Post by Mentat_Tir on Mar 30, 2002 1:26:18 GMT -5
Chapter One
Thayer Asmund stood at the edge of a cliff. He studied the skyline waiting for the familiar wave of inspiration. Inspiration was not difficult to find here. From this viewpoint, Thayer could see sunlight dancing on the water, white sandy beaches, stunning weatherworn rocks, and in the distance a small island bursting with tropical vegetation standing alone like an oasis in a simmering desert.
The only man-made object in view was Thayer’s easel. It was the same one given to him by his father, who probably stood in the same place sometime in his life. But his father was gone now. As was his mother, his grandfather…every family member he had ever known. Thayer was truly the last of his line.
Thayer drew a small object from his satchel and let it hover a few inches above the canvas. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Only the wind against his face and the sound of the water lapping at the shore could be heard. A sense of peace and tranquility washed over him.
The object suddenly began to glow softly. Between the canvas and the object came a narrow beam of blue light. The light swept back and forth across the picture depositing seemingly disjoined shapes and random colors. The device in Thayer’s hand was designed to bypass the obstruction of messy paints and fatigued wrist strokes. It drew directly from Thayer’s skilled artistry and innate creativity. Soon, patterns in the painting began to emerge, then recognizable objects. The water, the beach, the island…all represented through an impressionistic viewpoint.
Before the device could complete its work, the sky echoed with thunder. Thayer opened his eyes and squinted upward at the yellow sun.
Not a cloud in the sky, thought Thayer. Chance storms had not been a problem on his homeplanet of Aldea for centuries. The planet’s advanced weather control network saw to that. Although rain was needed of course, the Custodian planned it months in advance. Thayer always checked the schedule twice before he ventured out. But this was not natural thunder.
It was then that Thayer saw the noise’s origin. A small spec dotted the horizon just over the water. The object sped rapidly closer. The craft was approaching so fast that Thayer could soon make out the wake whitecapping in its path. Thayer soon recognized the object as a shuttlecraft. Obviously the hotshot pilot was trying to impress someone onboard.
The craft pitched suddenly upward as it neared the beach. It cleared the cliff and rocketed only a few meters above Thayer’s head. He held his ears and winced. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his easel tip and hit the rocky ground. Thayer turned just in time to see red glow of the shuttle’s impulse engines disappear over the hills.
When the shuttle's engines were no longer audible, Thayer knelt down and examined the easel. He ran his finger alone a place where the wood had cracked…irreparable. In anger, Thayer dislodged his unfinished painting from the easel and threw it violently off the cliff. The canvas went spinning downward and crashed to pieces on the ground below.
“d**n the Federation,” he said out loud.
Thayer Asmund stood at the edge of a cliff. He studied the skyline waiting for the familiar wave of inspiration. Inspiration was not difficult to find here. From this viewpoint, Thayer could see sunlight dancing on the water, white sandy beaches, stunning weatherworn rocks, and in the distance a small island bursting with tropical vegetation standing alone like an oasis in a simmering desert.
The only man-made object in view was Thayer’s easel. It was the same one given to him by his father, who probably stood in the same place sometime in his life. But his father was gone now. As was his mother, his grandfather…every family member he had ever known. Thayer was truly the last of his line.
Thayer drew a small object from his satchel and let it hover a few inches above the canvas. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Only the wind against his face and the sound of the water lapping at the shore could be heard. A sense of peace and tranquility washed over him.
The object suddenly began to glow softly. Between the canvas and the object came a narrow beam of blue light. The light swept back and forth across the picture depositing seemingly disjoined shapes and random colors. The device in Thayer’s hand was designed to bypass the obstruction of messy paints and fatigued wrist strokes. It drew directly from Thayer’s skilled artistry and innate creativity. Soon, patterns in the painting began to emerge, then recognizable objects. The water, the beach, the island…all represented through an impressionistic viewpoint.
Before the device could complete its work, the sky echoed with thunder. Thayer opened his eyes and squinted upward at the yellow sun.
Not a cloud in the sky, thought Thayer. Chance storms had not been a problem on his homeplanet of Aldea for centuries. The planet’s advanced weather control network saw to that. Although rain was needed of course, the Custodian planned it months in advance. Thayer always checked the schedule twice before he ventured out. But this was not natural thunder.
It was then that Thayer saw the noise’s origin. A small spec dotted the horizon just over the water. The object sped rapidly closer. The craft was approaching so fast that Thayer could soon make out the wake whitecapping in its path. Thayer soon recognized the object as a shuttlecraft. Obviously the hotshot pilot was trying to impress someone onboard.
The craft pitched suddenly upward as it neared the beach. It cleared the cliff and rocketed only a few meters above Thayer’s head. He held his ears and winced. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his easel tip and hit the rocky ground. Thayer turned just in time to see red glow of the shuttle’s impulse engines disappear over the hills.
When the shuttle's engines were no longer audible, Thayer knelt down and examined the easel. He ran his finger alone a place where the wood had cracked…irreparable. In anger, Thayer dislodged his unfinished painting from the easel and threw it violently off the cliff. The canvas went spinning downward and crashed to pieces on the ground below.
“d**n the Federation,” he said out loud.
