Love Me Tender

© John Sawyer – August 2008

It had happened before. Back on Earth in the 20^th century when it was still inhabitable. Back before the floods, famine and fumes turned the home planet into a toxic waste dump.

It happened twice actually. In the second decade, some soldiers engaged in a particularly silly and brutal war, put down their weapons one Christmas Day and started singing carols and playing football together. The generals put a stop to that by moving the troops involved away from the battlefield and ordering heavy artillery bombardments along the whole front line during each Christmas Eve for the rest of the war.

They called the second time MAD and it was mad, mutually assured destruction mad. For nearly 50 years the industrialists and generals managed to convince the politicians to give them enough money to build weapons stockpiles and delivery systems that could destroy the other side 50 times over. Fear of terrible retribution was supposed to prevent each side from firing the first bullet. Despite the terrible flaws in the logic of this strategy, nobody pressed the button and humanity survived.

Monica MacIver didn’t set out to save humanity, she hadn’t heard of MAD, she didn’t really think. Monica just followed her space farers instinct and saved the crew of the enemy transport ship from horrible destruction.

“I’m Monica MacIver, the captain of Estabo’s Space Fleet Tender, Space Swift 73. You’re my captive and I’m about to tow your ship to our nearest port. Please stay calm and follow my instructions”

Joe Jakubowski certainly didn’t want to save humanity or end the war against those thriftless imperialists from Estabo. He was pleased to be saved from the deadly tumble when the starboard hyper-drive jammed open, but capture was not an option. To be captured by a woman was unthinkable.

“My complements Captain MacIver, but it’s you who’ve been captured by me and I’ll thank you to tow my ship to the nearest Dragoon port immediately. And before you think otherwise, I’ve blown the hydraulics on the docking arm. I can’t let go of your ship and I’ll have no hesitation in blowing your ship to smithereens if you don’t conform to my instructions.”

The radio crackled static briefly before Monica replied. “I don’t think you really want to blow us up Captain Jak… Captain Jakubowski. We’ve now armed all the thermo nuclear weapons we’re transporting and if you harm us in any way, they’ll explode and destroy your ship.”

The generals and admirals should have stopped it there and then. They should have blown up both ships and got on with the war. Two ships, 54 crew and some supplies were nothing in the whole scheme of things. They were very expendable. The generals weren’t to know that the fate of the two ships and the negotiations between the two captains would become such popular viewing; relayed around the opposing fleets and discussed in the mess halls like one of those 20^th century reality TV shows.

In the first week, Joe’s testosterone driven threats escalated while Monica stood hands on hips, chin pointed provocatively. Monica’s whole body bristled with anger; her red hair and black black eyes flashing on millions of screens around the galaxy.

“You’re a pompous, conceited, arrogant fool Captain bloody Jakubowski. You must surely concede that I captured you so just follow my instructions.”

“If you captured me my dear Captain MacIver, then you could release me. But you can’t release me, so I’ve clearly captured you. If you take me anywhere near that profane cesspool you call home, I’ll destroy you and your ungodly planet with you.”

After a week the discussions changed slightly. Monica and Joe were on a first name basis. Monica’s hair showed signs of extra brushing and she’d taken to wearing a lower cut uniform blouse with the top button open. Half a galaxy were in love with Monica and longed for those moments when her mouth would pout ever so slightly sideways while she forcibly put Joe in his place.

More than half a galaxy were in love with Joe. The wavy black hair, the angular high cheeked face and the intelligent smiling eyes were enough. When photos of him from last years interplanetary gymnastic championship started to appear in the chatrooms, those glistening muscles and tight backside became THE topic of conversation.

“There aren’t any rules against fraternisation in our corps, but it’s hard for a woman on a small ship. I’m pretty much forced to stay celibate and single until I can get a posting to a bigger ship. I really long for this war to be over so that I can go back home, find a lover and start a family.”

When Monica and Joe talked about their hopes for the future, a future without war, the generals decided that the two reluctant space dancers should be destroyed.  They were too late. Word had got around about the general’s plans. A Cruiser from Monica’s fleet locked itself against Joe’s hull and called on him to surrender. A few minutes later an opposing frigate locked onto Monica’s hull and called on her to surrender. Within 2 days there were 187 ships entwined with Monica and Joe’s. Within a week the remainder of both fleets were locked ominously in a deadly embrace above the capitals of the warring planets. The crews hadn’t mutinied they’d each just captured an enemy ship and couldn’t escape. They had all had enough of the killing, the boredom and the loneliness. The space crews just wanted to go back to a normal life.

The chatrooms still talked about the war-crossed lovers, but they were now also talking about how to stop the war. The politicians and scientists were making plans to marry the economies of the planets in a mutually assured affluence. Monica and Joe planned their own mutually assured happiness.

Boy Wonder II

© John Sawyer – June 2007

“Mick wants to talk to you about visiting Old Tom’s grave. Here I’ll put him on.” Mick doesn’t work the phone on his own yet, but he sure knows how to work your emotions. Old Tom is my father and Mick’s great grandfather who’d died about 8 months ago. I’d better sit down.

“Well we can’t visit his grave Mick. Tom was cremated so he won’t have a grave. Some time soon we’ll all take the ashes up to Daylesford and put them under the same tree where we put your great grandmother Anne.” Silence.

“What were you thinking Mick?”

“Well I’ve been thinking about Tom and I miss him and I just thought I could go with you to visit his grave.”  I suck in air and bite my lip.

“His ashes are with Aunty Helen and I’ll talk to her tomorrow about setting a date when we can put Tom’s ashes with Anne’s. Probably spring would be nice.

“I’ll email your mum a photo of the tree.”

Mick and his twin sister have just turned 7. I love them both, but there is something special about boys. We push our boundaries and then retreat under mum’s wing for a cuddle when our knees get grazed or our egos become deflated.

“Who’s the best footballer in your grade Mick?”

“I am!” (“Why would you ask?” is not said but inferred) “But my friend Riley can kick very… very… high.”

Mick likes his sport.

“This is a special game of cricket Grandpa. I have to bat all the time and you have to bowl and chase the ball.”

“Thanks Mick.”

“The Tigers aren’t winning because they are drinking too much drugs.”

Mick’s peers must also think pretty highly of him as he was elected as class delegate to the Junior School Council. Maybe it’s because when he finishes his work in class, he helps his classmates instead of going and playing on the computer.

Mick also understands the need for a progressive taxation system. “What happens to the money when we buy something Mum?”

“Well the money goes to pay the people that make it, the shopkeeper, the people that work there and the people who deliver it.”

“What about the poor people? Don’t they get some too? They need to get something too.”

Mick is already planning a career, as a clown. His best trick it to balance a pencil on his nose, stand on one leg and place his hand in is armpit and flap his elbow up and down, generating a farting sound. I can take some credit for suggesting the pencil and the one leg be added to the act.

I keep thinking of the near disaster we nearly had. Mick and Hannah were riding their bikes along the side of a country road. I was walking behind with the dog and generally trying to keep them safe by yelling warnings and instructions. Just as a car was about to overtake them, Mick decided that he should be leading and peddled madly past his sister, swerving into the path of the overtaking car. The driver swerved to the wrong side of the road and barely missed an oncoming car.

The driver of the oncoming car shook his fist at me and his passenger shook her head. It was not necessary. I feel really stupid. I feel very irresponsible. I will no longer judge those people you see on TV who back over their kids in the driveway. I just think how lucky I am.

It seems strange but Mick like Boy Wonder I, his Uncle Mark, before him is my hero. Both manage to do those things that I was never able to do.

There is apparently a scam running in the US:

• Someone sets up a caravan in a shopping centre car park
• “We deliver the latest Body Armour to your loved one in Iraq.”
• Grandparents are the target customers
• When they hand over their money, the scam artists deliver nothing or just rubbish.

This grand father would probably be conned if he had to face that.

I have to keep being political – I was lucky with Boy Wonder I – No bastard is sending Mick to a war.