The Traveller Novels of Jefferson P. Swycaffer

If a book has a picture of a spaceship on the cover, I can't resist picking it up. But more often than not I wind up putting it down because I've become quite discriminate in allocating my precious free time for reading. If the story's premise is too wacky or if the plot features unbelievable scenarios or characters who act like ill-behaved children, I will pass it by.

One of the benefits of my job at a large American university is having access to virtually any book, in or out of print, courtesy of the superb interlibrary loan system. During the holiday season I requested and received the now out-of-print works of Jefferson P. Swycaffer, who during the 1980s and early 90s authored two book series inspired by the classic Traveller science-fiction role-playing game. Swycaffer's tales take place in the Concordat of Archive star federation, and incorporated lots of Traveller tech.

I've been a collector of Traveller-related games, books, and magazines since 1977, and though I've only actually played the game a handful of times, I have always enjoyed the Traveller universe as presented by its many publishers and authors. Usually I rejected the standard Traveller game scenario of a group of recently mustered-out star veterans or down-and-out star traders or smugglers, settings greatly inspired by Star Wars' Han Solo. My preference was always for Traveller characters to have access to some useful resources and first-class starships, so more often than not I would choose Star Navy characters on active duty for the few games I participated in. I was pleased that Swycaffer's novels presented mixed casts of both types of characters. And while his books' heroes and villains were, indeed, often portrayed as acting like immature adolescents, and I sometimes found myself quickly skimming over a chapter or two, I'm glad I read these seldomly-remembered tales set in a familiar universe.

My favorite was Not In Our Stars, a story about a world recovering from a limited nuclear war. Though Swycaffer seems to have been a member of the "we don't have to worry about a little radiation" writers' club that I see so often from convervatives like Dale Bond and the neocon Baen club, it was still an enjoyable read.

I love the covers of Swycaffer's books, and perhaps the most memorable is that of Warsprite, published by TSR Games, and not a part of his Traveller-inspired series.

Here's a bibliography if Swycaffer's Traveller novels:

Not In Our Stars, Avon Books, New York, USA, 1986.

Become the Hunted, Avon Books, New York, USA, 1985.

The Universal Prey, Avon Books, New York, USA, 1985.

The Praesidium of Archive, Avon Books, New York, USA, 1986.

The Empire's Legacy, New Infinities Productions Inc., 1988.

Voyage of the Planetslayer, New Infinities Productions Inc., 1988.

Revolt and Rebirth, New Infinities Productions Inc., 1988.

Finally, I should make a brief apology for my lack of blog posting since New Year's. My excuses are an extra-heavy workload since I gained an entire new department full of computers, plus I was busy contacting Senators, Congressmen, and the U.S. Embassy in Yerevan, Armenia, in a campaign to help my sister-in-law, Nona, get a hard-earned tourist visa so that she can visit the United States.

Residents of the former Soviet Union are almost never given permission to visit as tourists, but with the good help from my reps in Washington, Nona was finally successful, and she will arrive in two weeks for her first USA visit. Here's lovely Nona's pic, below. I think she should be Miss Armenia 2008. Nona had a profile on Match.com until the wankers at that company cancelled her account without explanation. She goes by the alias "Nonajan" online. Eat your hearts out, guys!


Do S'Vadaniya,

Viktor Kuprin

Welcome to the USA, NonaJan !

Technorati tags: science fiction, sci-fi, sf, novels, Traveller, Match.com, Armenia

Outer Space Theater on Ray Gun Radio

You can hear my flash-fiction story Outer Space Theater on the December podcast of Ray Gun Radio, along with an interview of yours truly. The wonderful adaption of my short story was created by Don Abbott Studios, and playing the lead role is none other than "Commander Don" himself, Don Abbott, who hosted the Buck Rogers TV broadcasts that I watched as a boy. I was totally surprised when I received the radio-show style production, so Christmas came early for me. Thank you, Commander Don, for the wonderful present, and I hope you all enjoy hearing it.

Ray Gun Radio Episode 18 - Outer Space Theater Podcast

The holiday season is a long one at my house. For my wife, who lived in Moscow for many years, the big holiday is not December 25. New Year is the time when people in the Soviet Union celebrated the most. That's when they put up the yulka, the holiday tree, though more often than not it probably had a big red star on top instead of an angel.

Our Christmas and New Year wish this year is for the U.S. Embassy in Yerevan, Armenia, to grant a tourist visa to my lovely sister-in-law, so that she can visit us in America during the New Year holiday. It's tough to get such a visit approved, but we're hoping and praying that it will happen. And I hope everyone reading this has their holiday wishes come true, too.

Merry Christmas, and S'Novim Godim (Happy New Year!) to all!


Viktor Kuprin


Technorati tags: science fiction, sci-fi, sf, Christmas, flash fiction, New Year, Buck Rogers, television, podcast

The Russian Package at 365Tomorrows.com

You can read THE RUSSIAN PACKAGE, my new flash-fiction story, at http://www.365tomorrows.com/.

The Blessing

Flash Fiction by Viktor Kuprin

The priest’s pointed helmet hung at his side. His vac suit was completely black.

Engineer Beketov didn’t get it. It was too strange, too … medieval. The holy man waved the crucifix over the salt package and recited a prayer. Beketov had been told the salt was for cooking a lamb stew that would be shared by all the dockyard’s techs and engineers.

“Father Toyan, it’s time for us to EVA. Let’s go.” The priest nodded and followed to the airlock.

“How far did you travel to get here?” Beketov asked.

“From Earth, from the Great Ararat Monastery, to be exact.” The priest’s voice was reedy, and his beard bunched against the visor of his strangely-shaped helmet.

“I’ve never been to Earth,” said the engineer. “Father, I’m curious, why is your helmet peaked on top? When other priests visit the station, their helmets aren’t like yours.”

“Priests who are not married wear these, my son. The peak symbolizes our dedication to the Lord,” he explained.

The airlock hatch slid open, and the bright light of Dustri’s star made their visors darken. They slowly moved toward the dockyards, their boots’ magnetic soles clicking with each step.

“How long have you been working in the yards, my son?”

Beketov laughed. “Close to a year, but it seems like forever, Father. The one we’re going to was just an empty shell with I first arrived. Look at him now.”

One of the dumb servo-mechanoids rumbled toward them. Beketov gently grasped the priest’s shoulder to stop him from entering its path. It wobbled past with no sign of notice.

“Father Toyan, no disrespect, but how do you feel about this? Coming all the way out here to, well, to bless …”

“An engine of destruction? Actually, the church’s blessing is for the crew, to humbly ask God for their safety and protection, and that they will always be in His grace.”

As they walked, Beketov watched the priest’s gold crucifix sparkle in the starlight. A transparent pouch filled with small plastic globlets hung from his belt: Holy Water for the ceremony.

“Here he is, Father.” Beketov could see people watching them, crowded together in the observation blisters and viewports surrounding the dockyard.

“Are you a believer, Engineer Beketov?” the priest asked.

“I don’t know, Father. Sometimes it’s hard not to be when you look up and see all this,” the engineer said, pointing toward the stars. “I do know that a man needs all the help he can get, right?”

Toyan nodded. “Fair enough. Now, if you will, let us pray.” The priest keyed the comm controls on his suit sleeve and began to broadcast.

“Almighty God and Creator, You are the Father of all people. Guide, I pray, all the worlds and their leaders in the ways of justice and peace … ”

The priest made the sign of the cross in front of the new starship’s gigantic gray hull.

Technorati tags: science fiction, sci-fi, sf, writing, flash fiction, Kosmosflot

Flyby

Flash Fiction by Viktor Kuprin

Any starship could request a flyby. Popik received them all the time from the Customs Patrols and the Space Force when they needed to eyeball our ship. If they wanted a bribe that day, they’d come aboard Popik’s old Mod One. He would shake hands with the thug-in-charge and discretely pass some rubles or gold kopeks he’d gotten from here and there.

That’s what you had to do if you were a free trader like Popik, especially if you occasionally hauled illicit cargoes on the side like bootleg vodka or tobacco. The Americans treated tobacco like it was some kind of fission-grade plutonium. But the colonists on the Fringe Worlds gladly paid for it sight unseen.

Maybe Popik was curious to see the ship or, I suspect, he just wanted to give me a surprise. He keyed up the code for a flyby request, transmitted it, and to his surprise the reply came back giving the okay. Back then, before the wars with the Helgrammites and the others, there weren’t so many alien starships in human space. Not like now.

When he called me over the comm, I was playing with dolls in my cabin. I raced to the cramped control center, dragging my favorite teddy bear behind.

“Sit down, Vika, and watch the big televisor,” Popik said. “We’re going to see something special.”

“Is it Poppa or Momma calling? Are they coming?” I asked.

“Not this time, my heart,” Popik replied. “We’re going to see a Tsoor ship, an alien ship. We’ll fly past it in a few seconds. Watch.”

“Da, Popik.” I should have known it wasn’t my parents. Poppa was on duty aboard a warship somewhere in deep space. Momma was away, too, always working in some company office on Getamech. So, when I wasn’t in school, I got to travel with Popik and live in his asteroid domik between our trips to the stars.

A strangely-shaped orb appeared on the televisor screen and began to grow in size. Popik grinned and fired the retros, slowing our approach.

“It’s a Class-4 Tsoor starship. They call it a ‘Porpita,’” he explained.

“That’s a funny name, Popik!” I bounced and giggled, hugging my teddy bear.

The Tsoor ship was a cluster of four huge connected spheres glowing bluish green. Bars of brilliant violet light circled the globes’ equators and vertical axes. I saw no portholes, no windows, no one looking back at us. To me it looked like some giant, magical New Year’s tree ornament.

“Can we flash our lights for them, Popik?” I asked.

He shook his head. “We probably shouldn’t, my heart. The aliens might not know what to make of it.”

Then the beautiful Tsoor starship receded into the distance and was gone.

I watched and re-watched the video Popik had made of the flyby. And all these many years later, I still have that recording. Just a few seconds long, but it takes me back to those happiest of times, back to my dear grandfather.

Technorati tags: science fiction, sci-fi, sf, writing, flash fiction, Kosmosflot

Executive Bonus

Flash Fiction by Viktor Kuprin

Labor Supervisor SCE-1124 knew there would be extra costs and difficulties keeping the project plans on schedule without the human contingent. Though the Earth mammals were fragile and easily damaged, they had, indeed, proven to be good workers both on the asteroids and aboard his construction ships.

He noticed a small figure standing by his office-pit and recognized it as the Human Trustee. Why was she still here? He beckoned with his main claw.

Karina Hively approached, face downward as xenoprotocol required.

“I thought you would be gone by now, Former Trustee Hively. What do you want?” He clasped his main claw to indicate impatience.

“Please, Labor Supervisor, I need help. I can’t get transportation.”

“How can that be?” SCE-1124 asked. “I’ve seen thousands of human slaves boarding the repat vessels. They seem quite ready to depart as quickly as possible. Why don’t you join them and be on your way to wherever you and your people want to go?”

She began to wring her hands, eyes wide with what SCE-1124 recognized as anxiety and fear.

“My life is in danger. I’ve been hiding ever since the Emancipation. They won’t allow me on any of the ships.”

SCE-1124 would have none of it. “Oh please. Such disagreements can surely be resolved by offering your fellow humans sizeable monetary incentives. I know for a fact that you sometimes actually received precious metals and gems in reward for your skilled management.”

“Great One, you don’t understand,” she pleaded. “They won’t take my money. I tried, but it’s no use. They want to kill me!”

Tapping his main and secondary claws, SCE-1124 considered. “Why don’t you perform that custom that makes all things good again. What do humans call it? Yes, an apology. Apologize, then you can go with them.”

Hively began to sob. “They’ll never forgive me. They remember when I ordered the cull in the nurseries, the rations-and-oxygen adjustments.”

“Ah yes, yes! You were the one who reduced our project costs for both slave nourishment and atmospheric recharges,” SCE-1124 recalled. He trembled with glee. “I must admit that I didn’t believe humans could live on such little food and oxygen. And only three out of ten died, if I recall correctly, those weak ones we didn’t need. Now that was a very effective business decision, one of your best!”

She covered her face with her hands and fell to her knees. “Please, Great One. I’ve always been loyal …”

SCE-1124 waved his main claw. “Now, now, Former Trustee, the Emancipation Treaty did terminate our business relationship. You and all humans are free to find new work on Earth, or Alpha Centauri, wherever. The transport’s been paid for. It’s out of my claws’ reach, you know. So, I wish you the very best of success in your future career endeavors, and thanks so much for your exemplary professionalism. It’s been a pleasure!

“Oh, and don’t forget that any human detected onsite after today will have to be disintegrated. Now shoo away. Shoo.”


Technorati tags: science fiction, sci-fi, sf, aliens, flash fiction, Kosmosflot

Flyby - New Flash Fiction

You can read my latest flash-fiction story FLYBY at 365tomorrows.com.

""Any starship could request a flyby. Popik received them all the time from the Customs Patrols and the Space Force when they needed to eyeball our ship. If they wanted a bribe that day, they’d come aboard Popik’s old Mod One. ..."

I hope you enjoy it. Any comments would be welcome!