The robot at the top of the mountain
Blazing Reader,
I'm almost finished with the final edit of All of the Humans Are Sleeping (my forthcoming novella set after World War III) before it goes to beta readers.
This last edit has been mainly technical — where I go through each line, noting "hard facts" and making sure they are true and consistent. Por ejemplo, ensuring characters' eye colours remain the same. Also, since the story spans four years, many dates needed to be plotted out in a timeline.
This was further complicated by the fact most of the story takes place on Baffin Island and in Northern Norway — where they experience both weeks of total darkness and weeks where the sun never sets. I've never spent so much time on TimeAndDate.com.
These technical refinements, however, inspired many creative (and time-consuming) additions to the plot. Here's an example from Chapter 7.01:
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Tuesday, December 5, 2045, 12:03 pm…
Standing on the snow-covered peak of Mount Jiehkkevárri, the purple robot watched the sun fade into the horizon for the final time that year. Though it was difficult to say the sun had risen at all when it had only hung low on the southern horizon for a misty twilight of 35 minutes and 21 seconds. When its faint glow was no longer visible, Domestico spoke out loud:
She peeked at me one last time
Before fleeing south.
Now I stand
In the dark
All alone.
Attempt #423,234,883 at poetry.
If my services are no longer needed here, noted Domestico, maybe I will publish my own book of poetry. The robot then wondered what all poets ask themselves, would anyone bother to read it?
The wind blew hard. The robot’s internal heating system increased output to prevent the battery in its abdomen area from freezing. The snow on the ground had already exceeded the previous winter. Eleven centimetres high, calculated Domestico, glancing down at its buried feet. One leg kicked out, sending a burst of the fluffy crystals into the air.
That’s when the alert from the main computer was received wirelessly, bereft of any poetry:
Critical malfunction.
Human interface pod #002.
Emergency assistance is required.
Domestico’s head arched downward. Two thousand meters below, the greenhouse glowed yellow. There had not been a power failure. Switching to night vision, and taking a thousand calculated risks, the robot began leaping and running and skidding down the steep decline of the summit’s glacier. Halfway to the station, the robot slipped, falling on its back, right hand smashing against a boulder. The robot did not cry out in pain. Instead, Domestico proceeded to tumble and slide down the remaining one thousand meters.
The journey ended, sliding off the upper edge of the rock face like a downhill skier without skis. The thick tarp that covered the greenhouse only hindered the fall. The plastic tore easily. Dropping three storeys, Domestico landed on all fours in the middle of a harvested patch where only a few leftover corn husks remained.
Domestico stood slowly. A self-diagnosis sub-routine revealed that the hydraulic valves in both the robot’s ankles were damaged and would not bend. The robot marched towards the greenhouse’s entrance, teetering back and forth, like a frozen tin soldier. Reaching the door, Domestico attempted to input the passcode. But two fingers were now missing and the other digits were not responding. One finger was bent backwards. The wrist also wouldn’t turn.
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I'm looking for beta readers who live or have spent considerable time in Northern Norway or on Baffin Island. If you have, please hit reply and send me some details of your experience – I may like to hire you to review the manuscript for accuracy.
—John C.A. Manley
John C. A. Manley is the author of Much Ado About Corona: A Dystopian Love Story, the forthcoming All The Humans Are Sleeping and other works of speculative fiction. Get free samples of his stories by becoming a Blazing Pine Cone email subscriber at: https://blazingpinecone.com/subscribe/
