buss failed. Twenty-four mated pairs of colonists might never know what had happened. But the captain, the officers, and every member of the crew sure did. Dave had happened. And, it fell to Dave to save them all… if he could.

I’m so sorry that I dropped that wrench into your power trunk distribution venue. You’ve been a very good ship. I’ve tried to serve you well. Your internal systems reactor never deserved the kind of power surge that I caused by my carelessness. I’ve repaired and reset everything I can find. I know that I’ve taken for granted your excellent environmentals; they were over spec’d and I appreciate that, but we’re starting to have trouble rebreathing our own air. This whole systems reboot really needs to work. I trust you. I love you. I’ll hold my mind with you the whole way. Let’s do it.

Dave, the ship’s senior engineer sat alone; he had asked the rest of the department crew to leave so that he could concentrate, without distraction, on what he now had to do. Dave closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, centered his mind, opened his eyes again, and reconnected local battery backup power to the Engineering Department’s OmniSoft 2040(c) central command console. Dedicated indicator lights flashed in a series as the xBIOS pre-boot self-test routine executed. The GUI surface flashed, went dark again, and presented the words: “Execute authorization pass-gesture to begin.” The engineer, realizing he had forgotten to do so, began breathing again.

Thank you. Dave made his level-ZED pass-gesture and leaned back slightly to watch the boot-log scroll across his supplemental debug display. It was necessary to watch the process with a certain intense detachment. It was okay to blink and it was even okay to glance away, but it tempted fate to be indifferent. There is something about major systems that expect and respond positively to your undivided attention during start-up. On the other hand, you can’t presumptuously let yourself indulge definite expectations. Major systems are also especially sensitive to

Story: Being True to the Best of What You Are

Information and comments on the story:
Being True to the Best of What You Are

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks
Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKSlo3Y01WRkViT0U/edit?usp=sharing


Read by the author:

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

You've probably heard one of several versions of the fable about an eagle that believes it's a chicken. Here is a new take on the subject from an Integrally-informed psycho-social perspective. We all should be so lucky.

Being True to the Best of What You Are

A story like this was told by Patty Grant Long on August 25, 2005 during a workshop–program on “Healing the Soul Wound” (multi-generational trauma). Ms. Long is a therapist (alcohol and drug abuse counselor) with Analenisgi, in Cherokee, North Carolina. It is adapted from memory. There are a variety of versions of this story in circulation. Here is another one.

A farmer was out walking with a guest, who was a hunter. A beautiful eagle soared gracefully above them, just keeping an eye on things below. Suddenly, without giving any word, the hunter raised his gun, sighted on the bird and shot it dead. It flapped to the ground and landed with a sad “whump.” The hunter walked over to the bird and nudged it with his boot. Yep, it was very dead. The farmer didn’t say anything. He didn’t approve but the hunter was his guest and killing animals is what hunters do. 

Knowing that the eagle had its nest in a nearby tree, the farmer climbed up, swaying in breeze, reached into the nest and put the two small eagles in the large pockets of his baggy pants. Protecting living things and helping them to grow is what farmers do. When they got back to the house, the farmer put the eagles with his chickens. They learned to eat bugs and seeds and they grew up strutting around the yard just like their chicken brothers.

But, one of the young eagles was not happy. “I’m different,” she told her brother, “I just don’t feel like I belong on the ground walking around pecking at bugs and seeds.” Her brother was quite content, however, and said, “Don’t make trouble. The farmer is good to us chickens. He throws us enough corn that we don’t starve and we get to hang out all day with our friends.” The first eagle wasn’t convinced. She pointed out,

Story: The Ugly Baby

Information and comments on the story:
The Ugly Baby

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks

Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKcnRNY2FuNlNLUTQ/edit?usp=sharing

A liberal fable. Not every one can be born to good looks, wealth, or privilege. How should we think of the disadvantaged people we happen to see, knowing that their appearance, condition, or status may not reflect their inner gifts or intrinsic worth?

The Ugly Baby

Little Jenna was born ugly. There’s no getting around the fact; she was definitely butt ugly. She didn’t have the usual cuddly baby fat but looked like a bundle of sinew-wrapped sticks. She had a red blotch that covered her right jaw and went all the way back to her ear. Her left eye looked kind of droopy. Visitors to the hospital nursery either stared at her or looked away.

Jenna’s father left when he found out about the pregnancy. Her mother took a third part-time job but still couldn’t keep up with the rent. Between her mother’s stress, exhaustion, and poor nutrition, Jenna was delivered sickly and premature, which didn’t bode well for her future. 

Jenna’s widowed aunt eventually agreed to let her and her mother stay in a spare room. Jenna’s cousin had been brain-injured by a roadside bomb in Iraq and would never be coming back to sleep there. Jenna’s mother tried to get her GED high school diploma but, without transportation, she had attendance problems and dropped out. She tried to get work, but the economy was slowing and she began drinking heavily. Consumed by anger, helplessness, and hopelessness, she was an indifferent and inattentive mother to her ugly little burden. When Jenna was two, her mother disappeared without even leaving a note.

Jenna’s aunt became the bright spot in her otherwise physically, mentally, and emotionally-impoverished life. Her aunt, getting past her initial revulsion and resentment, opened her heart to

Story: Being Depressed

Information and comments on the story:
Being Depressed

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks

Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKM1ppbENNbDZIRkU/edit?usp=sharing

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

Being depressed is not a job for wimps. A first-person stream-of-consciousness account. It's kind of depressing, actually. Those of you who have been there may want to avert your eyes.

Being Depressed

The work of being depressed is a fierce and demanding labor. Life, if you can be generous enough to call it that, is lived in the grip of helplessness and impotence, peering without defense at the raving terrors assaulting the small window that promises a meager ration of outside light.

Every act of every person threatens harm. My futon in my private room is my best place. I could almost like being there except for the dreadful lethargy of that place. I tell people that I often lack the will to turn over in bed. If it weren't happening to me, I wouldn’t believe it either. Nothing calls to me to tempt me to give up my nothingness. Nothing makes more sense than laying still. 

I am driving home. Traffic is insane. Every vehicle is hell-bent on its own destruction or mine. Watch everywhere, check the mirrors again. Is he going to pass? Is she going to pull out? The rims on his front wheels are still turning, She might stop or she might pull into me. Take your foot off the gas and keep it poised over the brake. Slow down anyway. If it happens I’ll be going slow enough that only the car will be hurt. Moving past now.  Already scanning ahead. 

I used to drive all the time. I was good at it. It was freedom to move and I was the man and responsible for my precious cargo.  Now, driving is hell. The moan came from me but I didn’t think it. It arose from deep within my chest by its own insistent power. My left knee strikes the door panel, hard. It helped a little. Let it go again. Bam, bam. I’m only twenty minutes from home. Just keep going. Just keep going.

My family wants to help me get out of the house and I agree to go. My wife drives and the boys sit in the back. I’m pressed back into the passenger seat and leaning slightly to the right. I can’t get any further into a corner. 

Maybe they just wanted to eat out and conscience wouldn’t let them leave me behind. Maybe they feel sorry for me or just some urge to comfort the cowering beast. I’ll go. Food is the one thing that I’m not so indifferent to. No, not indifferent, this is what I’m supposed to do and the family is going and so will I.

The parking lot at last. Everybody sees it at the same time I do. There are two people standing outside the front door smoking. I can’t stand smoking. I can’t be close to smoking. Smokers are hateful, unreasonable, and an offense to society. The family just wants to get inside and they urge me to just get past it. I’m going to try. My God, I’m going to try.

Every step closer is harder than the last. I stare at them. It is important that they know how much they offend me. I growl, catch their attention and hiss while I hold my breath and quickly scout around them, keeping at least twelve feet of distance. The family walks ahead; they pretend not to know me.

[unfinished]

It would be unfinished, wouldn't it? Depression never ends... or it seems like it anyway. And, if you're depressed who has the energy or interest to see the effort through to the end and tied with a bow?

Story: The One That Got Away

Information and comments on the story:
The One That Got Away

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks

Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKZHhqYm8tS25reFk/edit?usp=sharing

Read by the author:

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

A young man decides to introduce himself to one of a cluster of girls. What could go wrong? Wrong enough that the reader gets two endings to choose from.

The One That Got Away

A Fergus Johnson story of gender relations

[Note: Contains mildly erotic descriptive imagery.]

Fergus Johnson has been watching a group of girls for several minutes now. Fergus is seventeen. That’s one of the truly awkward ages between toddling and toupees. 

One of the girls is gorgeous. It’s not entirely the close-fitting but not-quite-tight pure-white dress she’s wearing, with long sleeves, a tailored waist, and a hem four inches above her knees. The dress accents her sleek neck and trim but neatly muscled legs, which seem to go all the way to the floor. Okay, Fergus has actually been staring for several minutes now while she talks and eats an ice cream cone.

The white dress has a scooped neck, which reveals a flawless expanse of chest, heaving gently as she talks. A slender silver necklace suspends a large teardrop crystal in just the right place to

Story: Linda Takes a Shot at Marriage

Information and comments on the story:
Linda Takes a Shot at Marriage from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

 Find out more, including where to buy books and ebooks

Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKV3hzS1FlRHdVNWM/edit?usp=sharing

Reading theater for two male voices. 

It's hard to love a girl with her own shotgun.

Read by the author:

Linda Takes a Shot at Marriage

[Note: Contains questionable regional dialect, immature mature dialog, descriptive violence, and mild profanity. Dang, when you put it that way, I just want to blush a little bit.]

[For reading theater with two male voices]

That sure was a fine funeral service.

Yep, a very fine service.

Probably the finest service I’ve been to this year.

Yep.

You just kinda felt his spirit there.

Well, Bobby always was kind of a lurker.

Mark my words: I figure he’d be keepin to his self in that there coffin.

Becky Sue once tol me she’d see him lurking regular out by her wood pile.

Hell, that weren’t Bobby. That were my cousin Roy.

Sure nuff?

Sure as I’m pure, white, and proud. Didn’t Roy ever take you out Sue lookin?

No, he never.

Why not? You queer or sumptin and I don’t know it?

You and me’s been huntin regular since we was little. You know I’m no such thing. Don’t be a fool. Besides, I was too ‘fraid of Becky Sue’s Daddy Zeke.

Now you’re the fool. Ever’body knowed that Becky Sue seen we was lookin—an she was showin—Even Daddy Zeke knowed it. But, he got so tired of